Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Wendy
The bus ride home is every bit as miserable as I expected. Between the drizzle of rain, the smell of wet coats, and the guy loudly chewing gum two seats over, I'm officially over this day. If it weren't for the flicker of hope that came with landing the job, I'd have curled up in the back and let the bus carry me off to who knows where.
By the time I trudge up to my fifth-floor walk-up apartment, my hair is plastered to my head, my toes are frozen, and I'm pretty sure my other heel is moments away from giving up on life. Not that the pair of shoes was redeemable anyway. When I see the notice taped to my door, my stomach twists into a knot.
"Late on rent," I mutter, peeling the paper off and stepping inside. "Like I didn't know, without that creepy old fucker posting a notice on my door."
My apartment is... well, let's just call it cozy. Not the cute, Instagram-worthy kind of cozy with fairy lights and throw pillows. No, this is the kind of cozy that means my bed is also my couch, my kitchen is also my lounge and bedroom, and my bathroom is so small, that my toilet is inside my shower.
I've done what I can with the space, and even though I do have the fairy lights and throw pillows it doesn't really enhance the space as much as the article online had promised it would.
But even though the space is so small some might call it a closet, it's mine. The first place that has been only mine since I can remember.
I flop onto the futon that serves as my bed and scan the notice again. If I'd found it this morning I'd have freaked out, but now I feel a sense of calm. Four months of steady work will fix this. Between that and my temp shifts at the bar down the street and the coffee shop a few blocks away, I can scrape together enough to cover rent and maybe—dare I even dream it—start a small savings account.
And if Mr. Harper has a shred of decency, he'll pretend today never happened. Not that anything even really did happen. Maybe it was all in my head. Who's to say he leaned in to try and kiss me? He seemed genuinely nice, and nice married men don’t kiss their almost-assistants.
If Mr. Harper even so much as mentions our interaction today, I might have to fake a mysterious illness or disappear forever.
But that's tomorrow's problem. Today's problem is the mountain of laundry taking up half my floor. If I don't take care of it now, I'll have to go to work naked tomorrow—and while I'm sure that would make an impression, it's not the kind of first impression I'm aiming for.
After putting everything together I grab my overstuffed laundry bag and haul it downstairs. It's so heavy, I'm pretty sure I’ve dislocated a shoulder by the time I make it to the laundromat.
The large open space is the stereotypical fluorescent-lit purgatory where dryers sound like they're plotting world domination and the faint smell of detergent clings to everything.
Most of the machines are taken, and of course, the only available one eats my first quarter without so much as a blinking light to acknowledge it.
I mutter curses under my breath and search for a replacement machine when something catches my eye. A box near the corner, half hidden under a folding table.
The box is moving.
I freeze, laundry forgotten, and stare at the box like it might explode. Then I hear it. The tiniest, most pitiful little mew. I look around at the people waiting around for their clothes to do their thing, but no one acknowledges the cry. As is typical with cities, everyone chooses to ignore anything that might inconvenience them.
The box makes the same pitiful sound again and I immediately fall down on my knees in front of it. "Oh no," I whisper, leaning over to peer inside. A pair of big green eyes blinks up at me, followed by a soft, trembling little meow.
It's a kitten. Obviously. A scruffy, black little thing with a crooked white stripe down its nose. My heart squeezes so hard, I think it might burst.
"Well, aren't you just a heartbreaker?" I say, reaching in to pick it up. It's light as a feather, all skin and bones, but it purrs the second I hold it close.
I glance around, half hoping someone might jump out and claim it, but other than a few disdainful looks, I go unacknowledged.
"Well, that settles it," I tell the little creature. "You're coming home with me."
This time when I put my money in the machine it starts up with a reluctant rumble, and I sit down, waiting for my clothes to wash as I cuddle the unlucky little kitten against my chest. It falls asleep within minutes and by the time my clothes are dry and folded into my laundry bag I've fallen head over heels in love with my new friend.
On the way back to my apartment, I stop at the corner store and grab a can of kitten food and a little milk, using the last of my tips from last night. By the time we're back in my apartment I've convinced myself it's a good idea to keep her. Even though I work a lot, I work odd hours and the extra companionship will be very welcome.
I spoon out some of the canned food and put the cat down on the floor with the bowl. As it devours its food like it hasn't eaten in weeks, I plop onto the floor and watch it with a smile.
"You need a name," I say, leaning back against the futon. "How about... Tigger?"
The kitten sneezes as if it doesn't agree with my choice, drawing a chuckle from me.
"No, you're right, that's too bouncy. How about Marmalade?"
It blinks up at me, and I could swear it's expression is unimpressed.
"No? Okay fine. Back to the drawing board."
The kitten takes a few more bites of food before sitting down. It looks up at me, licking its tiny pink nose, and something about its scruff determination reminds me of... well, me.
"Okay, Scraps," I say, reaching out to scratch behind its ears. "Scraps has a nice ring to it. Welcome to the Harris family."
Scraps purrs louder, curling up in my lap like it knows this is home now.
"You know," I murmur, stroking its soft fur, "when I was little, I used to dream about someone finding me and taking me home with them too. Picking me up and claiming me."
Scraps stretches, tucking its nose under its tail, and I feel something shift in my chest.
"Well, I guess, even if I didn't get that happily ever after, I get to give it to you now," I whisper. "I'll take care of you, Scraps. We'll be a family. Just you and me."
For the first time in what feels like forever, the tightness in my chest eases. It's not much, but it's a start. Tomorrow I begin a new job that shows a lot of promise, and for now I have clean clothes and a new family member.