Page 95 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“We won’t,” Amelia promises, patting my hand solemnly. “Unless you offer them.”
I bury my face in my coffee.
They both lean in, smug as anything.
I sigh into the lid. “Don’t get that excited. It’s not that straight forward as it sounds…”
Lizzie makes a weird noise and shuffles her chair a little closer.
I take a sip, stalling. “Sim-Sim turned up.”
Both eyebrows go up in perfect synchrony.
“Mid shag?” Amelia snorts.
“At the Christmas fair,” I clarify. “SJ invited him. I didn’t know until he was just… there.”
Amelia winces. “That’s awkward.”
“Mm.”
“And Jasper?” Lizzie says, already guessing.
“Was incredibly polite about it,” I say. “And completely calm. On the surface.”
“And underneath?” Amelia asks.
I stir the coffee I’ve already half-finished. “He was jealous.”
Lizzie grins. “Ooooh, possessive now, is he? I love it.”
“I didn’t say possessive,” I counter. “I said jealous. Quietly. In that British, ‘I’m-fine-but-also-I-might-die-inside’ kind of way.”
Amelia snorts. “Did he say anything?”
“Later. When we were back home, after SJ was asleep. He asked if I thought there was still a chance with Sim-Sim.”
“Oh God,” Lizzie groans. “Did you tell him absolutely not, that ship has sunk and is now an underwater museum?”
I laugh, but it’s a little hollow. “I told him I don’t think so. But I also said that when Sim-Sim turns up it messes with my head a bit. Because we had a whole life once. A messy, flawed, exhausting one… but it was still a life.”
They’re both quiet for a second. Amelia’s expression softens. Lizzie, for once, doesn’t fill the pause with a joke.
“And Jasper?” Amelia says.
“He heard me,” I say. “Didn’t storm out. Didn’t sulk. Just stayed.”
“Because he’s a grown-up,” Lizzie says, a little too smugly. “You’re not dating a man-child. See how healthy this is?”
“I don’t know if I’d call any of it healthy,” I mutter. “But it’s… different.”
“And is ‘different’ good?” Amelia asks.
I glance down at my coffee again.
“SJ asked me if Sim-Sim and I will get back together because we don’t fight that much. He said he’d like that.” The words feel heavy, but I put them out there anyway, because I don’t really know how else to handle them.
Amelia squeezes my hand. “He’s not even nine. I’m not saying he doesn’t understand anything, but for kids, relationships are black and white. If you don’t fight, you must be good together.”
