Pawliday Love

The Kitten Clause

THE KITTEN CLAUSE

T he forecast called for snow tonight, but I could smell it coming and knew the weather report had the timing all wrong. I wake early on the 24th of December, the cold seeping past my red flannel pajama pants and oversized hoodie straight into my bones. I creep out of Griffin’s room on my toes, thick purple socks padding my footsteps, and towards the front door. I shimmy as quietly as possible into my coat, toeing into my favorite winter boots, and bounce down the stairs from our shared third floor apartment until I reach the street.

The bakery at the end of the block is still closed, but the smell of their cinnamon and apple spice holiday bread wraps around me like a warm hug. I inhale deeply. The air is chilled, heavy, and grey with the promise of impending snow.

“You’re going to freeze down there.” A familiar voice calls from behind me, and I turn. Ashe is leaning out of our bedroom window, dirty blonde hair tied up in a messy bun, their voice thick with sleep. Well, I guess it’s their bedroom now since I’ve been staying in Griff’s room for the past three days. They draw the blanket on their shoulders closer. “It’s not supposed to snow until tonight, Xiomara.”

I roll my eyes. After five years together, Ashe should know my nose never lies. I guess I can add this to the list of reasons why we didn’t work out, though it feels petty to add it now that we aren’t together. I look away from them, but I can feel them staring at me. I imagine the look on their face, dark eyebrows furrowed over stormy eyes. The same eyes I stared into night after night, the light reflecting in them like they were a gift from the moon herself. Those pale grey eyes that I could paint from memory.

“Those weather guys never get it right,” I call back, pushing those memories back into the Breakup Box, which is what I call the part of my mind where all of my thoughts of Ashe go to die. I look up to the sky as a few stray flurries float past me. I smile, stretching my arms to either side as I turn. It’s scattered at first, but soon comes down heavier, sticking on every car and bike parked along the road. A bubble of laughter escapes me as I spin.

After my hair has been thoroughly saturated and my fingertips have turned to ice, I head inside to start breakfast. This is our last Christmas together before the Fearsome Five disband for good, and the thought pierces through my heart like a bullet. We’d made this pact in high school to stay together, but we were just kids then. We had no way of knowing how much would change for us in just a few short years. Griffin has been spending more and more time away on vacation with his boyfriend/sugar daddy, and although he had promised we would spend Christmas together, he was living it up in Costa Rica until the new year. Rochelle and Maggie found a little house together outside of the city, a cute fixer-upper that was the perfect renovation project for Rochelle with all the historic architecture that Maggie loved. When they started talking about having kids, our three bedroom apartment suddenly seemed too small.

I steal a glance down the hall to the room Ashe and I shared until a few days ago. I can see their movement under the door, casting shadows along the hardwood floor. I try not to think about the way they walk on their toes when the floor is too cold by digging through the fridge, pushing aside abandoned to-go containers to find the eggs. The carton has two sad little eggs tucked into the corner, and I know it’s not enough to feed everyone. Thankfully, the shop on the corner is still open, and even though their eggs are more expensive than the grocery store, it’s within walking distance. I slip back into my boots and coat and head outside once again. The snow covers the ground in soft, powdery goodness, but the temperature is steadily dropping. I hug my coat a little tighter to my body as I lean against the gust of wind that threatens to blow me down the street.

The walk to the bodega is short, and the good people of New York don’t give a shit about my pajama pants tucked into the fuzzy socks peaking over the top of my boots. No one spares a glance my way as I fill my arms with eggs, bread, sliced cheese, and a can of Spam that is dangerously close to its expiration date. I’m only in the shop for a few minutes, but the snow is coming down heavier than before. I know it’s only a matter of time before I’m stuck inside with only my ex, and my thoughts about my ex, to keep me company.

