Page 2 of Kitten

James raised his glass, beaming like he was already drunk. In the glow of the fake candles, his smiling face reminded me of the oil lanterns that bears carried in cartoons where everyone lived in nice pebble-dashed cottages. “So, twenty-two. That’s a good age.”

“Thank you,” I said, drinking.

“How do you feel about it?”

“Fine. It doesn’t feel as sexy as twenty-one. Or twenty-six.”

“Twenty-six isn’t sexy. Nobody talks about being twenty-six.” James was twenty-six. I looked at him, trying to decipher if it showed in his features. He’d seemed my age when wefirst met. It was a relief to learn he was older, partly because it explained how much better he was at life, and also because it showed I could be attractive to someone who belonged so clearly in the real world. Later, he told me he thought I was his age. I had to work hard to hide how much that bothered me.

“I have a lot to look forward to, then,” I said.

“No, I’m joking. Twenty-six is nice. But twenty-two is even better.”

Twenty-two was the age my mother was when she had me. The number always seemed full of terrible, life-changing promise.You were the only one at my party,she liked to tease.You kicked when I cut the cake.I peeked at my phone. My belly grew hot, I imagined it swelling. If she did not call today, she would not call again.

The khachapuri came, a boat of cheesy bread with an egg in the center, the yolk trembling, raw. It stared at me, a dot marking the eye. I pictured a chick springing from the dot, drenched in oil and struggling to breathe.

“Oh, that’s perfect.” James was really into this. He used his knife to break the yolk, which oozed around the cut.

I forced a bite. The bread was soft, the cheese tangy. Vaguely I could feel James watching me. He was excited that I was eating something he loved, I could tell. His eyes were so big.

“Yeah, it’s great.” I took another bite. It was actually delicious.

“So, I have something to tell you,” James said. “A birthday surprise.”

“It’s not Silver?”

“No, I know you’re not a cat person.”

How did he know I wasn’t a cat person? Possibly I’d told him this earlier in our relationship, but I wanted to take it back. I thought of Silver’s poking nose, pink as doll shoes. I didn’t know anything back then.

“You know how we spoke about my family’s house? The one by the sea? Now that summer’s over, it’s finally free. Just for two weeks. I asked for some time off work, and I thought, if you wanted, I could take you there. We’ll go on Sunday.”

“Really?” It would be my first time seeing the ocean. And James always said that Holme was his real home. After his mom got sick, they moved to the city to be closer to the good hospitals. His parents still lived uptown.

“I have all these vacation days saved up, and I thought now would be perfect. It’s your birthday. And our half year.”

Two weeks with James, all alone, away from the city and Lou’s passive-aggressive comments about taking out the trash. Already I could feel the fact of our future time together growing precious and significant in my mind. “This means we’re getting serious.”

He smiled. “I’ve never taken anyone there before.”

Suddenly, turning twenty-two seemed like a small miracle. I committed then to memorizing the rest of the night so I could run over the details in my mind whenever I was lonely or bored. The greasy shine of James’s lips, the melodramatic music filling up the room. My only sad thought was that eventually the night would be over, James wouldbe asleep, and there would be nobody to talk to while I lay beside him with my eyes fixed on his remarkably smooth ceiling.

Later, James ordered another bottle, even though we were both pretty tipsy. His cheeks blotched and he laughed in short, loud bursts. The waiter took a deeper liking to us, or to James, and slipped us things we didn’t order: walnut-studded candies, stuffed grape leaves. When the restaurant began to clear, the waiter pulled up a chair and began drinking with us. James had probably invited him, but I’d missed it. James and the waiter spoke animatedly about Tbilisi and what was going on there at the moment. I dipped my finger in my wine when nobody was looking and made little plum-colored smiley faces on the white tablecloth. I thought: We are all very special people.

We finished the second bottle easily. After the bill was settled and we were showered with more treats we didn’t ask for, I felt extraordinarily drunk. My smiley faces had expanded in the tablecloth, cannibalizing each other. I gave myself five minutes before once again making James promise he wouldn’t die before I did. Sometimes I couldn’t tell the difference between a normal thought and a strange one. But James always said yes, I promise. And the way he said it—no hesitation, full eye contact—was so like him. I always believed him.

—

When we returned home, thefloor of James’s apartment was splattered with little piles of vomit, pastel pink and remarkably dainty. James dropped his coat on the floor, thefirst time he didn’t hang it on the iron rack by the door. “Silver?” he called, then started to run. Not wanting to be rude, I dropped my coat, too, but I was careful not to drop it onto the vomit.

James disappeared into his bedroom. I went inside the bathroom. “Silver?” I tried to mimic James’s urgency, but it didn’t sound genuine coming from my mouth. Next to the toilet, I found another blob of vomit.

“Found her.” James walked in with Silver cupped in his arms. There was a limp, sullen quality to her neck suggestive of guilt, but otherwise she looked fine. Her wispy gray fur was fluffed and spotless, her long whiskers pristine. Under the light, her eyes shone like green glass beads. It was a wonder such a lovely creature could still be gross.

“She was under the bed, hiding. She does that when she’s ill.” James kissed Silver’s head. “But she probably ate something she shouldn’t have. Didn’t you?” His voice became thick, sweet. “You ate something youshouldn’thave, didn’t you?”

James had never spoken to me in this manner, not even when I threw up all over him when we first met. I left to wash my hands in the kitchen.