Chapter 4 #2
Head lowered, I rub the back of my heated neck. “Glad you’re feeling better. I’ll see you around. Probably. Or probably not. Hopefully not in the ER, though. Stay out of there.” I give them a friendly wink and take a step back.
At the door, I glance back at the pair, noting the blush staining Joey’s cheeks. That wasn’t there a minute ago, was it?
“Oh. And Joey?” I tease, catching her eye with a smile. “Next time you faint, one piece of candy at a time is perfectly okay.”
Today was a long day. Between running errands and helping a fainting woman, I’m exhausted.
During my time at the store, Joey didn’t say much.
Not that I can blame her. Fainting in public is never fun, and I can’t imagine she wasn’t at least a little embarrassed.
Sure, I was probably a bit harsh with the people circling us in the store, but they weren’t moving.
And by the look in her eyes, Joey was clearly uncomfortable.
The nosiness of those people was grating on my last nerve.
As I ride back home from my never-ending errands, I start to overthink, and the need to journal about today’s events becomes desperately apparent.
I hope I wasn’t too robotic. When a medical emergency happens, my mind immediately shifts to the person who needs me.
Meaning I forget how to be human because every cell in my body focuses on providing appropriate care.
It’s late when I pull up to my mom’s condo, so I make my way inside quietly to keep from waking her.
After a quick shower to wash the day off, I shuffle into the dark kitchen for a late dinner, a hand against the wall, searching for the light switch.
When the kitchen is illuminated, I jolt back, my heart lurching.
Barbara, my stealthy orange cat, is perched on the counter, her amber eyes narrowed on me while her sleek tail swishes back and forth.
Looks like she’s annoyed with me. Or silently judging me. Most likely a combination of both. Barbara knows how to manipulate me, and she knows how easily I’ll fold.
The damn cat is more likely to recruit an army of mice for her cult than hunt them.
I shudder at the thought.
She’s smart, cunning, and very cute. The cuteness usually outweighs her negative traits, while her unpredictable demeanor keeps me alert.
“If you could be less judgmental, that would be great,” I mutter. “I work hard to provide a nice life for you.”
She responds with a disappointed meow.
Barbara is high maintenance, to put things nicely, and she accepts nothing less than the best.
Requirements to take care of my orange tabby include but are not limited to: a special water filter, cage-free chicken cat food, and a piece of banana for dessert each night.
Only the best for her delicate palate.
She’s very serious about that damn banana. I once fell asleep without giving her the nightly treat, and she stood on my chest and swatted my face until I woke up.
I rummage through the fridge and pull out sandwich fixings.
The faster I can eat, the closer I am to sleeping.
But I can’t do that until I’ve written about the day’s events in my journal.
It’s become a ritual, and if I skip this part of my routine, I’ll be restless all night.
So as I take my first bite, I scribble my thoughts on the page.
The dark ink bleeds into the paper, making each memory permanent.
When I get to the part where I ran into the plant shop, I freeze, my pen hovering over the paper.
Because what I’m considering writing next may be a bridge too far and too weird.
But the urge to get it out is too strong to ignore.
The time I spent helping Joey was a bright spot in my rather mundane day.
Hours later, I still can’t stop thinking about her.
As I close the journal with a quiet snap, I discover that my long-forgotten sandwich has now become Barbara’s second dinner.
Another judgmental meow escapes her as we lock eyes.
She’s trying to assert her dominance in this stare off, and honestly, she’ll win this round.
Chuckling, I give her a quick scratch on the head.
Then I toss out the remnants of the sandwich she almost demolished when I was off in my own world.
As I pad to the bunch of bananas on the counter, my hovering, persnickety cat trots over, impatiently waiting for her dessert.
I peel the perfectly ripe fruit, break off a small section for her, and hold it out.
She gives it a cautious sniff before she takes it from me.
Like always, I polish off the rest of the banana in three bites, cringing at the mushy texture and the sickly sweet flavor.
I loathe the damn things. I only buy them because Barbara likes them and she may murder me in my sleep if I don’t.
After cleaning up, I flick off the lights and make my way into the living room, my slipper-clad feet scuffing across the wooden floors. When my knees hit the edge of the sectional couch, I fall face first, groaning into the plush cushions. Every muscle in my body sighs with relief.
Barbara curls up near my head, tucking herself between me and the cushion. Her content purrs soothe me, making my eyelids heavy. As I wait for sleep to pull me under, I can’t help but think about the auburn-haired beauty with the perfectly freckled cheeks and bashful smile.
Once again, that hint of familiarity returns. I swear we’ve never met before today, yet a weird, hazy memory floats through my mind like an old, worn photograph, the image nearly impossible to make out.
With a heavy sigh, I pull the soft blanket up to my chin and nestle deeper into the couch. As I drift off, that face returns to mind—the one with kind eyes and a radiant smile that I’m not sure I could ever forget.
Josephine.