I’ve been making breakfast on Christmas Eve for as long as I can remember. My mom worked at a department store in the mall, so she never had the luxury of having the day off from work. After she left in the morning, I would start making breakfast for my little brothers and keep them entertained until Dad got home from his overnight shift and took over. Spam and eggs tastes like home.

Rochelle is in the kitchen when I get back into the apartment, slicing apples and laying them on a plate next to a small pool of ranch dressing. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

“Maggie’s pregnancy cravings started early today,” Rochelle says, popping a piece of the fruit into her mouth, leaving the ranch untouched. I hang my jacket and abandon my boots by the door. “Apples and ranch. Yesterday, it was pickles, hot Cheetos, and mustard. At least we had it this time so I didn’t have to go out in this weather.”

“Lucky you.” I laugh, placing a warped pan on the stove to start the scrambled eggs. She takes a bowl from the cupboard and hands it to me, and I start my breakfast routine. I whip the eggs as Maggie waddles into the kitchen, her baby bump leading the way. With Rochelle’s help, she hops onto the counter and starts digging into her very gross snack.

“Xio, are you okay?” She asks. She doesn’t need to clarify for me to know she’s talking about the breakup. I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid talking about it. Or thinking about it. I was content to pretend it didn’t affect me at all. Maggie’s wide brown eyes feel like they’re burning holes into my back as she watches me.

“Of course I am,” I say, pouring the eggs into the pan. “We both knew this was for the best.” I watch her and Rochelle exchange a look from the corner of my eye, and Rochelle shrugs silently. They’ve clearly been talking about me —and the breakup. Maggie opens her mouth to speak, but cuts herself off when Ashe emerges from the bedroom, fully dressed and heading towards the fire escape. They smoke cigarettes, which might be the only thing about them I find unattractive. Found unattractive. I can’t find anything about them attractive anymore. Maggie waits until the window closes behind them before she turns back to me.

“Xio—”

“Really, I’m fine.” I cut her off, but I don’t look away from the stove. “Some people just grow apart. They’re not upset, and neither am I.” Truthfully, I wouldn’t know if Ashe was upset. I hadn’t checked in on them since I moved out of our room. They aren’t the type to share their feelings, so it would take a lot of convincing for someone like Maggie to get it out of them. I knew that struggle firsthand. To Maggie’s credit, she doesn’t push the topic any further.

A flash of movement catches my attention outside, and my gaze drifts from the eggs to the brown blur darting through the snow. I blink and rub my eyes, but the blur is gone just as fast as it appeared.

“Did you see that?” I ask, but my friends shake their head. Rochelle humors me and looks out the window, but shrugs when she doesn’t see anything.

Maybe I’m imagining things.

The Spam hits the pan next, the smell of the meat salty and pungent. I take turns toasting the bread and rotating the slices in the pan, spreading butter on the toast as the meat crisps at the edges. Soon, I have four plates of spam and eggs on toast, each with a piece of cheese melting on top. Maggie and Rochelle take their plates with a polite nod before disappearing to the living room, and I find myself standing alone in the kitchen with my plate in one hand, and Ashe’s in the other.

I catch myself staring out at them, admiring the curve of their jaw and the fullness of their lips. I remember how those lips felt on mine, on every inch of me. They know their way around my body like the back of their hand, every touch deliberate to make me shiver. I’m lost in the memory of their hands caressing my most sensitive parts, knowing me in a way no one else has. I tilt my head, the ghost of their mouth on my neck, until I force myself back into reality.

We are not together anymore.

I climb out onto the fire escape anyway, both breakfast plates in my hand.

“You’re going to freeze out here.” I tease, echoing their words from this morning. They grin, taking their plate with a quick thanks. My heart flutters, but I quickly shove that feeling into the Breakup Box.

“You didn’t have to bring this out.” Ashe says, and I shrug. I take too big of a bite of my toast so I don’t have to respond, but Ashe doesn’t seem to mind. They’ve never been afraid of silence, unlike me who talks too much. They take a bite of their own and stare out across the street. The undisturbed blanket of snow across the tops of cars and down the street feels unreal. My gaze snags on a set of tracks going from a car to an abandoned building across the way. I furrow my brow. What could have been small enough to make those tracks?

