Page 12 of A Love Letter to Whiskey
It was after midnight, but I was wide awake, my stomach in knots knowing my father would be sitting at our kitchen table the next day. Our family was always together on Christmas — no matter what — and while it used to be a tradition I loved, it was one I dreaded now. They used to do it to put on a show for me, to make me feel like our family was somewhat still a unit, but now that I knew everything? I just wondered what the point of it was. I didn’t want to play the game, anymore. So I was tossing and turning, not really even trying to sleep when my phone pinged with a text from Jamie.
— Are you awake? —
I squinted through the darkness at the screen, debating whether to answer or not. There was a strange twist in my stomach urging me not to, but another, more powerful part of me somehow knowing he needed to talk to someone that night. In the end, I gave in to curiosity.
— Indeed I am. —
— Take a drive with me? —
There was that little twist again. The warning bells.
— Sure. —
Less than fifteen minutes later, I was buckled into Jamie’s passenger seat as he cruised the ghosted streets on my side of town. Everyone was asleep, waiting on the big man in the red suit to sneak in through the doggy doors since no one had chimneys in South Florida. We had the town to ourselves, and Jamie took his time, driving slow, no destination in mind. His music was louder that night, William Joseph’s “Standing the Storm” spilling from the speakers as he shifted his grip on the steering wheel over and over. His usual carefree expression had been replaced by a more pensive one, his brows pinched together and his eyes hard on the road in front of us. Every now and then he would sigh, but he still didn’t say a single word. I let him drive in our comfortable silence for almost an hour before I reached forward to lower the volume.
“Did I ever tell you about why I hate cats?”
My words seemed to snap Jamie out of his haze, his head jetting back as a grin split his face. “Oh this ought to be good.”
“See, I had a cat once,” I said, sitting up straighter and tucking my feet under my thighs. I’d already kicked my shoes off, finding my comfortable position in my seat next to Jamie. It felt almost like home after that semester. “Her name was Aurora, like the princess, but we called her Rory. Only she wasn’t a princess. Like, at all. She was actually the devil.”
A loud laugh boomed out of Jamie’s throat and I smiled inside, knowing my story was working — at least at the moment.
“She refused to shit in her litter box. I’m serious — refused. She would shit right outside of it instead. And because I’d begged my mom for the damn cat, guess who got stuck picking up after her?” I poked both of my thumbs hard into my chest. “This girl. But that wasn’t the worst of it.”
“Should I pull over for this?” Jamie teased.
“This is serious, Jamie Shaw!” I smacked his bicep and he chuckled, holding the steering wheel with his thumbs but lifting the rest of his fingers as if to say “my bad.”
“Anyway,” I continued. “So, Rory would always find small ways to torture me. Like she would eat her string toys and then throw up on my favorite clothes. Or wait until I was in the deepest part of sleep and jump onto my bed, meowing like an alleycat right up in my ear.”
“I think I like this Rory.”
I narrowed my eyes, but Jamie just grinned. “You think you’re hilarious, don’t you? Do you just sit around and laugh at your own jokes? Do you write them down and re-read them at night?”
Jamie laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“As I was saying,” I voiced louder. “She was a little brat. But for some weird reason, she always loved to be in the bathroom with me when I took my baths.”
“You take baths?”
“You’re seriously missing the point of this story!”
“There’s a point to this story?”
I huffed, but couldn’t fight the smile on my face. “Yes! The point is, I thought that was our bonding time. Rory would weave around my legs while I undressed and she’d hang out on the side of the tub the entire time I was in the bath, meowing occasionally, pawing at the water. It was kind of cute.”
“So you bridged your relationship with your cat during bath time?”
“Ah, well see, one would think that. But, one night, that little demon hopped onto the counter and just stared at me. I couldn’t figure out why, but she just wouldn’t stop staring. She kept inching her paw up, setting it back down, inching it up, setting it down. And finally I realized what she was going to do — and she knew I did — because as soon as realization dawned, Rory smiled at me — swear to God — and flipped the light off in the bathroom.”
