Page 9 of Fruit
“They wouldn’t tell me,” I growl before deflating suddenly.
I’d gone to the vet, and then the shelter, with my mind made up. For the first time since the end of college, I felt like I was making a right decision. It’s a strange feeling to have, considering I’m doing everything an adult is supposed to. I have a job that allows me to scrape by. And not even an aimless job. It’s drone work, sure, but it’s in the area I studied for. I’d been lucky to land it. It made the rudderless emotion inside me feel ungrateful and out of place. I even have an apartment to myself and a group of friends I couldn’t love more, but I still feel pulled by shallow, aimless waters I can’t control.
But, that cat. The strange, lost look in its eyes. The way it had licked at the food, even as exhausted and beaten-down as it was. I hadn’t been able to get it out of my mind, and deciding to take responsibility for her, to have her in my life, had felt grounding. To have that taken from me so suddenly has me spinning.
“Iva. What’s wrong?” Joaquin asks softly. I throw him a look.
“I just told you.”
“Okay. But. Are you sure this is just about the cat?”
“I…” I let out a slow breath. My head slumps against the couch. “I don’t know. I just…fuck. I can’t believe he went to get her before I did,” I say.
Joaquin takes my hand and squeezes it. “It sounds like he’ll take good care of the cat, right?” he says. If I were a better person, that would be a consolation, but it just makes me feel betrayed.
“Yeah,” I say anyway. I close my eyes, feeling defeated.
“Sorry about the cat,” Ezra says, having stepped closer to stroke my hair over the back of the couch. I open my eyes, tilting my head slightly to smile at him.
“She’ll probably be better off with that bastard anyway,” I say.
“No way. You’d make a great cat-mom,” Ezra says in a serious voice. I snort.
“Thanks.”
“I’m making yucca fries,” Ezra cajoles. He’s from an all-American, white family, but Joaquin has been teaching him to cook Latin American food since they started living together.
“You know exactly how to cheer me up,” I say. He smiles at me before kissing me on the forehead.
“You find that dude and I’ll help you steal the cat. We can even put Joaquin in a catsuit for the event,” Ezra smirks.
“I did not volunteer for that,” Joaquin grouses.
“Babe. Come on. It’s for Iva.”
“Yeah,shewants me in a catsuit. Sure.”
I laugh, imagining Joaquin’s broad shoulders and thick thighs in a tight one-piece.
“I vote for the catsuit,” I say.
“Seconded, and the motion passes. Sorry Joaquin, you just got outvoted.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how—"
“Catsuit! Catsuit! Catsuit!” Ezra starts chanting. I join in, laughing, until Joaquin throws his hands in the air.
“Fine. In the event of us having to steal Iva’s cat, I’ll wear a catsuit,” he says. Ezra and I cheer, high-fiving over the back of the couch.
“Okay. Now, someone come to the kitchen with me to make sure I don’t fuck the food up,” Ezra says.
“I’ll go,” I volunteer, getting up. Joaquin gives my wrist a squeeze before letting me go.
I might not have Dumpster Kitten with me, but at least I have yucca fries.
**********
I watch the singer croon about love on the stage. The lights behind her turn blue, and it makes her afro glow like a halo. I sway to the ache in her voice, her brow furrowed and hand clutching at the microphone stand.
