Page 17 of Kitten

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We were home shortly afterward.I lingered a few steps behind as James fiddled with the lock. In my drunken state, everything gained a sad significance. A line of hollyhocks stood by the door with their shriveled heads hung like funeral-goers. I thought of the graceless aging of flowers,the way they went from gorgeous to dead in just a few days, and reached out to pet them. James put his hand over mine to stop me. “They’re delicate.”

Silver cried out when the door opened. I opened my arms, but she jumped into James’s instead. Her fur was sticky and she smelled delicious, like the buttery sauce from last night’s scallops.

“Hello, my baby,” said James. “What haveyougotten up to? Where haveyoubeen?”

Silver looked at him blankly.

“Silver, you didn’t.” His voice was high-pitched and juvenile. He sniffed at her fur. “You—”

“Can you stop?”

James looked at me.

“Sorry. That voice. Can you tone it down?”

“Sure, okay.” James’s voice returned to its normal register. I was relieved; I missed his adult voice. Plus, baby speak disturbed me. It sounded to me like how a dead person would speak if they were trying to convince you they were alive.

“Did you forget about the dishwasher?” James asked.

“What?”

“She goes inside if it’s not closed all the way. That’s why she’s all buttery.” He sniffed her. “She loves a dirty plate.”

“I don’t remember you telling me that.”

“It’s my fault, I should’ve checked. You go shower, and I’ll give her a bath.”

“But I don’t want to shower. I want to give Silver her bath.” I knew I was acting petulant, but I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts. Mrs. Hartley winking at the waiter,getting whatever she wanted. My mother squinting at the computer, Black Friday.

“It’ll be quicker if I do it,” said James. “How about you wait for me in the bathroom, and then we can shower together, you and me.”

That sounded nice. On the nougat floor of the master shower, I sat and let the water pour over me, counting the tiles on the wall. James met me ten minutes later. He laughed. “You’re very cute, you know that? Here, I’ll wash your hair.”

I enjoyed the familiar pressure of James’s fingers rubbing into my scalp, as if checking for ticks or life-threatening protrusions. The shampoo smelled even better than Lou’s. Up close, I could see each individual dark dot on James’s skin where the hair had been shaved off. I ran my fingers up and down the smooth expanse of his jaw. “Stay put, will you?” he said. “You’re even squirmier than Silver.”

“Your face is so slippery.”

“It’s a whole ordeal when I show up unshaven,” said James. “Julia’s always like,Oh James, you couldn’t have taken two minutes for me?”

James’s impression of Mrs. Hartley was very bad. We laughed. I relaxed.

Later, we lay in bed together, swaddled in blankets. Silver’s fur was the same eucalyptus and vanilla scent of my freshly washed hair.

James asked how I felt. My eyes pricked with tears, so I pulled Silver closer and stuck my face into her damp fur. I wondered what she was thinking. Probably nothing. Between the swim and her dishwasher pillage, she’d had a successfulday. I envied the emptiness of her mind, then felt bad for doubting her capacity for a rich inner life. Really, I envied her inability to speak. She would never be compelled to participate in conversation, feign knowledge, or articulate impossible feelings. She did not have words for how she felt to begin with. I thought back to what I said to Mrs. Hartley at the end of the night, drunk and vindictive, and all the things I either didn’t know to say or said poorly. Speaking was a trap, it ruined things—

“Katie?” James asked. “Are you planning on suffocating down there?”

I looked up. “I thought Mrs. Hartley was really mean.”

“I know.” James’s voice was gentle. “You practically told her she was a bad mother.”

“I’m sorry.” My throat tightened. “I don’t know why I said that, it was terrible.”

“No, it’s okay. She was being mean. She has a mean streak.” James looked distracted, like it pained him to concede this. “She’s a good person. She looked after me for weeks at a time when my mom got sick. To be honest, I think part of me still sees her like I did when I was a kid. Like she’s someone I need to impress.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”