Page 28 of Kitten

My fingers accidentally grazed James. I was alarmed by the hardness of his flesh. Mistaking my touch for flirtation, James lifted the bottom of my shirt. I felt nothing down there but didn’t care enough to protest.

Silver burrowed farther down the sheets, as if to give us privacy. Gripped by a stroke of inspiration, I leaned upward, made my tongue straight and erect, and licked James’s lip. “That tickles,” he said, laughing, and put his fingers on my underwear. This time, his touch was like an electric jolt. I rolled away from him and curled into myself at the end of the bed, impressed by my nimbleness.

“What are you doing down there?”

Encouraged by the teasing tone of his voice, I said, “Come get me.”

James paused, then lunged. I dove off the bed. He laughed, so did I. He followed me onto the floor, then made himself big to catch me, spreading his arms and legs out wide like a determined goalkeeper. I slipped off to his side and darted behind him.

I was the fastest creature alive. Giddy with adrenaline, I jumped back onto the bed, keeping clear of the lump that was Silver. James clambered with a flourish onto the mattress, then took one final lunge—I ducked—he tumbled past me and back onto the floor.

I was laughing very hard now, feeling victorious and happy. Flopping onto my back, I spread out my legs and allowed myself a few victory kicks. Even Silver emerged to see what all the commotion was about. Then James pinned me by my wrists to the bed. He was slightly out of breath, his cheeks were red, and I remembered why our chase had started in the first place. He put his fingers on the hem of my underwear. I couldn’t help it; I whined.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You don’t want to?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh.” He sat up, releasing me. “Then let’s not.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, don’t worry.” Relaxed voice, shrug of the shoulders. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. I believed him, but I was disappointed that our precious moment had beenspoiled. I wanted to ask why we couldn’t keep playing just because we weren’t having sex.

But James had already disappeared into his sweater. When he reemerged, he gave me a smile and tousled my hair. I accepted the moment was over and retrieved my clothes from the floor. My T-shirt slid over my head. My heartbeat slowed to its regular pace.

—

The next afternoon, James tooka phone call with his parents. It started as a quick discussion about souvenirs from Spain, but an hour later, they were still talking. The length of their conversation and the inanity of the topics (VAT, corn flour) annoyed me inexplicably. I closed myself in the bedroom with Silver, then opened my call history with my mother. The missed call from a couple days ago was our only activity in a year. If something terrible had happened to her, I wouldn’t know, I couldn’t check. Then I was unable to stop my thoughts from running: What if she was ill? What if she’d been asleep when I called, bedridden and depressed, with nobody to stroke the small divot of her thumb, nobody to bring her an applesauce?

Silver nosed between my face and the screen, licking the bottom of my nose. The alarming stink of her breath snapped me back to the present. I took her to the bathroom, sat her down on the toilet, and pushed my fingers inside her mouth. With a dab of toothpaste, I rubbed my finger over her pebbly teeth. She bleated in vicious protest. “Shush,” I whispered. “I’m trying to help you.” I focused on applying the samepressure to each individual tooth, the repetitiveness of the movement loosening the knot inside me. It only took two minutes, but by the end she was whining so much I worried James would come. I put my nose to her mouth and sniffed, pleased at the minty freshness. For the rest of the day, she lapped incessantly at the air, her tongue fluttering in and out of her mouth like a ribbon caught in the wind.

—

“I don’t want to goback to the city.” It was dark, James’s voice low. Every few seconds, the beam of the local lighthouse swept through the room, illuminating the tip of his nose. It was Friday night. We’d been in Holme for only five days, but it seemed to me like weeks had passed.

“Can’t you stay?”

We lay side by side with our faces to the ceiling, our feet touching beneath the blanket. Silver sat between us, her head swiveling to the light. My hand was warm over her back. James’s hand lay flat on my belly.

“No,” he said. “Maybe. Yes. I could stay. Tell them I’m sick. Ha, imagine.”

I imagined it.

“It won’t be so bad. I mean, it’ll be nice to be productive again.”

“You’re not going to call in sick.”

“No, I can’t really.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’ve already committed to it,” he said, not really answering the question.

I tipped my face toward the ceiling. “You feel different here. Happier.”

“Do I? I don’t know. Something about home, right?”