Page 94 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

Pleased with myself for not giving in to the little creatures and being responsible, I wander back to the kitchen, where I open the freezer and pull out the carton of gelato. Opening the carton, I realize with bitterness that it's almost gone, just a few spoonfuls left at the bottom. I'll have to ask my mom to buy more or make a trip to the store myself. Or not.

Grabbing a spoon and the half-empty tub of gelato, I go back to the living room and drop onto the sofa with a sigh of satisfaction. On the TV, I begin to flip through the channels. None of the programs look interesting, but I settle on a cooking show. It's nice to have the house all to myself for once. The silence is broken only by the TV and Demon's occasional meow. I begin to feel sleepy again, the ice cream sitting heavy in my stomach, my eyelids drooping despite my efforts to stay awake.

Who knows how much later, I awake with a start, feeling something cold dripping onto my chest. “Shit!”

I jump to my feet and look with horror, first at the ice cream stain on my shirt and then at the sofa cushions, the pale leather now marred by a spreading puddle of chocolate.

I bite my lower lip, trying to come up with a quick solution, my mind racing. Finally, I turn the couch cushion over and hope my mother never sees the stain. It's a childish solution, but the best I can come up with on short notice. I've just finished covering up my crime when I hear a car turn into the driveway, the crunch of tires on gravel announcing their return.

I'm congratulating myself on getting away with it, at least I hope so, when my eyes alight on the aquarium in the corner, the light filtering through the water casting rippling patterns on the wall.

Fuck!

The aquarium lid lies on the floor where I abandoned it, and there sits Demon with her black tail swishing in slow motion and a fishtail protruding from her jaws.

Her yellow eyes meet mine with unmistakable satisfaction. She doesn't just look like she's eaten Ben's favorite fish. She looks like she's thoroughly enjoying my impending doom. If cats could high-five, she'd be raising a paw to the universe right now.

“You didn't,” I whisper, horror mounting as I notice the empty aquarium. “Oh god, did you eat the entire fish family?”

I stumble toward the tank, knocking my shin against the coffee table and releasing a string of profanities that would make a sailor blush. The aquarium water is suspiciously still, devoid of the usual hyperactive fish activity. A single plastic plant bobs in accusation.

When I peer inside, I see the lone survivor, Ben's albino guppy, the ugly one with the bulging eyes.

“You're the only witness,” I tell it seriously. “Never forget what you saw here today.”

It's then I hear footfalls on the front walk, the familiar rhythm of my brother's steps.

“No!” I whisper, bile rising in my throat, my heart pounding against my ribs. I can't let my brother come into the living room.

I run to the front door and throw it open, my bare feet slipping slightly on the polished floor. “Ben, I can explain!” I squeak, lifting my hands in surrender, my voice high and frantic. “I'm so sorry! Please don't kill me!”

Ben doesn't respond. The silence stretches unexpectedly and eerily. Bracing for the explosion of teenage fury, I peek through my fingers, expecting to see my brother's face contorted with rage. But the figure standing on the doorstep isn't my gangly, pimple-faced brother.

Suddenly, my legs turn into wet noodles, unable to support my weight, and my heart starts to smile, a warmth spreading through my chest that has nothing to do with hormones or pregnancy and everything to do with the man standing before me.

“Who's Ben?” His voice is deep and resonant, just as I remember it, a balm to wounds I didn't know needed healing.

And in that moment, looking at him, I know my grandmother was right. This is love, not dependency, fear, or need, but joy. Pure, unexpected, overwhelming joy that makes my heart smile even as tears spring to my eyes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Logan

“Who's Ben, Emily?” I ask her again.

“My brother,” she says in a whisper, staring at me with her eyes wide. She's pale and looks like she's just seen a ghost. Her fingers tremble slightly against the doorframe, and for a moment, I'm thrown back to the first night we met, when she looked at me with that same mixture of fear and awe after nearly running me over with her scooter.

“Oh, okay,” I say as a wave of relief washes over me. “Can I come in?”

She looks behind her and back at me. She seems nervous and keeps chewing on her lips so hard, I'm afraid she's going to make them bleed. The dark circles under her eyes tell me she hasn't been sleeping well. I wonder if the baby is keeping her up at night with morning sickness or if thoughts of me have been haunting her the way thoughts of her have been haunting me. Every night since she left, I've stared at the ceiling of my bedroom, remembering the way her body fit perfectly against mine, the scent of her hair on my pillow.

“It's not a problem if you don't want me to,” I hasten to say. “We can talk here if you prefer.”

I don't want to have this conversation standing on the front step, but I'll do whatever it takes to get Emily to listen to me. I'd kneel in the snow if that's what it took. I spent the three-hour drive rehearsing what to say, and even now, the words don't seem adequate.

She throws another glance behind her and takes a deep breath. “No, it's fine. Come in.” She steps to the side, continuing to look around her as if she's afraid something might jump out at her at any moment. A loose strand of auburn hair falls across her face, and I resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, beginning to worry.

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