Page 9 of Kitten

Then Silver butted her head straight into my bladder. James braked hard, narrowly missing the car before us. My stomach spasmed, the seatbelt burned against my neck, andthen I really was peeing myself, hot and strong and fast, feeling mortified but also, it could not be denied, very good, relieved. The honking paused, as if the driver knew what had happened and felt sorry for me. James said, “Oh, Katie,” with a sad look on his face. Finally I was done and everything was quiet and my jeans were soaked through. Silver looked at me with her eyes big and incredulous, like:I didn’t know you were capable of something so terrific.One final, extended honk rang through the silence, and then the car swerved past us and disappeared into the current of the road.

4

We arrived in Holme twenty minutes later. It was early evening. The streets were empty, evidence of a place that took Sunday seriously. As we drove down the main road, James pointed out his favorite places: low-roofed restaurants, the local bakery, everything cast in a flat carnivorous blue. A bit of liquid crept from my ankle into my sock.

James turned onto a wide road with rectangles of grass swaying over the curbs. The houses stood far apart from each other, boxy and glum-looking with their empty black windows. As soon as James parked and switched off the engine, I jumped out the car, my jeans wet against my thighs. Still inside, James rifled through his bag, produced a packet of cleaning wipes, and scrubbed my seat.

Cool air pinched the back of my nose. Beyond the road where we parked, the ocean shone. I expected a feeling to come over me: awe, or wonder. People talked about the ocean like it was this great titanic force, but here it was, calm as a bed.

James emerged from behind me. “What do you think?”

I shifted. “We’re so close to the water. What happens if there’s a tsunami?”

“Here? The waves only really get high in the morning. Usually they’re not even big enough to boogie-board.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You’re sweet,” said James. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen the ocean before.”

“A lot of people haven’t seen the ocean before.”

“You always think a lot of people haven’t done the things you haven’t done,” James said. “Maybe it’s just some people.”

I smiled. It felt nice to think I was part of a rare few.

James’s house looked like something a kid might draw, perfectly symmetrical with a triangular roof. The key ring made a rattling noise as he opened the door. It was full of keys to different places: James’s place in Manhattan, his parents’ home uptown, work, Holme, maybe a few more I didn’t know—a secret other home, or was it a mailbox, a pool, some private sea? I thumbed inside my wet jean pocket. My key to Anna’s wasn’t there; I’d left it at James’s apartment.

The door closed behind me. Too tired to even feign dignity, I peeled off my pants. Inside, the walls were painted sage green. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held books, photo frames, and various trinkets: a Christmas angel ornament, a seashell, small ceramic figurines. In the window, my reflection flashed, enclosed by thick white curtains that looked to have just been moving. An old childhood feeling washed over me—certainty that my items rearranged themselves each time my eyes closed, but so imperceptibly I’d nevernotice. Me, on the outside of a conspiracy, even in my own room.

Silver ran inside. The curtains twitched.

“What do you think?” James asked, his voice almost shy. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” I wrapped my arms around myself. I felt very cold in my underwear.

“It needs refurbishing.”

“I thought refurbishments were for houses that were falling apart.”

“It’s an old house, so there’s always something. The heating’s wonky, you have to kick it. And we want to redo the walls, turn the attic into a functional space. Mom likes a project.”

“But it’s so nice already.”

“Save that for when you meet. She’ll adore you.”

James went to unload the car. He told me the shower was in the master bedroom at the end of the stairs, the one with the towels already laid out on the bed. My feet left momentary prints on the dark wood of the stairs. I walked faster. Without James, each step felt like a trespass.

The master bedroom smelled like clean laundry and old wood, evidently decorated by the same person who did the living room. James’s mother, probably, who liked a project. A patchwork quilt hugged the king bed, otherwise tightly wrapped in white linen and crowned with no fewer than six pillows. Instead of the green downstairs, the walls here were a pale blue. I thought of the red walls of my mother’s house. She hated those walls.

I stepped inside the bathroom. The shower was cavernous, with a speckled stone floor that looked attractively edible, like a slab of nougat, and a wall of shell-like tiles, each pearl square distinct from the rest. I closed my eyes, turned the water to the highest heat, and stood beneath the spray. I counted to ten—fifty—one hundred. When was the last time I’d peed myself? Self-control usually came easily to me. I could cry on command if I wanted, which as a child was often, but I could also keep myself from crying at all, even in great physical discomfort. I could run for hours without stopping. I only ever ate until I felt full; I never understood the need people had for more. If I was sleeping with someone, I could make myself come easily when I wanted it to end, and if I was alone, I could finish in less than a minute.

The water beat my back. I screwed my eyes shut, resisting the urge to move. Not moving was something I could do. I counted to one hundred fifty, and then to two hundred. Could somebody else get to two hundred? I went again.

When I opened my eyes, my skin was pink. I stuffed my face into a towel and thrashed my head, sharp with energy that needed fracturing. I pressed my hands deep into my eye sockets until the black of my vision became dotted with green and pink and red. When I put the towel down, my reflection alarmed me.

Both my eyes were red, but something was very wrong with the left. Around the pupil, cannibalizing the white of my eye, was a big blob of scarlet. I picked up my phone from the counter and went on Google. Apparently, I had burst a blood vessel.

My phone buzzed with a text. For a second, I hoped it was from my mother, but it was only James. Dinner was ready.