Page 30 of Kitten

“Sorry,” he said. “Do you want to come up on the bed? I don’t know, this just doesn’t feel normal.” He paused. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes.” I reached for my shirt. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry. Maybe it’s me.”

“It’s okay,” I said. My face prickled with heat. James had never rejected me before. I was used to feeling odd around other people, but not around him.

I waited for James to say something, but he went downstairs without a word, only a chaste pat on my head. I pictured myself from his perspective and saw that I looked ridiculous. The humiliation was total; I had to simply wait for it to pass. Silver licked herself from across the bedroom. I could not meet her eye.

We ate dinner quietly, the wet sound of Silver lapping at her food occasionally breaking through the drumming of the rain. I looked at her, at the committed nodding of her head and her small balled feet, and was filled with an unplaceable grief.

9

On Sunday, James asked if we could spend the morning in town. “I’m getting cabin fever,” he said, opening the windows. The sky was patched in yellow-gray clouds, the sun leaking feebly through.

“You can go out.”

“But I want to go with you. I’d really like a day together before I go back to the city.”

Had it been that long already? By my hip, Silver snored. “Can she come?”

“Um, no,” James said. “It’s town.”

“Don’t you think she’d enjoy town?”

“Katie, what’s up with you? She won’tenjoy town.She’s a cat.”

“Just a little while longer.” The idea of getting dressed and going to town was extraordinarily unappealing. I didn’t want to walk down Holme’s gray and gaping streets while avoiding eye contact with its townspeople. I belonged here, in bed, with Silver. I buried my face into her fur and drew a deep breath. She smelled pleasantly funky, like old bedding and briny water.

“Come on,” James said. Silver whined, and my eyes flooded with light. He picked her up and held tight to her wriggling body. “Please. I haven’t been back in forever.”

He sounded deflated. I thought back to my birthday dinner at the Georgian restaurant, his excitement about taking me here. The giddiness I experienced back then felt so far away, fake. Before I could stop myself, I said, “Okay.”

James smiled. There it was, flicker of that old feeling. A piece sliced from his joy, mine to hold for a while. I was relieved. James was good. James made me very happy.

—

The local art museum wasnewly open after a renovation. Tickets were free for under twenty-fives, but I forgot my ID, so James paid for two adult entries. The building was sparse and elegant, large windows suffusing the halls in white sunshine. Heels clicked against stone flooring. Somewhere in another room, a child was being scolded out of a tantrum. I hoped Silver wasn’t lonely.

“Look. That’s a Teresa Tanaki-Smith.” James pointed to a large bronze sculpture in the middle of the room. “She’s a local.”

I approached the artwork. What I initially thought was a misshapen tube was really a fish. The fish’s body was rough and pockmarked. It balanced on one delicate fin, gaping at the ceiling with beady eyes and a wide, open mouth. I took a step back. It was so sad and so clearly doomed.

James turned to look at me, because I’d begun to cry. “What’s wrong?”

I thrust my hand out to comfort the fish. James caught it.Gently, he said, “You can’t do that.” I twisted and backed out of the room.

“What’s wrong?” James followed me. “Was it the fish?”

“It’s terrible.”

“She’s very good at depicting suffering, isn’t she?” said James. “A bit too good.”

I wiped my cheeks and shook my head. I didn’t know feeling upset was the correct response. “I don’t get it.”

“I just meant that the fish is suffering. It’s trying to inhale, but it can’t.”

I felt violated. The fish’s ugly face burned in my head. I could hear it breathing, a raspyhuhhhhhhthat filled me with desperation. “Why would you put something in the world just to make it suffer?”