Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I toss a box of Cheerios into my cart with more force than necessary. Two weeks. Two weeks since I last saw Caine, and I'm still a complete mess.
"Mommy, can we get the chocolate ones?" Liam tugs at my sleeve, pointing at the sugary cereal with cartoon characters plastered across the box.
"Not today, buddy." My voice comes out sharper than intended, and I immediately regret it when his little face falls. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Maybe next time, okay?"
I ruffle his hair and try to focus on my shopping list. Milk, eggs, bread—the mundane staples of a life I used to find comfort in. Now everything feels... flat.
Colorless.
As I push my cart down the produce aisle, I can't help wondering where Caine is right now. Is he at some fancy tournament? Is he thinking of me at all? I imagine his hands, those long, elegant fingers wrapped around a cue, his intense concentration as he lines up a shot.
God, I need to stop this.
I grab a bunch of bananas, mentally calculating how many days they'll last before turning brown. This is my life now—counting banana days and clipping coupons while daydreaming about a man I have no business thinking about.
"Jenna?” A voice startles me from behind. It's Melanie from down the street, looking concerned. "You okay? You've been staring at those bananas for like two minutes."
"Just tired," I lie, forcing a smile. "Liam had a rough night."
She nods sympathetically.
We chat for a brief minute or two, and when she leaves, I continue shopping on autopilot.
Before Caine, I was... what? Content? Not exactly, but functional at least. Now I'm irritable, distracted, snapping at my son over cereal. What kind of mother does that make me?
Last week, when Reeves confronted me about the extended session with Caine, I nearly lost it. "I'm not your property," I'd hissed, while he stood there looking both angry and hurt. "Greg isn't my babysitter." Stupid, annoying Greg. Of course, he reported me to Reeves… what a dick.
The fight that followed was ugly. We said things we shouldn't have. Things that can't be unsaid.
I reach for a carton of eggs, checking each one carefully for cracks—a metaphor for my marriage.
Two weeks without Caine feels like an eternity. I check my phone compulsively, hoping for... what? He's not going to call. He's probably forgotten all about me already, moved on to his next tournament, his next conquest.
But still, I find myself scanning YouTube late at night, hoping to catch a glimpse of him playing, winning, being the brilliant man I know he is.
This has to stop. I have a life—a real one—with responsibilities and people who depend on me. I can't keep living in this fantasy world where Caine and I have any kind of future.
But god, I miss him. I miss him so much it physically hurts.
I fold another one of Liam's small t-shirts, smoothing the wrinkles with my palm before placing it in the neat pile on the coffee table.
The mindless rhythm of folding laundry usually soothes me, but today my thoughts are elsewhere.
It's been three weeks since I last saw Caine, since his beautiful eyes have left me both breathless and confused.
I've been trying to convince myself that it's better this way. Better to focus on my family, on Reeves, on Liam. Better to forget the way Caine's eyes light up when he smiles, the way his voice drops to a whisper when he says my name.
The doorbell startles me out of my thoughts. I glance at the clock—too early for Reeves to be home from the pool hall. I toss the half-folded towel onto the couch and head to the door.
A deliveryman stands on my porch, holding a large open box. Another box sits at his feet.
"Delivery for Jenna Sullivan?"
"That's me," I say, confused. I haven't ordered anything.
I sign for the packages, and the man helps me bring them inside. As I grab the larger box, I notice the holes at the top, and a small sound makes me freeze.
Meow.
My heart skips a beat. I carefully set the box down and peer inside. A pet carrier sits nestled at the bottom, and from within, another tiny meow escapes.
"Oh my god," I whisper, carefully lifting out the carrier and setting it on the ground. The kitten inside is silver with tabby markings, impossibly tiny and fluffy. It meows again, the sound so small it makes my chest ache.
Footsteps thunder down the stairs, and Liam appears, his eyes widening when he spots the carrier.
"You got me a kitten!" he shrieks, his face lighting up with pure joy. "You got me a kitten, Mommy!"
I'm speechless, a storm of emotions swirling inside me. Happiness at seeing Liam's excitement. Shock at the unexpected gift. Fear of Reeves’s reaction—he's been dead-set against getting a pet. And underneath it all, a warmth I can't deny, because I know exactly who sent this.
Liam kneels beside the carrier, coaxing the kitten with gentle words. "It's okay, kitty. I won't hurt you." The kitten is still very cautious. Liam gently scoops it out, cradling it against his chest. The sight makes my throat tight.
I notice a card attached to the carrier and open it with trembling fingers.
A check flutters out, and I nearly choke when I pick it up and see the amount: twenty-five thousand dollars.
The card itself is simple—a cute kitten on the front, and blank inside, save for a long handwritten message from Caine.
Hello again,
I know I officially won the bet, and trust me, I very much like my prize.
But I also know how much you wanted that surprise, and you played well, so I thought you deserved it.
I realize it’s a very bold gesture on my part, and perhaps extremely inappropriate, but I couldn’t stand the thought of Liam longing for a kitten.
I’ve included a box of supplies and all the paperwork: registration and documentation.
The kitten is fourteen weeks old, a neutered male.
