Page 42 of You've Got Hate Mail
I couldn’t figure out why she was gaining so much weight until I found the half-eaten block of Velveeta in Lav’s room.
So many questions.
Where did Lav get a block of Velveeta?
How did she get it into her room without me seeing?
What else is hidden in there that the cat can sniff out and eat but I can’t?
I need a fucking break.
The whole damn property does.
“Thanks, Mom, but I really don’t think being Belle’s paralegal would be a good fit for me.”
I freeze as Cricket’s voice drifts up more clearly.
If I move to help the cat, Cricket will hear me.
If I don’t move to help the cat, Cricket will hear the cat.
And I shouldn’t eavesdrop on personal conversations, especially when it sounds like Cricket might be breathing fresh air for the first time in days, so I set my coffee aside and move to help the cat.
Cricket keeps talking like she doesn’t hear us.
“I know you’re trying to help, but—yes, I know it was embarrassing for you. I don’t know how many times you want me to say sorry before you believe me that it was an accident, but?—”
She cuts herself off with a sigh so heavy that it adds an extra layer to the fog sitting in the valley this morning.
“Yes,” she murmurs. “I know… You’re right… Of course… Yes, I’m aware…”
“Get out, cat,” I whisper as I work on tugging Fluffy out of the cat door.
We’ve done this before, and I know pushing her back in won’t work any better.
I need to close the damn thing up.
Or install a bigger one.
Or get this new diet to work for her.
“Well, I’m not disappointingme,” Cricket suddenly says below me. “No.No. Do you know what? I don’t fuc—freakingcarethat I’m a disappointment to you. I’mnotlike Belle and Aurora. I don’twantto keep going to school forever to be a doctor or a lawyer or a professor.I wanted to be a journalist. And the job market is hard right now, and it’s not like I’m asking you for money or a place to live or for you to find me a job. I just want to be me. Is that so much to ask?”
Fluffy and I stare at each other.
Her with the orange patch around her eye over the white fur of her face.
Me with a purple bruise around my eye over the white skin of my face.
My heart claws its way into my throat.
“Yes, I know.” Cricket’s voice has shifted, and the defeat in it sears my soul. “Of course you never mean to make me feel like a disappointment. It’s all in my head. I should see a therapist—no, Mom,I don’t want to be a therapist. I want—right… I know.”
Fluffy meows.
I give one last gentle tug, and she comes tumbling out on me with a yowl.
Cricket still doesn’t seem to hear us.
