Saturday, March 4th
Cat
“Just please come out with Vada and me,” Tori pleads over the phone.
I glance at the mess of research papers strewn across my bed.
Journal articles, my own annotated notes, printouts from PubMed.
I’ve been living in this stuff for weeks now—codependency, dyadic coping, emotional enmeshment.
The deeper I go, the more hooked I get. Not just academically, either.
I can’t quite say why, but it’s like the topic has claws in me.
Tori’s still talking, trying to tempt me with food and booze and Shane’s face, of all things. “We can just grab something at Murphy’s, have a drink or two. I’ll ogle my man and then we’ll be on our merry way.”
I hesitate, tugging a spiral-bound notebook into my lap. “You’re sure it’s Shane working tonight?”
“Very much so,
I nod to myself. That’s something. “Okay, I’ll go,” I say with more conviction than I actually feel. “What are you up to right now?”
“Heading to the animal shelter. I didn’t make it yesterday, so I told them I’d swing by today.”
I blink. “Wait, why are you going to the shelter?”
Tori hums innocently. “Because I didn’t go yesterday?”
“Uh-huh. And why were you going yesterday?”
A laugh chimes over the line. “Because it’s what I do on Fridays, remember?”
“I gotta be honest here, Tor, I really don’t.”
“I go to the animal shelter on Fridays to take pictures of their new arrivals. You know, so they can put the pictures on their website? Cat, I’ve been doing this for months!”
Well, color me totally dumbfounded. “Really? I… Why didn’t I know about this?”
“You’re not serious, right? You did know. I’ve asked you to come with me before, but you were always so busy making sure you were at Murphy’s when Ran was working.”
That sentence lands harder than it should. I stare down at the notebook in my lap, my thumb caught in the coil.
I used to clear my Friday nights for Ronan.
Just like I used to clear them for Adam.
Only with Adam, it was about fear. Fear of what he’d say, what he’d accuse me of, what kind of fight he’d start if I said no.
With Ronan, it didn’t feel like fear. Not exactly.
It felt like love. But maybe… maybe love shouldn’t feel like obligation.
Maybe that buried, clenched-up feeling in my chest isn’t just heartbreak.
Maybe it’s old trauma flaring under new light.
Ronan shuts down. I perform. I contort. I people-please until I don’t know where I end and someone else begins.
I gather the papers on my bed into a neat stack and exhale, soft and shaky. “Would it be too late for you to come back and pick me up? I kind of… want to tag along.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Tori squeals.
“What? Yes! I can flip a U-ey. Be there in ten. But I gotta warn you, you better have a strong constitution because you’re going to want to take one or seven kittens and puppies home with you.
It’s serious cuteness overload in there.
Tell me now if you don’t think you can handle it,” she says laughing.
I try to smile, but the corners of my mouth barely lift. They feel too heavy. Everything does lately.
But if there’s any medicine to soothe an aching soul, it’s animals. And Tori. And doing something that has nothing to do with grief.
“Bring on the kittens,” I say quietly, and go to find my shoes.
***
I was right—going to the animal shelter with Tori gave me the mood boost I didn’t know how badly I needed.
While she flitted from pen to pen, snapping photos of the newest arrivals, I found myself curled up with a litter of purring kittens.
Then came Mad Max, a squat-legged, wide-eyed pug with the energy of a caffeinated toddler and the snort of a grumpy old man. I couldn’t stop laughing.
By the time we left, my hoodie was covered in fur, my cheeks ached from smiling, and I’d somehow committed to volunteering once a week to socialize the animals. I might not have Tori’s eye for lighting or angles, but I’m an expert-level cuddler—and apparently, that’s a skill in high demand.
It’s exactly seven o’clock when Tori and Vada pull up in front of my house that evening. Vada launches herself out of the car and wraps me in a bone-deep hug, the kind that feels like it’s trying to squeeze all the sadness out of you. I close my eyes and let her.
It’s the first time we’ve seen each other in person since the breakup, and the look on her face tells me she’s taken it nearly as hard as I have.
“I just can’t wrap my head around this whole thing,” Vada says once we’re driving, twisting in the front seat to look at me. “You two are made for each other. And I know Ran loves you more than life itself. What the hell happened?”
She said the same thing over the phone, just after it all fell apart. But hearing it again now stirs something sharp in my chest.
