Chapter 2 Confessions and Cats
Chapter Two: Confessions and Cats
Graham knew there were probably things she could teach him. But not about teaching. She could probably teach him how to let down his walls and let people in. She could probably teach him how to do things like live in the moment.
Those weren’t things he was ready to learn, especially from her.
Everything about her was so earnest. Too real and too vulnerable. Too hopeful that there was a light at the end of the tunnel and something she did was going to change the life trajectory of one of her students.
Graham was mature enough to admit to himself that was the reason he pushed her away. Because he was aware that he was neither of those things - his walls were too high, the mortar in them hardened by years of denial and apathy.
He was mature enough to acknowledge that he kept her at a distance so she wouldn’t burrow underneath his skin more than she already had. At least once a week he stole her planner so he knew where she’d be. So he could avoid her.
Sometimes, he gave in to the temptation to use the information about her schedule and did the exact opposite of avoiding her.
On those days, the ones where he purposefully got in her way, the urge to get in her space like he was now, to press her against the wall and kiss away the crease between her brows, was impossible to ignore.
He only took those chances when he was starving for a glimpse of her and the sparks that ignited the air around them whenever they went toe to toe.
“So there’s no apology forthcoming. Got it,” she said as she twisted around to open her car door.
When Graham circled her upper arm so he could explain, the jolt from that touch was like someone had just yelled “Timber!”
Her muscles tensed and her spine went rigid. “Just let it rest. I’ll make my peace with the fact you think I have termites in my smile.”
He almost laughed at her reference to the famous song. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he didn’t want to let her in either. “I don’t think you have termites in your smile, but I might need that thirty-nine and a half foot pole.”
The side of her mouth quirked up, but she swiftly smothered the almost smile. “I think you’re confused about who’s actually the Grinch in this situation,” she quipped as she turned toward him again, dislodging his grip.
He watched in disbelief as his hand rose to her cheek. Surely it was acting of its own volition. “Not confused, just in denial.” Her cheek was cold marble under his touch.
“In denial?” The question was breathily quiet and her teeth clacked together at the end of it.
He stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “In denial of how much I wanted to pull you under that mistletoe. In denial of how much I’d enjoy a warmer welcome than the one I usually get. But your skin is like ice and that flimsy windbreaker isn’t enough to protect you from the cold.”
She flinched and took a step back. “I don’t have any room in my life for giving you a warmer welcome. I need to focus on being both a mother and a father to my kids, and I don’t have the emotional bandwidth for anything more.”
“I’m not asking you to compromise on that, because I’m going to keep denying myself. It’s safer for both of us if we act like we’re mortal enemies.”
“Thank you,” she said with a nod.
Graham stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yep. Enjoy Christmas with your kids, Ms. Snow.”
She nodded again and got into her car.
He stood there until her taillights disappeared.
***
Graham took her departure as his cue to leave too. He didn’t bother saying any goodbyes or going back inside to grab a plate of leftovers.
When the song Blue Christmas erupted from his speakers, he remembered why he hated the holidays.
He hated them because growing up, the holidays had meant he’d watch his father spiral into deep depression.
He hated them because even though as a grown-up he understood why his mom hadn’t come back from her Christmas shopping trip the day after Thanksgiving, he resented her for it.
She’d left her eleven-year-old son behind just like she’d left her husband behind.
His dad’s mood swings had never made him easy to live with, but the least she could have done before she abandoned them was encourage her husband to seek therapy.
His dad would sit in his battered recliner with a bottle of cheap whiskey and howl this Christmas standard until he was too drunk to stay awake. Graham scowled and punched the button to turn it off.
The bungalow Graham had bought five years ago was across from the veterinary hospital, and he blamed them for the gleam of cat eyes in the bay window when he pulled into his driveway.
Max was a grumpy, nine year old Persian with a bushy, crooked tail, a luxurious white coat he was inordinately proud of, and a disdain for the food the vet had prescribed for his finicky digestive system.
Max would much rather have whatever Graham was having and since he hadn’t bothered to bring home any leftovers to satisfy his cat’s ridiculous palate, there would be retribution.