Squinting as I chew, I step closer to the rail of the fire escape, and follow the path of paw prints over and over. Movement at the base of a broken window calls my attention, and a little brown tabby cat stares up at me from the sill. I blink, and the cat turns and offers me a good look at its bright red collar. A gasp escapes me, and I leave my plate abandoned as I push against the edge of the rail.

“Holy shit,” I mutter. “It’s gonna die in there.”

“What?” Ashe stands, although, judging by the way they keep looking up and down the street, they don’t see the cat yet. I point, trying not to startle it with too much motion.

“The cat,” My voice is small, but Ashe leans in to listen all the same. “I have to help it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Have you seen this storm?” I have, and stating the obvious makes me want to laugh.

“Yes! And that’s exactly why I have to help it!” I frown at them. “Unless you think I should just let it die in there?”

“No, of course not! I just—” They cut themself off. “No. But we can call animal control. They’ll get it out, I’m sure.”

“They’re not open, and even if they were, they would just throw that cat into the shelter until someone adopts them. It had a collar on, with a bow. That’s someone’s pet. I can’t just leave it!”

“You’re not seriously considering?—”

I push back from the railing and hurry back inside. Maggie and Rochelle have already left the living room, and I bounce through the empty space as I snatch my boots from the floor. I glance at Ashe —I don’t think I could stop myself from doing that if I tried— and they’re standing beside the couch, perplexed. I ignore them and pull my coat back on.

“Xio!”

I run from the apartment and down the stairs, the old metal whining under me. I make it to the street as a gust of wind rips the door from my hand and slams it against the stoop, carving its own path in the gathering snow. With a little more effort than I’m used to, I push the door shut.

I can’t see the little tabby cat in the window as I approach what used to be a cigar shop. When the owner passed away, everyone on the block came out with food and wine to have a party in his honor. The shop had been a staple in the neighborhood for over fifteen years, but it was long gone before we moved into apartment 3-C. Still, the neighbors left it untouched, and since the old man had no kids to take over the business, the building fell into disrepair. The city condemned it in April, and plans to demolish the tiny store were already in motion.

The broken window where the cat slipped in is too small for me to get through, so I make my way around to the back of the building. Several large plywood boards decorated in spray painted street art cover the windows, though several pieces had been pried loose throughout the years as the houseless population found shelter in the abandoned building. Less and less people have come through, which makes me nervous for the state of the inside. My imagination runs away from me, and I have to push away thoughts of finding the cat hurt, or worse.

The back door is cracked open, the hinges bent back in a way they’re not supposed to, wedging the door on the cracked floor inside. The gap is only a few inches wide, and I know for certain that my full figure and thick hips would never fit. I grab onto the doorknob and pull, but it’s no use. Years of rain, sleet, and snow has warped the wood, and it is firmly stuck in place.

I survey the back of the building, looking for an uncovered window I could break and crawl through, when a figure rounds the corner and joins me in the snow.

Ashe.

“If you’re not here to help, go away.” I hiss, stomping away from them. I set my sights on a board lifted in the corner and tuck my icy fingers underneath. Wordlessly, Ashe appears at my side, offering me a pair of leather gloves from the messenger bag slung over their shoulder, and a pitying look that makes me want to scream.

“I think you’re crazy for chasing a cat in a snow storm, but I’m here to help.”

Reluctantly, I take the gloves and slip them on, ignoring the way they look at me. It takes more of a concentrated effort to ignore how close they are, and how much I want to curl up against them to steal their body heat. Instead, I return my attention to the plywood, and with Ashe’s help, I’m able to yank it back far enough to slip through.

