Page 104 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Fuck! I’m sorry, Miranda, I wasn’t thinking,” he sighs.
I close my eyes. Maybe it really wasn’t on purpose. “You know what SJ’s like. If you saymaybewith a smile in your voice, he hearsdefinitelywith Christmas glitter on top.”
“I just… thought it’d be nice,” he says, gentler now. “For him. For all of us.”
I stare at the half-dried tea towel still looped over the sink. “I guess I am coming.”
“Miranda, I can talk to him if you don’t want to—”
“No. Let’s do this,” I say, voice quiet but firm. “Let’s find out where we stand.” Somehow it sounds like a warning, a threat, and not really like someone who is considering spending time with the other person.
He sighs. “Okay. Miranda, I really didn’t mean to put you in this position.”
Another silence.
“I… it’s okay.” I don’t really sound like myself.
“Thank you,” he says at last.
“Gotta go,” I mutter. “Oh, and I am bringing the kittens.” I need my emotional support animals.
“Miranda—”
“See you on the 23rd,” I end the call.
Fuck!I take a deep breath. There is only one thing to do now.
“I’m just going to pop over to Jasper’s for a sec,” I call out to SJ.
He pops his head out of his room. “Why?”
“To say thank you. For the hot chocolate. And for rescuing you with the spare key.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal—but there’s a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It was good hot chocolate.”
“I bet it was.”
I slip my shoes back on and grab my cardigan from the hook.
“Five minutes,” I say over my shoulder.
“Take your time,” he calls after me, already half-wedged between two cushions with Thor curled on his feet like a smug, purring blanket.
I step out into the cool night air, the path between our doors familiar now—just a few strides, but somehow it feels longer today.
I should’ve texted. Or waited until morning. Or left it altogether.
But none of those things felt right, either.
He’s been kind. Thoughtful. Patient with SJ. Better than I ever expected, and somehow that only makes it worse.
Because I can’t string him along. Not when I don’t know what I’m doing. Not when part of me still panics every time I see Sim-Sim’s name on my phone.
Jasper deserves the truth. All of it. Not the polite version.
I reach the door and knock gently. It only takes a second.
He opens it in a T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, holding a book in one hand like I’ve interrupted something far too wholesome.
