Page 19 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
I know it’s probably the movers. Or the girls. But still—I hesitate.
It doesn’t quite feel like my flat yet. I haven’t earned the muscle memory of it. The familiarity. The right to swing the door open like I belong here.
I glance at Stella.
She gives me an encouraging smile. “It’s all yours now.”
So I square my shoulders, walk to the door, and open it.
Omar is front and centre, one arm balancing a giant shopping bag, the other clutching a toolbox that has seen better days. Before I can say anything, he leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek.
“Alright, Miranda,” he says warmly. “Point me to wherever things need assembling, and I shall build you a new life, one Allen key at a time.”
“My flatpack hero,” I say, genuinely tempted to cry on him but holding it together.
Bri appears just behind him, carrying something awkward and lumpy under a blanket, looking far too pleased with herself. She greets me with a one-armed hug and a waft of expensive perfume and sarcasm.
“Hello, darling,” she says. “Nice door. Solid hinges. Very ‘divorced but dignified’.”
I narrow my eyes at the blanket. “What is that?”
“Nothing.”
“Bri—”
Before she can dig herself any deeper into whatever nonsense she’s hiding under that blanket, Stella and SJ appear behind us, joining the fray in the open-plan living space that currently contains nothing but an echo, some keys, and Omar’s very organised chaos.
I gesture between them. “Right, quick intros. Stella, this is Bri and Omar. Bri and Omar, this is Stella—she’s been my saviour on all things logistical and was the one who showed me round.”
Omar straightens slightly, giving Stella a warm smile. “Oh. You’re Callum’s partner, aren’t you?”
“Partner, secretary, occasional conscience,” she replies, breezy. “He couldn’t run his life without me.”
“Sounds familiar,” Bri laughs before poking Omar in his side.
He pulls her in his arms before returning his attention to Stella. “Nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure,” she replies.
And then Bri clears her throat loudly—the sort of theatrical preamble that usually ends in something wildly unnecessary.
“Right,” she says, shifting her grip on the mystery bundle. “Now that we’re all here, I’d like to present a little something.”
Omar smirks knowing.
“A housewarming gift,” she goes on, undeterred. “For Miranda and SJ.”
SJ perks up immediately. “Is it biscuits?”
“No,” Bri says, beaming. “Better.”
SJ’s eyes go wide. “Is it a Nintendo?”
“Different kind of responsibility,” she says.
Then, with a grand flourish, she whips the blanket off—revealing a cat carrier. Inside, two wide-eyed kittens blink up at us, pressed together in a huddle of tiny paws and confusion.
One’s a smoky grey tabby, the other a ridiculous marmalade ginger with too-big ears and the expression of someone startled by fireworks.