The window behind the board is completely shattered, shards of glass scattered across the ground inside the building. I carefully climb over the window sill, the shards crunching beneath my feet. The room is dark, and the smell of tobacco and mildew hang in the air. I try not to gag as I flick on the flashlight on my phone.

Empty gondolas with missing shelves and broken peg boards are scattered around the room. Several swivel chairs with peeling, discolored fabric and rotting wooden legs lay on the floor. A table near the front door is tipped over on its side, acting as a barricade against the outside. We circle around what’s left of the check out counter and towards what was once a walk-in humidor. Tattered blankets are hung inside against the floor to ceiling openings where glass once was, flapping in a breeze that I can’t find the source of.

“This is crazy, Xio. You could be arrested for breaking and entering just to save a stray.” Ashe mutters. I frown.

“It had a collar on. It’s not a stray.” I say, shaking my head. “If you’re so worried about being arrested, you can go home. No one told you to come with me.”

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. You could get hurt! There could be squatters, or toxic mold, or?—”

I spin around, shining my flashlight in their face. Anger blooms in my chest, red hot and spreading like wildfire.

“Or nothing!” I shout. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You broke up with me, remember? I’m not your problem anymore.”

Our last fight plays through my mind before I have a chance to stop it, and once it starts, I can’t put it back into the Breakup Box until it’s over. Standing in our shared bedroom, I barely held my heart together as five years of my life crashed to the ground before me. They told me I was too impulsive, too emotional. Too much. They said they couldn’t make a life with someone who flew by the seat of their pants the way I did. Ashe isn’t like that. They have back up plans for their back up plans. They are the type to memorize their work schedule, but have a copy on the fridge that they check every morning to make sure they never miss a shift. They said that we were too different. All I did was bring them stress.

‘Opposites attract’ only works if it’s not me.

I try to shove their voice, and their words, out of my mind before I break.

“That’s not...” They trail off, and I roll my eyes.

“Go home, Ashe. You don’t have to be part of any of my impulsive decisions any more than Rochelle or Maggie or Griff.” I turn away, willing my bottom lip to stop quivering and my voice to not shake.

From somewhere deeper in the store, the soft chime of a bell pulls my attention. I strain to listen for the sound against the howling of the wind in the hollow spaces. The sound is faint, but I do hear it again, and I set off towards the humidor, leaving Ashe, and the memory of our fight, behind me on the dusty floor.

I pull open the door of the humidor, coughing as a cloud of dust billows from the makeshift curtains. I pull my shirt up over my nose and mouth as I step into the room. The floorboards groan loudly under my feet. I take a cautious step forward, testing each board before I put my full body weight on it.

In the corner of the room, green eyes glint in the light of my flashlight. A small brown tabby, not much bigger than my hand, sits with a red bow attached to a matching collar. A silver bell dangles from the jump ring.

“Hi, little guy.” I say softly, lowering myself into a squat and extending my hand. “You shouldn’t be in here. You could get hurt.” Behind me, Ashe snorts, but I continue. “Do you wanna come home with me? I’ve got a warm bed and I cook some kick-ass chicken. How does that sound?”

I stand again, watching the cat watch me. As it comes closer, I smile, also taking a step forward. I take another step, and another, until I’m within arms reach?—

The board beneath me gives way, and with a deafening crack, it snaps and my leg falls straight through. My chin slams into the floor, and more of the boards splinter and crack under my weight. The kitten startles and leaps over me to run, but the pain in my leg is too severe to focus on anything else. I whimper, hands scrambling across the surface as I try to pull myself out of the hole.

“Are you okay?!” Ashe is by my side as tears well up in my eyes, and it takes everything in me not to cry in front of them. They carefully wrap their arms around me, guiding me to my feet on a more secure surface. I try to stand on my own, but my ankle buckles and I drop to the ground with a yelp. “Xio!”

“I’m okay.” I lie quickly through gritted teeth, my eyes stinging hot with tears and dust and probably asbestos. They don’t believe me for a second.

