Page 26 of Kitten

“Katie?”

I froze.

“Hello?”

“Lou.” I must’ve pressed her contact, which sat just above my mother’s, by mistake. My chest felt empty. I wasn’t sure whether the sensation was relief or disappointment. “I’m sorry, it was a butt-dial.”

“Okay,” said Lou. A pause. “Are you lying?”

“I’m sorry.” I began to blabber. “About the utilities. Tell Anna I just need a few more days. I really don’t want to have to ask James.” I swallowed to avoid crying. I’d never cried in front of Lou, though she often cried in front of me.

“It’s fine,” Lou said curtly. “I covered you. Just pay me back when you can.”

“Oh.” I paused to take this in. “Thank you.”

“It’s fine,” she said again. “I felt bad about how I left things.”

“I was being difficult. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Another pause. Lou spoke up. “So how’s James?”

I cleared my throat. “He’s good. Great. And his place is really nice. But I feel weird, I don’t know what’s wrong. He’s been good to me.”

“If he’s being good to you, then what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” I considered my words. “Just, is this normal? Am I in a normal situation?”

“Who cares. You’re in hishouse.You’re notpaying.”

“But it’s really awkward. I feel like everybody treats me like they don’t want me here, and only James can’t tell.”

“He probably can tell,” Lou said. “It just doesn’t matterto him. What makes you think everybody cares that much about you anyway?”

“The people on the street look at me.” I sniffed. “So do waiters. Even the babies.”

Lou snorted. “You can only see someone looking at you if you’re looking at them.”

“They look first. And”—I hesitated—“harder.”

“Okay,” Lou said. “You’re going crazy. Keep this to yourself.”

“Okay.” I nodded.

“You’ve been together for, what, half a year? Yeah, that’s fine. Still honeymoony enough for James to look past all your red flags. No offense. Aren’t you twosoin love, anyway? You were all bug-eyed after your first date.”

“I wouldn’t call that love.”

“Call it what you want,” said Lou. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” I said. “Sorry for the butt-dial.”

“I know it wasn’t a butt-dial, loser,” she said, and hung up.

I returned to the tub, grateful for Lou’s unwillingness to entertain sop. In college, whenever I was depressed, she microwaved meals and left them outside my door. If I bailed on a plan with a passable but false excuse, she only ever reacted with a thumbs-up emoji. And when I returned to campus after my fight with my mother, she hugged me for two full seconds before pumping me with vodka Cokes.

I considered trying my mother again. But the more I hesitated, the more frightened I felt. And beneath that fear was another feeling. Less sharp, but more suffocating for it. Something stuck in the bones: sadness. Scrolling throughmy call history, I confirmed what I already knew. I hadn’t misremembered her number. She had rejected my call.