Chapter 2
CHARITY DOES NOT PAY
MATS
ALL I DID WAS ASK YOU TO HOLD HIM WHILE I GOT THE BATH READY. DIDN’T YOU GROW UP ON A farm? I ask Sinc.
Once I brought the kitten home, my roommates quickly gathered around to help. Ethan Unger is making up a kitten enclosure in my room, and Karl Swanson has gone out to get something to feed the kitten. Sinc, Tyler Bergstrom, and I are in the kitchen. Three guys, and we can’t corral one tiny kitten.
Yeah, but it was a cattle farm, not a cat farm, Sinc explains. That little guy is slippery.
We’re both on our hands and knees as we try to coax the kitten out from the gap under the dishwasher.
Bergy is supervising. Maybe we should try a broom handle? What about the vacuum? We could suck him out.
Use a vacuum on a tiny kitten? Where is your brain? I demand.
Chill, dude. You’re in a bad mood tonight, Bergy grumbles.
Am I? It has been a terrible night, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on my friends.
Sorry. I issue a general apology to everyone, then finally get my hands on some unknown part of the kitten. My reward is getting scratched by razor-sharp claws. I curse, but manage to get him out, then stroke him to calm him down.
Yuck. What’s wrong with him? Bergy squints at the kitten’s matted fur and crusted eyes.
He’ll look better soon. Usually their moms clean them up, but something must have happened to her. I plunge the kitten into the warm water. He lets out a mew of protest then goes limp, resigning himself to the torture. I gently shampoo and rinse his fur, then clean his eyes with a facecloth.
Merrroooooo.
Neko is locked out of the kitchen and not happy about it. But the kitten might have something contagious, so I don’t want to take the risk.
Here, Sinc holds open a towel and I place the kitten inside. We rub him down and dry him off to more protests. Whenever the kitten mews, Neko lets out another howl.
Jesus, Neko, get out of the way. We can hear Swanny outside the kitchen. Bergy goes over to open the door and keep our cat from sneaking in.
They didn’t have any kitten formula, so I got the next best thing according to the internet. Swanny holds up a few jars of chicken baby food.
That’s great. Thanks so much. Let’s try feeding him, I say.
Armed with his newfound online knowledge, Swanny mixes up some diluted baby food.
Can I do it? Sinc asks. He cradles the kitten in his arm, then gently offers him spoonfuls of food. And he makes me take a photo so he can send it to his girlfriend, Andy Robson. At least some women appreciate kitten rescues.
It’s a slow process, but eventually the kitten has had enough.
His belly is rounded and his eyelids droop.
His clean fur is as fluffy as a baby chick’s.
Sinc carries him up to my room, where Ethan has constructed a cardboard nest, complete with a shoebox of cat litter.
As soon as the kitten is placed inside a T-shirt–lined bed, he curls up without a worry in the world.
Man, he’s so cute. Are we going to keep him? Sinc sounds like me as a kid whenever I came across any stray animal.
I don’t think so. He’s too young, and we’re too busy. The shelter will give him to a foster who’s used to raising kittens.
I put Neko in my room, Ethan announces from the doorway. He and Sinc are always vying for Neko to sleep on their beds. Luckily, every one of my roommates likes animals.
Awesome. Thanks for your help, everyone, I say.
Not a problem, says Swanny.
They all disperse back to their rooms, except Sinc, who sits on my bed. So… what happened with Lana that you needed a ride home?
Give me a second. First, I take a bite of the sandwich I made since I missed dinner. Then I roll my shoulders to release some of the tension. It’s been a really long night.
I should have read her mood better. She was really anxious about me meeting her parents for the first time. Anyway, when she parked the car in the underground lot, I heard a meow. I motion towards the kitten. But once I rescued him, we had a big fight about what to do with him.
I was horrified by Lana’s suggestion that we could just leave him and someone else would find him. Then she’d refused to lend me her car to take him to the nearest shelter because I’d be late for dinner.
Finally, she said that if animals were more important to me than people, I shouldn’t bother coming to dinner.
And that we were done. My voice cracks a bit on the last words.
I’d been shocked that Lana went nuclear in what was one of our first fights.
Even now, everything feels both painful and surreal.
Sinc’s eyes widen. Done? So, are you guys broken up now?
I swallow down my own doubts. Of course not. She was furious, but we’ve been going out for months. People don’t break up over one missed dinner. But I’ll have to do something big to make it up to her.
