Page 58 of Kitten

“Has that happened to you before?”

“A long time ago. I used to get them when I was a kid, but—” James swallowed. “It’s not like I’m actively anxious. It’s more like I’m just blank, and then suddenly full of something.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

He looked surprised. “You can drive?”

“Of course,” I said, then felt a little bit bad about it. “I’m from a place with absolutely zero public transportation.”

“You, driving a car,” James said. “I don’t know why I assumed you couldn’t.”

“Probably because I wanted you to.”

James gave a smallhmbut said nothing else. I reached out my palm, where he cautiously placed the keys. We walked back to the car on opposite sides. I brought the seat closer to the wheel, then connected my phone to Bluetooth, playing the podcast I knew he liked.

—

On the subway ride home,after we dropped off the car, I received a message from Lou.

you’re back!

also i got the money. thanks

drinks tmrw?

I’d forgotten I shared my location with Lou. I didn’t even share it with James, which to her was criminal. Apparently it betrayed an aversion toward intimacy. I textedYesright away.

The station was crowded. It was half past five in the evening, the after-work rush. A man in a full business suit slammed into me and scoffed. I was wearing Silver’s cat backpack, which, I was willing to admit, gave me an inconvenient bulk. But just because the backpack was empty didn’t mean it wasn’t important. I considered yelling that after the businessman, but James looked exhausted, and I didn’t want to cause any more trouble. Before we left, he’d wanted to throw the backpack away, which seemed both violent to her memory and wasteful. We deliberated extensively, but the second I brought up how it would be offensive to Silver’s memory, James shut down and said: “Fine, Katie, do whatever you want, I don’t care.”

The first thing I noticed when we returned to James’s apartment was the familiar smell of fresh laundry. I wanted to bury my face in the cramped bristles of the rug, even though the scent was probably not coming from there. I felt a resigned sadness that I recognized as nostalgia, my body without my consent categorizing James’s apartment as a thing of the past, even though I was presently standing inside it. Ihung my coat carefully on the rack while James nudged his shoes off with his feet.

“I’m really tired,” James said. “Will you be okay if I just go lie down for a bit?”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m a bit hungry.”

“Okay.” He gestured to the kitchen. “I think everything’s probably gone bad, but there are some frozen meals.”

“Which one do you want?”

“I don’t want anything. I’m just going to the bedroom.”

I followed James inside. The room was dark, the curtains drawn. Unfamiliar shadows hovered by unfamiliar shapes: the new dresser James purchased for me, a blob on the bed. My heart leapt—Silver—but it was only BLÅHAJ, the shark from IKEA. James put BLÅHAJ on the floor. I felt sorry for him. It wasn’t BLÅHAJ’s fault that there was this new psychic hole in our lives. He looked awkward down there, oversized and unwanted.

I curled on the bed next to James, close enough to smell his breath. “How do you feel?” I asked.

“I can’t believe I have to go to work on Monday.”

“You can call in sick.”

“Maybe. I do feel kind of off.”

“That’s normal.”

“I just thought I’d feel better here.”