Page 84 of The Music of Us
In her arms, Mom held a dozing, tiny gray-and-white kitten. I covered my mouth to contain the little squeak that threatenedto come out when I noticed the cute, dark smudge in the middle of his nose.
Sometimes, after all the lemons, life gave you kittens.
“He’s so small,” I whispered, admiring his pink paw pads.
“Inez from the shelter called,” Mom told me. “The mother died, and only two kittens survived. Inez was desperate to find someone who’d be available to bottle-feed them.” She nodded at the empty formula bottle sitting next to her on the table. “I figured there’s not much for me to do at the moment, so I could take care of them. At least until we see what happens with the livestream and where we go from there.”
Where we go from there. By that, she meant,If we have to close our doors and can’t take care of them anymore.
I looked down at the kitten again, feeling a mixture of emotions. I was glad we could help now—but at the same time, this would be another loss if it all went wrong.
I’d already have to say goodbye to Jake.
What if everything we planned still wasn’t enough?
Mom met my eyes as if she could sense my thoughts. “This is still being there, Lucy. I need you to remember that, okay? And I’m glad to see you’re doing better today.” Mom eyed my lace dress and desert wedges. “You only wear that outfit when you’re feeling good. I’m happy you got to take your time this morning and sleep in.”
“Even though I was late?”
“For good reason,” Mom pointed out. She studied my face. “I also would’ve understood if you didn’t come in at all. You missing today wouldn’t have taken away from all the other things you do—and have always done—for me and this place.”
I glanced back through the glass at Amber and the boys. Iwasn’t here this morning, and things turned out okay, despite my worry. Mom got new foster kittens, but she dealt with it without me, despite her crutches.
My fears about my home not always being here still held me tight, but even so, I could feel their grip begin to loosen, just a bit.
I had watched Mom get hurt and this place go down, seen so many abandoned cats come in as living proof that people and love fall through. It felt like I’d been working as hard as I could to prove I wasn’t like them—and to protect everything that mattered to me, even if it meant losing some of the joy that came from following my own dreams.
And while I’d still do anything for this place and Mom, maybe I didn’t have as much to prove as I’d thought.
“See?” Mom said teasingly, as she noticed the look on my face. “You weren’t here to hold the world up, and it’s still spinning safely.”
I let out a laugh at her unexpected—but true—statement. Putting it that way made my worries about leaving sound smaller. What if my being at The Tiny Tiger wasn’t what would keep it going? And whether I was there or miles away, did my anxiety about it really change anything?
I felt a boost of confidence, before realizing something else. “Wait, you mentioned two kittens. Where’s the other one?”
“She kept on distracting her brother while he was eating, so I had Jake take her to Rumple’s room,” Mom told me.
I made my way down the hall, only to pause a step before the doorway, torn. I wanted to see the new kitten, but I also hadn’t spoken to Jake—not since yesterday when I said...
Okay, well, I didn’t remember what I said, because, wow,that allergy medication was strong. Someone needed to alert the CIA that there’s a new DIY truth serum out there.
But I knew I’d said a lot, most of which I probably shouldn’t have.
I forced my feet to start moving, a dozen speeches and game plans flitting through my mind, but they all stopped mid-draft as soon as I entered the room.
Jake stood by the window, bottle-feeding a calico kitten in his arms.
He’d taken off his plaid outer shirt to wrap around the kitten as he cradled her, leaving him in a plain black fitted tee that skimmed his toned arms and the long, lean lines of his torso. Meanwhile, the kitten’s teeny-tiny little paws kneaded the soft shirt-turned-blanket as she drank.
Remember, I told myself,Jake’s a bad idea. You can’t like him like that anymore.
Despite this timely reminder, instead of looking away, my treacherous, traitorous gaze met Jake’s across the room.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. It was like the moment of silence when you set a vinyl record on a turntable, and the record spins soundlessly as the needle tries to find the proper groove.
As if sensing a shift in the atmosphere, the kitten in Jake’s arms took a break to study me with wide, baby-blue eyes—the color all kittens have.
The color I know she’d lose not long from now.