“Can you walk?”

Carefully, I pull my foot free of its boot and roll down my sock. The skin is angry, red, and inflamed, and I know I can’t put pressure on it until the swelling goes down. I stare at it a little longer than necessary so I don’t meet Ashe’s eyes.

“I...” I don’t want to admit that I can’t walk, but Ashe doesn’t need me to say it to know. They hook their arm under my knees and another behind my back, lifting me easily as they climb to their feet. “The cat?—”

“In my bag,” They say, jerking their head towards the messenger back slung over their shoulder. The bag writhes and soft meows are muffled by the canvas. “Just until we get inside.”

They help me crawl back out the way we came, handing me the bag with the kitten as they make their way through the window. They scoop me back into their arms, and I rest my head against their shoulder, holding the bag against my chest. I close my eyes and inhale, the scent of their mahogany teakwood body wash all too familiar, even if the musty smell on top of it is not. I know I should still be angry with them for following me, but I would be stuck and the kitten would be gone if not for them.

“Thank you,” I mutter as we wade through the snow, more slush than powder as we cross the street.

“You would have done the same for me.”

I snort.

“You wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. You wouldn’t have done something so...” Stupid? Reckless? Irresponsible?

“Brave?” Ashe says, and my mouth falls open.

“What?”

“You saw a cat in danger and just... went for it. You didn’t even think about what could have happened to you in there. I could never be so brave. I’m just glad I was there to help.”

I open and shut my mouth several times as I try to find my words. I’m sure I must look like a koi fish begging for food.

“But you said?—”

“I know what I said, and I was wrong.” They pause in front of the door to our building, and I yank it open with my free hand. The warmth of the heater feels like electricity on my cheeks. Still, I watch Ashe as they search for their words. Always so careful, so deliberate, like every word is chosen just for me. I watch those grey eyes search the index of their mind.

“You could never be too much, Xiomara. You take chances no one else will. You say the things that need to be said, and you don’t accept anything less than what you know you deserve. You take chances that I could never dream of because you know you want more than what you have, and you’re not afraid to do what it takes to get there. I thought I hated all of that. I thought I wanted to find someone who thought the way I do, with lists and spreadsheets, but I realize now how much of life goes by while I’m busy making plans. When Rochelle and Maggie told us they were moving out, I thought you would hold me back from having a life like that, from having a normal family life with someone wanted the same things as me, but I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life.”

I stare up at Ashe, doe eyed and stunned. They stop in front of the elevator and press the button with their elbow.

“You said you couldn’t build a future with me.” I say slowly, disbelief washing over me. They scoff.

“I can’t imagine a future with anyone else.” They steal a glance towards the bag in my lap. “I was stupid for thinking anyone else could fill your shoes.”

I can only stare at them, dumbfounded.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” Ashe continues, watching the numbers on our building’s ancient elevator descend. “I’m sorry for all of it. If you don’t forgive me, I’d understand.”

I grab their face with my free hand and bring their lips to mine. The kitten wriggles between us as I sink into their kiss. They taste like Spam and eggs. Stars flash behind my eyelids, and my heart feels tight in my chest.

I’ve missed this.

As the elevator dings, I pull away, blinking tears away from my eyes. “Let’s go home.” I say with a soft smile. Ashe returns it, leaning their forehead gently against mine. As they carry me onto the elevator, the kitten peaks out of the bag and meows softly at me.

Best Christmas ever .

Reno Phoenix is a non-binary romance, fantasy, and romantasy author who focuses on telling stories with queer voices. Growing up, they devoured every book they could get their hands on, but found a lack of LGBTQ+ fiction. They vowed to one day write stories their younger self would be proud of. In addition, they contribute articles to local magazines and design way too many book covers.

When they’re not writing, they spend time with their wife, Jayne, and their small menagerie of pets in Florida. Follow them on Instagram for the latest on their upcoming books at @renophoenix_author