Page 5 of Away With You
“It was a gift,” I lie. Because I am addicted to buying science-themed cups and mugs and t-shirts and yes, I’m ashamed of it.
“Ah.” He takes a sip of tea and hums out such an appreciative sigh that I feel it throughout my body. “That’s a good cup of tea.”
You know he’s from the posh end of England when he says things like that; most people I know would call it a ‘good cuppa’ and leave it at that. This was one of the first things that struck me when meeting Nathan way back when. He appears to be like everyone else, but then he sounds like Prince Harry and looks like Prince William (the younger years, before the unfortunate hairline situation), and you just know he is a few rungs above the rest of us.
Not that it was unexpected to find someone rich at Kensington College. It wasn’t quite Eton College, the elite school for royalty and the like, but it was the sort of place I could only afford with a scholarship and a bucketload of luck. It’s why I only attended from Year 12 onwards. My prior school had identified me as ‘advanced and rapidly outgrowing their capabilities’ and encouraged me to apply for every scholarship around. My mum and I were in shock when I received offers to attend not one but four of the top schools in inner London. After many pros and cons lists, we settled on Kensington College, which brought my life into Nathan’s orbit.
I still remember the first time I saw him. I’d been lurking in the corridor (it’s the only way to describe it; I wanted to be as invisible as possible). Nathan had spotted me, beamed a smile in my direction and yelled in a booming voice, “Hey, I don’t know you, yet.” In that moment, I’d braced for some teasing to follow, something about my braces or my wild halo of hair, but instead, he’d come over and introduced himself. After a few seconds spent trying to remember my name, I’d muttered “Hi, I’m Katie,” to which he’d grinned and said, “Happy to meet you, Kitty Kat.”
It’s not like we became besties after that—he was way too cool, way too on the road to greatness for me to take up much of his time—but he was always nice to me. Always ready to give me a smile. And when he left before Year 13 to pursue his F1 dream, I’d noticed his absence in the way one may notice a missing middle toe. Not essential for everyday functioning, but nice to have.
“So, do you live here alone?” His question breaks through my trip down memory lane.
“No…” I wave my hand in the air, and he sits up a little straighter, on the alert.
“No?”
“I share my flat with an overbearing princess.”
Right on cue, the princess graces us with her presence. Slinking into the room with the grace of a lioness stalking its prey, she winds her way through my legs, flicking me with her tail before setting her judgmental stare on our guest. In my twenty-six years on this Earth, I have identified myself as a dog person, but then one day I was walking past an animal shelter, the same one I pass every day, and I saw her. Or she saw me. And I was hers.
She’s a British shorthair breed with thick grey fur and striking green eyes. The lady at the shelter had assured me her type ofbreed was affectionate and gentle, and yet this one—the one who imprinted on me or vice versa—is anything but. She’s moody and disapproving, and I swear she’s plotting to kill me in my sleep. Sometimes I wake in the morning to her face pressed against mine, staring at me with condemnation for acts I’ve yet to commit.
But despite all this, she’s someone to come home to. Someone who expects me to come home, if only to feed her and scratch her belly. It’s nice to not be completely alone in this world.
“Who do we have here?” Nathan asks, staring down at the fur ball at his feet, which looks just about ready to pounce. Luckily, it’s the dead of winter and he’s wearing thick denim jeans, or else his shins would soon cry out for mercy.
“This is Nuke,” I make the introduction. “Nuke, this is my friend Nathan. We like him. Don’t hurt him.”
Nathan’s eyes fly to mine, humour and something else lurking in his gaze. “Nuke? As in nuclear weapon?”
I snicker, because it’s not a correct guess, but it’s also sort of perfect. “No, but she’s as destructive as a nuclear bomb. This little minx is called Nuke, short for nucleus. Because she thinks she’s the centre of everything.”
He reaches out his hand, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what Nuke does. More than likely, she’ll draw blood, and I’m already mapping my route to the first aid cabinet. So, you can imagine my surprise when my prickly feline leans into Nathan’s enormous hand, purring out loud with pleasure.
“I’ve never heard her make that sound before.” I gape at the sight in front of me, shocked even further when he scoops her up into his beefy arms and nuzzles her soft head with his firm-looking stubbled jaw.
I will not be jealous of my cat. I will not be jealous of my cat.
“You really are a princess, aren’t you?” he croons into her neck as she burrows deep into his chest, throwing a look that screams ‘I love him more than you,’ in my direction.
“Unbelievable.” I’m disgruntled and not afraid to show it.
He lifts a shoulder, careful not to disturb his newest fan, who is now wrapping herself around the back of his neck like a scarf. “What can I say? The ladies love me.”
This is true. The man has always been too handsome for his own good, and when it’s combined with his charisma and his general good-guy energy, he’s hard to resist. It’s why I put him in the friend zone back in school; a mechanism to protect myself from inevitable heartbreak. That sort of man would never go for a girl like me.
“Humph.” I cross my arms and glare at the pair of them. Nathan is now stroking Nuke’s tail, while she rests her head on his shoulder, her eyes closed with a blissed-out expression.
“Now that I’ve made friends with your roommate, tell me a bit more about your life. I remember you being super close with your mum, does she live nearby?”
My body jolts like he’d just struck me. I pull a breath in through my nose and out of my mouth, practising the coping techniques given to me by the therapist I’ve visited on occasion over the years. One of the first things she told me was that grief is like the ocean; sometimes it laps at your feet, going almost unnoticed, and other times it hits you like a tidal wave.
This is one of those times.
“Um.” I force my throat to open and let words out. It’s tight from holding my tears at bay and my lips are smooshed together to stop them from quivering. I imagine I’m quite the sight to behold right now, here on my couch, barely holding it together. “Mum passed away just over two years ago.”
I hate every one of those words. And that it’s now over two years, when I blinked and it was under. Time is taking mefurther and further away from the last moments I had with her, and it kills me how much of a memory she’s becoming. Just a memory.
