Page 117 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“I think I like Kent Mum better,” he says, and nudges the cat toy with his toe. “She laughs more.”
I reach for him and pull him into a hug, tight and warm, his little arms coming around me without hesitation.
So do I, sweetheart. So do I.
It’s late now. The house has quietened—just the occasional creak of ancient pipes and the hum of someone’s overworked boiler.
SJ is finally asleep, curled up like a comma under the covers, one hand still loosely gripping a toy car he insisted needed to sleep “nearby for safety.” I kissed his forehead, turned out the light, and stood there a little too long before slipping back to my room.
The necklace is now in the drawer and it’s best off there. Instead, I go to my bag and take out Jasper’s box.
I’ve thought about it since he gave it to me. Wondered what it could be, resisted the urge to peek, resisted the ache every time I thought about him handing it to me, standing there in his stupidly perfect jumper, smiling like it wasn’t costing him anything.
I climb onto the bed, settle the box in my lap, and slowly peel away the paper.
Then I lift the lid.
And laugh.
Unicorn clog-style slippers. Fluffy. Ridiculous. White with little golden horns and pastel manes, like something plucked straight from a little girl’s dream sequence.
They are… perfect.
Absurd, impractical, cosy—and perfect.
I spot the little card tucked inside the box, nestled between the slippers like it’s trying to stay warm.
A certain eight-year-old let it slip you once had a pair and left them on holiday.
Thought it was time you had another.
No princess should be without her unicorns.
Love, Jasper
That does it. My throat tightens, and I let out a breath that’s halfway between a laugh and something else entirely.
I slide my feet into them—soft, warm, immediately comfy. The manes tickle my ankles. They are not subtle footwear. They are joyful, ridiculous declarations of nonsense. And I love them.
Still smiling, I pad over to the dresser and open the top drawer.
The necklace is exactly where I left it, coiled in its velvet box, waiting to be something significant.
I bring it back to the bed and sit down. Stretch my legs out, slippers front and centre, unicorn horns pointed nobly at the wardrobe. I set the necklace beside them on the duvet.
One gift is chaos and colour. Laughter. Magic. The part of me that’s messy and late and full of ideas. The part I’d started to rediscover.
The other is elegance. Weight. Stability. A future with edges smoothed and mapped out. A version of my life where things are done properly and no one forgets their salad fork.
I stare at both.
And for a long moment, I just sit. Slippers on my feet. Necklace glinting beside me.
Two lives. Two men.
And me, right in the middle.
Chapter thirty-two