He has all his shots. The kitten is registered with TICA, and this breed is known for its playful dog-like personality, vocal antics and sweet and social disposition. I have one of my own, and I adore him.
You mentioned that you couldn’t afford a cat, so I’ve included a 25 k check, and I hope you don’t find this gesture presumptuous, but this should cover all expenses for the next fifteen to twenty years or so.
If any special health concerns arise, feel free to contact me, and I will help in any way I can.
Enjoy your new family member,
Cheers,
Caine
P.S. I wish you all the best! You deserve it. You’re a wonderful person.
I watch Liam on the floor, giggling as the kitten bats at a feather toy.
My heart aches at the sight.
God, I hope Reeves lets us keep him.
Oliver.
That's what Liam named him. I think he already had a name all picked out. It was Oliver for a boy, or Olive for a girl. Ollie for short.
He's been glued to Oliver for hours, his face alight with a joy I haven't seen in months. Oliver is already responding to his name, prancing around with his fluffy tail held high.
The front door slams, and my stomach drops. I'd been so caught up in Liam's happiness that I'd forgotten about Reeves.
"What the hell is this?" Reeves stands in the doorway, his face darkening as he takes in the scene—the cat carrier, the supplies scattered across the living room floor, Liam cradling a silver kitten.
"We got a kitty!" Liam says, stating the obvious, oblivious to the storm brewing on his father's face.
Reeves’s eyes snap to mine. "Where did this come from, Jenna?"
I swallow hard. "Uh… it was delivered today." I suddenly realize the craziness of all this — the kitten, the huge check. Can we even really accept this? But it's too late not to.
"Who sent it?" His voice drops dangerously low.
When I don't immediately answer, his jaw tightens. "It was him, wasn't it? Caine?"
I nod slightly, and Reeves explodes.
"Are you fucking kidding me? We're taking it back. Now."
"No!" Liam wails, clutching Oliver to his chest. "He's mine! You can't take him!"
"Reeves, please," I whisper, nodding toward Liam. "Look at him."
Reeves runs a hand through his hair, his face flushed with anger. "I don't care. I told you we can't afford a pet right now. We can't do this."
"We can't do this to him," I plead, watching tears form in Liam's eyes. "He's already named him Oliver. They're already bonding."
"I don't give a shit what he named it. I'm not accepting charity from that asshole."
I take a deep breath. "It came with a check."
Reeves freezes. "What?"
“Twenty-five thousand dollars," I say quietly. "For Oliver's care. For the next twenty years."
Something shifts in Reeves’s expression—a calculation happening behind his eyes. He stares at the kitten, then at Liam's tear-streaked face.
“Twenty-five thousand?" he repeats.
I nod.
He's quiet for a long moment, then sighs heavily. "Fine. But I want to see the check."
Relief floods through me as Liam's face breaks into a wide smile. "We're keeping him?"
"Yeah, buddy," Reeves says, his voice softer now. "We're keeping him."
As Liam squeals with delight, Reeves gives me a look that says this conversation isn't over.
But for now, at least, Oliver stays.
I'm curled up on my bed, Oliver purring against my chest as I mindlessly watch Carrie Bradshaw navigate her complicated love life on the small TV in our bedroom. The kitten's fur is impossibly soft against my fingers as I stroke him, his tiny body vibrating with contentment.
"You're just the sweetest little thing, aren't you?" I whisper, and he responds by stretching his tiny paws and yawning. My heart melts all over again.
It's strange how quickly this little ball of fluff has become essential to me. I never realized how much I needed this—this unconditional, uncomplicated love.
Liam is also obsessed with him, of course, but in the quiet moments when the house is still, Oliver seeks me out, curling against me like he knows exactly what I need.
The TV flickers as Carrie types away at her laptop, pondering some relationship question that suddenly seems trivial compared to my own complicated situation.
I reach for my phone, pulling up the photo of Caine's note for what must be the hundredth time.
Yes, Reeves threw the card in the bin, but pocketed the check, telling me he would deposit it in our joint account.
I retrieved the card quickly and took a photo—it was the only way to keep Caine's words.
I wish you all the best! You deserve it. You’re a wonderful person.
Such polite, final words. The kind you write when you're closing a chapter. I peruse the words, a heaviness settling in my chest.
Is this how he ends all his little adventures? With grand gestures and kind dismissals? I picture him writing similar notes to other women—sending exotic flowers to one, a puppy to another, maybe a diamond bracelet to someone else. All with the same polite, distant well-wishes.
Oliver stretches against me, his paws kneading my stomach. He's so perfect, so exactly what Liam needed—what we all needed. And that's the most painful part. Caine knew exactly what would make us happy. He paid attention. He cared enough to notice, to remember.
I turn off the TV and pull Oliver closer, burying my face in his soft fur. "We're going to be just fine without him," I whisper, trying to convince myself. "We have you now, and you're all we need."
I make a silent vow to myself: enjoy this gift, this perfect little creature, and stop thinking about the man who sent him. Stop wondering what might have been. Stop hoping for something that was clearly never real.
Oliver purrs louder, as if in agreement, and I close my eyes, willing myself to believe it.