Page 72 of Kitten

I slipped the postcard, along with the café receipt, into my bag, slotting them between a book and my water bottle so they wouldn’t get wrinkled. Knowing the postcard would still be there when I got home filled me with immense satisfaction. I felt very mature, even though I’d just spent fifteen of my mother’s dollars on dessert. Maybe growing up didn’t mean gaining more control but rather learning to exercise the little you already had. In any case, that’s what Silver did. She ate out of dishwashers. She ran into the sea.

—

Afterward, Isabelle and I walkedaround Madison Square Park. I was cold from the ice cream, so Isabelle lent me her scarf. It smelled like the cinnamon of her childhood bedroom. My chest panged with the memory of being inside it.

“Will Bruno come with you when you move?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to him. He’s so happy with his garden and the beach.” Isabelle cleared her throat. “I’ve been meaning to bring this up, actually. I’ve been thinking about Silver.”

I froze. “What about her?”

“I’ve been thinking about how Bruno found her, like he knew exactly where to search. Animals are reallyincredible, you know, they have these powerful instincts. And I remembered reading somewhere that animals have an instinct for when they’re about to die. When they feel it, they take themselves outside to die in the wild. Where they feel they’re safe.”

I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, walking steadily down the path.

“What I’m trying to say is, maybe Silver was already dying before you let her out. And even if you hadn’t unlocked the door, she would’ve found a way to go. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse, but I thought at the very least it would help with the guilt.”

I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. The idea made me so sad I wanted to run away from her, out of the park, fast enough to rid myself of the feeling. How could dying be the last choice Silver ever made? Her bright green eyes flashed in my mind, tuned into signals invisible to me, seeking whatever it was that she wanted. You never knew what other people were really thinking, how they hoped their lives might change, what to them was blue and what was gray and what was bright yellow lake. You only had yourself, your private heart.

So I preferred to think that instead of taking herself to die, Silver went outside to play. She couldn’t have known the tide was higher in the morning. She was just a little animal.

24

The next day, I proposed Nicolo’s idea to Lou. She looked confused. “What, so we’d all live together? The three of us?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Like it was with Becca, but I’d be in the living room. Partially. If that sounds okay to you.”

“And this was Nicolo’s idea? I don’t get why he doesn’t just move out. He’s universally despised.”

“I don’t despise him, actually. And I don’t think you do, either. Honestly, you both remind me of each other. Would you move out just because someone didn’t like you?”

Lou seemed to seriously consider this. “Well, obviously not,” she said. Then, in a scathed tone: “I remind you of Nicolo?”

“In some ways. That’s why you clash. To be honest, I think he’s scared of you.”

“I didn’t know you two were so close.”

“We’re not,” I said. “He’s just an obvious kind of person.”

Over the course of the day, Lou slowly opened to this new arrangement. For dinner, she cooked us both a Thaigreen curry using paste from a jar. While we ate, she scribbled on the back of a takeout menu, making complicated-looking calculations. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” I chewed quietly, unsure of what she was thinking. “Okay, yes, I think this works.” She handed the sheet to me, which showed a proportional split of rent and utilities based on square feet. I couldn’t believe how low the numbers were. Her only request was that I take over cleaning and maintenance of the living room.

“That’s fine,” I responded with a little too much enthusiasm. “I don’t mind cleaning.”

The first order of business was to remove my things from the makeshift storage I’d created from old boxes under her desk. After dinner, I sat on the floor and unfolded my clothes, then categorized them into neat and separate piles. While doing so I felt excited, nearly giddy. I had the urge to jump up and run around the block, shouting to everybody that I passed: I live here now, I live here.

I wanted to text James with the news, but we hadn’t spoken since I messaged him on Halloween. Our exchange confused me. I couldn’t stop thinking about his suggestion that he still wanted us to be involved somehow, even though he’d initiated the break. Sometimes I felt myself reaching for anger or indignation. I would convince myself it wasn’t fair, he was assuming the more controlling position again. But I knew that he was perfectly justified in expressing how he felt to me, especially after I asked. Whenever I tried to be angry with him, I always ended up feeling sorry instead. I wanted to stop thinking about him in such black-and-white ways: whether he was the solution to my problems ortheir enabler, whether he was exceptionally good or terribly normal. Maybe I wanted to stop thinking about myself that way, too. Whether I was loved. Or safe. Or free.

—

By the next evening, I’dalready rearranged the living room corner and stacked my clothes in neat cubes below the window. Nicolo returned from work with his arms full of groceries. He looked at the smoothed-out air mattress I’d found on Facebook Marketplace, a temporary solution, and arched his eyebrows. “Ah, you have finally decided to pay rent,” he said.

“You were right,” I said. “This was the most obvious solution.”

“I know that.”

“What have you brought with you, anyway?”

“A turkey.” He removed a giant raw bird from the bag. “For Thanksgiving.”