Page 53 of Faking the Goal

TAYLOR

After one hour of Kentaro's so-called beginner skating lesson, I'm convinced ice skating is a form of torture that somehow slipped through every international convention.

Everything hurts.

My legs ache, my back aches, my feet feel like they've been beaten with tiny hammers, and whatever dignity I brought onto that rink is probably still lying somewhere on the ice. I fell so many times I stopped counting after the fifth one, mostly because keeping track was becoming depressing.

By the time I pull into my apartment parking lot, I'm exhausted and sore enough that walking from my car to the building feels like another workout I didn't consent to.

I grab my bags and hobble inside, already thinking about my couch.

My beautiful pink Craigslist couch.

Best eighty dollars I've ever spent.

By the time I reach my door, I notice a small rectangular package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the floor beside it. I slow down, frowning because I don't remember ordering anything, although with how exhausted I've been lately, there's a decent chance I bought something online and completely forgot about it.

I pick it up and turn it over, but there's nothing written anywhere. No shipping label, no return address, not even a name telling me whether the damn thing is actually mine.

Maybe it was left at the wrong apartment. I should probably put it back where I found it and leave it alone, but curiosity gets the better of me, so I pick it up.

I unlock the door, drop my bags near the entrance, and carry the package to the coffee table before collapsing onto my couch.

I sink into the cushions and close my eyes, tempted to stay exactly where I am until my legs forgive me for what I put them through today. After a minute, I sit up again and reach for the package, figuring I might as well open it and see whether it even belongs to me.

The brown paper tears away easily, revealing a plain white box underneath. When I lift the lid, I find a cream-colored envelope resting on top with HAPPY BIRTHDAY printed across the front.

I stare at it for a second before grabbing my phone to check the date.

"Oh, shit. It is my birthday."

I actually fucking forgot.

I open the envelope and pull out the card.

I really wanted to see you today. I almost came to you, but I know you're still not ready for that.

I don't know how much longer my patience will last. It's getting harder watching you ignore everything I send you.

But it's your birthday, so I'll be understanding. I've waited a long time for us to be together. I guess I can wait a little longer.

For now, I got you something. I saw it and it reminded me of you.

Happy birthday, my little kitten.

We'll be seeing each other soon.

The smile slowly slips from my face as I stare at the messy handwriting, recognizing it almost immediately. It's the same handwriting I've seen on every fucking card that came with those dahlias.

A cold uneasiness spreads through me as I read the message again, my eyes getting stuck on the last two words.

Little kitten.

Nobody calls me that. Nobody has ever called me that.

I look back inside the box and notice something beneath the tissue paper. My fingers are already starting to shake when I pull the paper aside and see white fur underneath, followed by two pointed ears.

My stomach clenches so violently I almost gag.