Even though I’m exhausted, I try to figure out a plan. In the morning, I’ll send her flowers. Then I’ll head over after class so we can talk.
Sinc nods. I’m sure you can smooth things over. He gets up to peep at the snoozing kitten and reaches out to pet him. He’s so tiny and helpless. For what it’s worth, I think you did the right thing.
THE NEXT MORNING IS A TOTAL SHIT SHOW. I SLEEP THROUGH MY ALARM, THANKS TO A CERTAIN kitten who woke me up multiple times because he was hungry, lonely, or scratching loudly in his litter box.
I miss breakfast and I’m late to class, since I have to drop the kitten off at the shelter first. Then, I get a message to meet Barb Peachy at the Alumni Office at 4:00 PM today—exactly when I was planning to visit Lana.
Not to mention that it’s Friday, and I have a game tonight.
I hate when my schedule feels out of control like this.
But Lana is my priority, so I skip my last seminar and head straight to her place.
She lives in the Alpha Zeta Mu sorority house.
It’s one of the nicest heritage houses in St. Viola, with red brick and leaded glass windows.
Even in freezing January, a wreath on the door and twinkling lights make the place look Christmas card–perfect.
I knock, and a tall blonde answers. It’s Birgit Jansen, Lana’s best friend.
Hey, Birgit. Is Lana around?
Oh, er, hi, Roy. Instead of her usual friendliness, she looks wary. That’s not a good sign. Birgit’s reaction is a good barometer of Lana’s current mood. Apparently, a good night’s sleep has not alleviated Lana’s degree of pissed off.
Birgit just stares, so I suggest, I’ll just go up to her room. Then I push by to go inside.
She clutches at my arm. I don’t know if that’s a good idea.
She’s still upset?
Birgit nods. I’ve never seen her like this before.
Well, things can’t get better unless we talk.
Whether Birgit agrees or not, she releases me. I take the carpeted stairs two at a time up to Lana’s room. I rap on her door.
Come in, she calls.
I open the door. Hey, Lana.
She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed and studying.
Her blue eyes widen at the sight of me, then all expression drains from her face.
Lana is very good at keeping her emotions in check.
Usually she’s pretty even-tempered, which is something I appreciate about her.
I’m not interested in a lot of drama in a relationship.
I stand at the end of her bed. I want to tell you how sorry I am about last night.
Yes, I understood that from your card. She motions towards the white roses in the corner of her room.
I got white because Lana prefers neutrals.
Her room is furnished with blond wood, natural linens, and soft, knitted throws.
This is her private sanctuary, and even though it’s where we usually sleep together, I always feel like an interloper.
Right now, I’m even more uncomfortable. I unzip my coat and hoodie to cool off.
I know that last night was important to you— I begin.
Yet you insisted on rescuing some random stray, she interrupts.
I’m not going to reiterate that if Lana had been less rigid, I could have done both. Would being fifteen minutes late really have been worse than not showing up at all?
How did dinner go? I ask.
Her voice is icy. How do you think it went? My parents came all the way across the country to meet my boyfriend—who wasn’t even there.
Again, I have an unvoiced argument. Mr. Hillier was here on business, and they would have taken Lana out for dinner in any case. But pointing this out will only make her angrier.
She flips back her glossy blonde hair. Did you know that my father has never approved of my dating you?
But he’s never even met me, I protest.
A hockey player from Canada. And he’s not even going to make the NHL. Her tone emphasizes that this is a direct quote. I kept defending you—telling him how smart you are, that you have a future in the investment business after graduation.
Now her eyes meet mine. But the most important thing—to me and to my father—is that a guy treats me well. And I insisted that you were the most considerate guy I’ve ever dated. That’s certainly not how it seems to him.
That’s a punch in the gut, because yes, I treat my girlfriends well. I was raised by a feminist mother who was adamant about the equality of the sexes. If she even suspected my brother or I weren’t treating our girlfriends with respect and consideration, we would be in deep shit.
But now Lana is saying I’m a crappy boyfriend. This is like an upside-down world, where everything golden in our relationship has turned to shit. I need to sit down, but when I land on the edge of the bed, she immediately edges away.
Lana, I’m not going to keep apologizing, even though I’ve clearly screwed up even more than I realized. But we’ve been going out for nine months now, and this is the first real conflict we’ve had. Can’t we work through this?
Nine months? We weren’t even in the same country for four of those months, she scoffs. We started dating in late spring of our freshman year, then we both went home to opposite coasts for the summer.