“I fucked up, Vada,” I say softly. “So badly.”
She shakes her head, brows drawn together. “Okay, sure, yeah, you made a mistake—but it’s not like you slept with the guy, right?”
Her eyes dart to Tori for backup.
Tori doesn’t miss a beat. “You know, the more I talk to Shane about it, the more I think it was just the perfect storm. Ran was already in a weird place, right? With Frank and Penny having twins, and then you two”—she looks at me through the rearview mirror—“had that fight about Ran not wanting kids …”
My stomach twists. I told them about the fight, how I lost it, how I yelled and he yelled back.
I told them how I said things I didn’t mean.
How I turned every word into a weapon. The more I think about it, the more horrified I am.
I sharpened my words on purpose, made them into knives I knew would cut deep.
And then I used them. I watched him bleed and kept going.
My throat tightens, a hard knot forming behind my sternum. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard,” I whisper. “I don’t even know why I did. I saw how much it was upsetting him, but I just… pushed. And then I said he just needed to get over what his mom did to him.”
That part is the worst—the way I said it, the cruelty in it.
I don’t regret finally telling him how much Miranda bothered me, or how much it hurt that he kept shutting me out.
But I do regret going for the jugular. Tearing open a wound I knew was barely healing, then digging my hands into it and twisting like I wanted him to hurt as much as I did.
That’s the part I wish I could undo. The part that keeps me up at night, whispering, You went too far.
Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to say that to him. Maybe not.
***
I wonder if there’s ever a moment—day or night—when Murphy’s isn’t packed. Saturday nights, though? A different beast entirely. The place is chaos masquerading as community, a pulsing, overstimulated organism of clinking glass, shouted orders, and bodies squeezed too close together.
It’s not just loud—it’s loud. Voices ricochet off the walls, tangled up in the bassline of whatever indie band is playing overhead. Waiters dodge and weave through narrow spaces with the grace of ballerinas and the stress levels of air traffic controllers. There’s barely an empty chair in sight.
No wonder Ronan and Shane always look like they’ve gone twelve rounds with a hurricane by the end of a shift. Even the most extroverted person would be drowning in this much noise, motion, heat.
“Well, shit, do you see an open table?” Tori asks, elevating her voice above the noise as she looks around. Her face breaks into a smile with Shane’s approach. He, on the other hand, looks anything but pleased to see her; he hurries toward us like he’s trying to intercept a car crash.
“Babe, what are you doing here?” Shane says through gritted teeth, low and urgent.
Tori blinks at the cool reception. “The three of us thought we’d grab some dinner, and I wanted to see you. I’m sorry if my presence is off-putting to you.”
Shane shakes his head as if to clear it. “No. Shit, no, of course I’m not—”
But I’m not listening anymore.
My heart plummets into my stomach, like my stupid, traitorous body is programmed to know he’s close.
My gaze rolls past Shane and I spot him mid-stride.
Ronan. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows, showing off his forearms—those delicious veins—muscles flexed as he carries a case of glass bottles to the bar. He looks so good. Too good.
“Oh…” I breathe, my eyes fixed to him, my heart pounding like it’s trying to break loose from my ribcage and find a way into his arms.
Tori follows my line of sight and gasps. “You said Ran wasn’t working tonight,” she snaps at her boyfriend.
“He wasn’t supposed to, but he’s adamant about working a double. I’m not just gonna send him home when he wants to be here. Especially right now,” Shane hisses back. “I didn’t know you were planning on bringing Cat tonight. Fuck.”
“Kitty Cat, do you want to go somewhere else?” Vada’s voice is soft, her hand gentle on my shoulder. The concern in her eyes nearly undoes me.
I tear my gaze away from Ronan like it physically hurts, like I’m unhooking barbed wire from somewhere deep inside me. I swallow the ache, breathe through the shaking.
“No,” I say, quieter than I mean to, then try again with more strength. “No. I can’t avoid him forever. Especially not with his dad’s wedding coming up.”
I pause, then force a half-hearted smile that even I don’t believe. “Might as well get used to being around him… and not having him.”
I miss him so much. I want to see him, even though it’s painful as hell right now. And maybe a part of me hopes that him seeing me tonight will make him realize how much he misses me, too.
Ronan