Sometimes Max’s tyranny was nothing more than a micro-aggression.
It usually involved things like leaving a trail of kitty litter in front of the washer, a refusal to move from Graham’s spot on the couch, or disappearing when it was time for bed.
If Max was in the mood to be personally affronted by what he considered Graham’s neglect, he would spray the newest pair of sneakers in the closet, or shatter one of the pictures on the mantel or the desk with a swipe of his paw.
Max was the grumpiest version imaginable of his owner, and Graham knew that was why they’d immediately bonded. His sister thought their relationship was hilarious and he had an entire shelf full of cat daddy mugs she’d gifted him with.
His aggrieved cat was waiting on the other side of the mudroom door as soon as he opened it. The meow was more of a rawr and Max let Graham know in no uncertain terms the level of his irritation. Graham followed the arched tail into the kitchen and opened the fridge.
Nothing had changed. There was a jar of sweet pickles, a half gallon of almond milk and a forlorn package of peppered salami. At least there was enough milk for his morning coffee.
Max was sitting at his feet, impatiently twitching his whiskers.
“It’s your standard tuna today, buddy.”
Graham swore the cat’s whiskers twitched even harder in reproach and he held up his hands in surrender. “I’m begging you to retaliate by doing something other than ruining my new pair of running shoes.”
The cat sniffed and lumbered up, its tail swishing aggressively back and forth as it turned on its heel and headed for the living room. Graham sent up a silent prayer that Max’s nocturnal roaming wouldn’t involve ruining his sneakers.
The last time he’d spoken to his sister, Arabella was boarding a plane for Hong Kong.
She was a public relations manager for one of the most popular bands in the world and her life revolved around cleaning up messes and keeping her clients from destroying their careers with stupid decisions.
She’d texted him that morning from her hotel room in Manhattan, and she was probably awake by now.
He dialed and took a chance.
“Hey, big brother,” she answered on the first ring.
“I finally told her how I felt,” he blurted out.
Her laughter was like a bubble of sunshine. “And how’d she react?”
“Exactly the way I thought she would,” he muttered into the phone with a frown.
“So she wasn’t bowled over by your signature charm.”
“She had pretty much the opposite reaction. I don’t think she was revolted, but if I had to guess, the idea of going on a date with me has never crossed her mind.”
“Well you can’t expect her to believe your sudden about face when you’ve been arch enemies for the last year.”
He sighed and ran his hand over his stubbled chin as he stretched his arm over his head to grab the headboard.
He gripped it so hard it creaked in protest. “I thought she’d at least open the window a little.
But she slammed it shut, pulled down the shades and then ran outside to barricade it with the shutters. ”
“You have to be patient. Maybe do something nice for her every once in a while instead of scaring her to death with your Frankenstein face.”
“I do not have a Frankenstein face.”
“Yes, you do. When you get frustrated or disappointed or feel uncomfortable, you scrunch up your eyebrows and get these brackets beside your mouth. Plus you’re like ten feet tall and really clumsy.”
“I’m not ten feet tall. I’m six feet five.”
“And I’m barely five feet. You got all the height in our family and to me, you’re ten feet tall.
Don’t get me wrong, you were the best secret weapon I had if I wanted to break up with a guy in high school.
They were all scared to death of you because you were so big and so quiet and when you bothered to say something, you basically eviscerated them with a filthy knife and left their egos in shreds.
But you are like Frankenstein, unsure of who you are and prone to lashing out because of it.
You’re a gentle giant, but no one ever sees that. ”
“What am I supposed to do? Leave a shiny apple on her desk?”
His sister tsked at the growl in his voice. “Just start by smiling at her when you pass in the hall.”
“I guess I can do that,” he reluctantly conceded.
***
Graham tried smiling at Hannah Snow when they passed in the hall.
He even teased her. Every single time he did either of those things she peered down her nose at him like he was a bug she wanted to squish with a fly swatter.
The only time he was worthy of her attention was when he purposefully went out of his way to annoy her.