Page 8 of Kitten

I nodded. It surely wouldn’t be productive to admit it hadn’t been an accident, so I decided to just play my video. A crackling sound broke through the car speakers, followed by the muffled beat of applause. “What’s with the quality?” James asked.

I was playing a YouTube video of some random nine-year-old playing “Rondo Alla Turca” in a 2003 Christmas recital. This recording was the most similar to my classmate’s performance, underlaid with a steady, old-timey hum and frequently punctured by the sound of coughing. “I like live music,” I said.

James laughed. I liked when James laughed at what I said, even when I didn’t mean for it to be funny. In the rearview mirror, Silver continued to dance.

—

Things took a turn inthe last hour of the drive. The rain grew more intense, and the windshield wipers moved so frantically I feared they’d fly off. Traffic had slowed to a stop. I needed badly to pee, but we were far from a gas station. Silver, at least, had finally calmed.

James asked to put on a podcast. The episode he chose was about the flag of Kyrgyzstan. Specifically, it interrogated whether the squiggly rays extending from the sun looked like a sunflower, and the cultural implications of that image. James minored in foreign relations in college, even though he had no intention to become a diplomat. I felt embarrassed about my total lack of interest in foreign relations.Maybe some people were simply born more curious about things that had nothing to do with them.

Ten minutes in, the podcast was interrupted by a phone call from James’s manager, Tom. James made a displeased nose and disconnected his phone from Bluetooth. Tom’s voice squeaked tinnily from James’s phone. James nodded with more vigor than normal.

“He can’t see you nod,” I said. James shushed me quietly, and Tom stopped speaking. My bladder pulsed against the seatbelt.

“Sorry, I meant to say I agree,” James said, the words coming out in a rush. “I mean, even though it’s not ideal.” The squeak of Tom’s voice grew louder. James nodded even more. I had a bad feeling.

My phone notified me that I had under fifty dollars in my bank account, but I hadn’t made any recent purchases. The charge turned out to be from the university library for two outstanding books. The first was a book about Roman architecture I’d checked out for Lou because she’d ghosted the guy who worked the front desk. The other wasThe House of Mirthby Edith Wharton, borrowed for the literature class I’d spontaneously enrolled in because Lou said people who didn’t read were more likely to be sociopaths. It was my first and last brush with the English department. Most of the readings bored me and I had nothing insightful to say. I foundThe House of Mirthmostly incomprehensible until the end, when Lily Bart kills herself after her failed stint as a hatmaker. I wept myself to sleep and proposed an essay on the tragedy of aging. My professor said I’d missed the point of the novel.

“Okay, Tuesday.” James said. “Until Maddie’s back.”

I turned to check on Silver. I was suddenly afraid that she’d died, that I’d killed her with the cream cheese and the coffee. The backseat was empty.

“James,” I said. The car behind us honked in short bursts, like the driver felt unentitled to his emotions. We inched forward, the strap of the seatbelt pressing into my stomach. I clenched my legs together and tried to convince myself that I’d held my pee for longer before.

When James finally hung up, my body felt like it had been pumped full of hot water and was about to burst. “Silver’s disappeared.” My voice was shriller than I’d intended. “She’s nowhere.”

“What? No, she’s probably just under the seat.” It was clear I was distracting him from something more important. “Listen, that was Tom. I’m really sorry about this, but I’m going to have to go back to the city next Tuesday. They need me at work.”

“What?” My legs slackened. My bladder kicked me, indignant.

“I’m sorry,” said James. He genuinely sounded sorry. “I really don’t want to have to do this. I can’t fucking believe it, they know it’s my first vacation this year. But Patrick quit last month, and it’s a busy time for the team, we have this huge pitch coming up. I’ll be back on Thursday, so it’s just Tuesday to Thursday next week, just three days.”

“I have to pee.”

“What?”

“It’s fine, James. I really have to pee.”

James looked around. If he was surprised by my suddenswitch in tone, he didn’t show it. There wasn’t an easy exit, he said, and I started to cry. “I have to go.” Tears rolled down my cheeks and broke between my lips.

“Katie.” James looked shocked. “It’s okay. Do you want me to—”

Silver meowed. She was sitting by my feet.

“Silver,” I said. Silver meowed again and jumped onto my lap.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” said James.

“You were in the middle of a call.”

“I could’ve stopped.”

“It didn’t matter back then, I didn’t need to go that badly.”

In the side of my vision, things began to blur. The car reconnected to James’s Bluetooth and said in a solemn voice that the sunflower was a symbol of servility. Without warning, the traffic cleared, and everyone started to speed up. Silver pressed her front paws into my stomach. Behind us, the driver had grown in confidence, his honks vibrating through my swollen belly. The baby, I thought, even though there was no baby.

“Go faster,” I said. James pressed down on the gas. I squeezed my eyes shut. I was certain I was going to pee myself. I thought: I am going to pee inside this beautiful new car. This beautiful new car will smell like pee and nobody will want to rent it anymore, which will at least be good for all the uglier cheaper cars.