Page 49 of Pack Scratch Fever
I swallow, nerves eating at me as she eyes the potted plant in my hand.
I don’t get nervous.
I don’t get like this at all,ever.
“I came to apologize,” I admit, placing the terracotta pot on the counter. “For my behavior.”
Another pleased chirp sounds from the floor, and I grimace.
I smell like damn catnip.
Piper nods at the plant, then looks back at me. “And what’s that?” Her eyes are guarded and suspicious.
She has no reason to be friendly to me after the way I behaved.
After I called the catspests.
“It’s a valerian plant,” I say, and her eyes soften. “It has calming effects?—”
“I know about valerian for cats,” she murmurs, reaching out to tenderly touch a green leaf. “Looks like your garden was spared from the colony, then.”
I nod. “They never really hurt it,” I admit. “I have chicken wire over it, but now it makes sense why they were always pawing at it and nuzzling the leaves that would reach through. I basically had a world-class buffet for them.”
She lets out a soft chuckle. “This is very kind,” she admits. “I’m always appreciative of anything that will help the cats.” She tenderly brushes a leaf again, and I’ve never been more jealousof a plant. Then, her eyes meet mine. “Also, you could plant rosemary. That may deter them, too.”
I nod. “I appreciate that. I’ve already done it.”
She bites her lip. “And I’m not sure if you’re planning on growing any other flowers, but lilies?—”
“Tulips, oleanders, daffodils, are all poisonous to them. I looked it up, and I’m not planning on growing anything that could harm the cats,” I admit.
She visibly relaxes, her shoulders sagging, and I frown.
“I’m not a monster,” I say, and she lifts an unimpressed brow.
“You called thempests,” she murmurs. “Even the first time you came in, you acted like they were a burden, and it was my job to fix it.”
You insulted her.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach. My cruelty cannot be excused, and one small plant doesn’t make up for it.
“I’m sorry,” I offer. “I truly am.”
She nods. “It still sucked. You can’t talk to people like that. You can’t talk tomelike that. What if I insulted what you do?” she asks quietly. “The thing that keeps you alive, the place you go to for hours on end. What if I talked down about it?”
There’s a sadness in her eyes, one that I’m not sure was caused by me. “I would agree with you,” I murmur.
I fucking hate what I do. I hate it all.
It’s miserable and shitty and adds nothing to the world.
I help sign off on contracts that screw over small businesses.
Corporations that quadruple a tenant’s rent so that the business is forced to move out.
Maybe part of the reason I was so awful to Piper that night was because she actually enjoys what she does.
She’s passionate about her work, unlike me.
