Page 85 of Perfect Mess

“Look!” Kyle’s voice broke the spell. Purrfect lingered in the hallway, scoping out the intruders as if plotting the best way to evict them.

“Oh, that’s just Purrfect,” Gary said, his voice drawing long on the purr.

“Can I pet her?” Kyle’s eyes lit up.

Purrfect looked up from her paw licking, tongue still protruding, suddenly concerned. She gave me herdon’t you fucking darelook. I gave her mypayback’s a bitchlook.

“Can I, Mary?” Kyle looked like a kid on Christmas morning waiting for permission to tear into a stack of presents.

“Sure,” I told Kyle. “She really loves her belly rubbed.” Purrfect hated her belly rubbed. “But you have to catch her first.” I wasn’t sure how old Purrfect was when I involuntarily inherited her, but she still had her cat like reflexes and could outrun an Olympic track team if she wanted to, especially if the Olympic track team was trying to rub her belly.

Kyle accepted the challenge with a leap and a shriek. Purrfect bolted upright with a leap and a shriek. All four paws pedaled at the slick laminate flooring like a drag racer burning rubber. Lots of spinning. Not a lot of forward progress. Her paws barely found purchase just as Kyle lunged. Purrfect squealed in terror. Kyle squealed with glee.

“Well, that should keep them busy for a while.”

When I turned back around, Gary pulled two bottles from the six-pack. “Should we open a couple of these before dinner?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “That will give me an excuse to show you the kitchen.”

After making our way across the house, I paused dramatically at the entrance to the kitchen so Gary could take it all in. The last time he had been here, everything was still original to the house. Linoleum flooring. Formica countertops. Kitschy kitchen relics from the long distant past. It was like walking into one of those period exhibits in a history museum. A history museum dedicated to bad kitchen taste.

Since then, everything got upgraded. The pink cabinets ripped out by the root and replaced with a modern slate grey. Gus had pulled apart the formica countertops with a crowbar, then replaced them with a metallic pearl granite. The new faux oak flooring I selected was pristine. Not a single nick, scrape, or stain. The entire room was transformed. Except the wallpaper. Wallpaper that refused to peel off. Wallpaper that refused to die. Like a cockroach scurrying around in the wake of an atom bomb.

“Well?” I asked. “What do you think?”

Gary took his time as he circled the kitchen, looking everything over with a critical eye. “I like it,” he said at last. “You did an amazing job. Really.”Another Gary compliment!

I handed Gary a beer. He took a long sip. “But I see what you mean about the wallpaper. Doesn’t really match your new vibe..”

“Gee, you think?” I took a sip of my beer, too.

“I still think you should keep it, though.” Gary traced his finger along one of the vines.

“You’re serious?” It was like he had some sort of wallpaper fetish or something.Is that even a thing?

“It’s authentic.” Gary tilted his bottle for emphasis.

“Dated.” I tilted mine for rebuttal.

“Classic,” said Gary.

“Old,” I countered.

“You know what they say?” Gary pointed at the wallpaper. “Retro is the future.”

I rolled my eyes. “They don’t say that. No one says that. It’s two completely different styles. You put them together and they clash.”

The dimple on Gary’s left cheek made an appearance. His sea foam green eyes twinkled.

I could tell he was up to something. “What?” I asked, taking a sip of SourPaw to brace for whatever he said next.

Gary pointed to my beer bottle. “What was the first sour you ever had?”

“This one,” I said. “I tried it at the brewery. And the only reason I even tried it is because Mike, the owner, was giving out free samples.”

“What did you think when you first saw it on the tap list?”

“What do you mean?” I wasn’t sure where Gary was going with this. If he was trying to convince me of something, he would fail. Once I made up my mind, it didn’t change. Ever.

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