Page 74 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
Amelia’s perched on the edge of my bed, cradling a novelty mug that saysMum Fuelin chunky pink letters. Steam curls from the top, and she looks far too calm for someone about to launch a full-blown intervention.
“Right,” she says, taking a sip, “let’s talk about your moustache.”
I blink at her. “Sorry—what moustache?”
She leans in slightly, eyes narrowing. “The little blond one. You can only see it when the light hits just right, but trust me, it’s there.”
I slap a hand over my upper lip. “Why has no one told me this before?”
Amelia shrugs, unbothered. “Because we love you and didn’t want you to descend into a spiral. But you’re going on a date now. A date that might involve candlelight. And proximity. So we defuzz.”
“I don’t want to defuzz!”
“You will when you’re sitting across from him wondering if he’s admiring your lip foliage instead of your witty banter.”
I groan and flop backwards on the bed, dislodging a confused Twinklesocks, who had been very much enjoying my stomach as a mattress. Amelia gives the kitten a gentle nudge and sets her tea down with purpose.
“Miranda. You are stunning. You have an excellent dress, a decent pair of shoes, and a man who probably dreams in HD about you. Now sit up. Let me pluck your face.”
“I feel like a prize heifer at a county fair.”
Amelia grins. “A very sexy prize heifer. With great bone structure.”
I’m mid-flinch as Amelia brandishes a pair of tweezers when I blurt, “Sim-Sim came over last night.”
She pauses, tweezers frozen mid-air. “What, with a boombox and a tragic mixtape?”
“No,” I say, rolling my eyes. “To pick up SJ’s football shirt.”
“Ah. The classic pretext.” She tilts her head, studying me. “And?”
“And… he said he misses me.”
Amelia lowers the tweezers slowly. “Well. That’s not nothing.”
“I told him it’s too late,” I mutter. “Which it is.”
She nods, then sips from her tea. “Did he do the full sad-eyes routine?”
“No. It wasn’t a performance. Just honest. Quiet. No pressure.”
Amelia sets the mug down on the dressing table, fingers tapping once against the ceramic. “And how did that feel? Really?”
I hesitate. “Strange. Familiar. Not awful. He asked me to meet him for a coffee to discuss Christmas plans.”
Her brows knit, the humour dropping from her face. “Miranda, I know it’s not my business—”
“You’re about to make it your business, though.”
“Damn right,” she says gently. “I just… I don’t want you getting pulled back into something that made you feel small.”
I blink. “I’m not.”
“I know,” she says. “But even strong people forget what the cage looked like once the door’s been open a while.”
That stops me.
She sighs. “Look, I’m not saying don’t have coffee. I’m not even saying don’t be civil. But you’ve built something for yourself. Stability. Space. And tonight—Jasper. That’s something new. Something that makes you light up when you don’t know you’re doing it.”
