Epilogue Ginger
EPILOGUE: GINGER
G inger wakes just as a ray of sunlight hits her eye, alerting her to the start of the day. She drowsily lifts her head and looks over her shoulder at her humans in bed. Human #2 lies with his arms wrapped around Human #1 from behind, a small, satisfied smile on his face. Like she’s his whole world.
Ginger finds it cute, she guesses. The way Human #2 loves Human #1 makes her happy. For several reasons, which include her not having to have the sole responsibility of taking care of the redhead anymore.
Ginger ponders this as she begins her morning bath. When she’s done, she sees that the humans remain in bed, unmoving.
Something inside her makes her stomach drop, the sudden fear that they’re dead causing her to jump with the spryness of a wild jungle cat from her chair and onto the bed. Her mission is clear: revive these two humans. After all, who’s going to feed her if they’re dead?
She begins her attempts at revival by calmly rubbing her face against Human #1, pressing her cold, wet nose against her freckled cheek.
But nothing. No movement except for a little frown. Good. Good. At least there’s movement, though not much of it.
Ginger decides to take it even further and jumps over to Human #2’s side of the bed, pawing at him, gently scratching at his bare back—just enough to wake him up and not break skin. Ginger has to be extra careful with these fragile humans. After all, they have zero protection against the world—weak patches of hair in odd places all over their body covered by strange pieces of fabric. Nothing like Ginger’s glorious , thick orange mane.
Human #2 groans, eyes still closed.
Meoooooowww.
“Ginger, Mommy and Daddy are trying to sleep. It’s still early. I’ll feed you in a bit.”
If Ginger could snort, she would. She doesn’t understand many of the sounds the humans make, but she does know “Mommy” and “Daddy.” These two humans call themselves her paw rents, but it’s clear over the years that she’s been the one taking care of them. First, Human #1—or Bridget, as Human #2 calls her. Then, about a year ago, she started taking care of Human #2, too. Will, she thinks his name is.
Ginger sits patiently for about forty-five seconds by Will before head butting him, nipping softly at his ear with her sharp teeth.
Meeeeoooowww.
With another groan, he presses a kiss to Bridget’s bare shoulder before sitting up. He glares at Ginger, but scratches the back of her ears in the way that makes her lean into his hand and her entire body purr.
“Okay,” he whispers. “I’ll feed you now even though breakfast time isn’t for…” He checks the odd contraption connected to a cable on the nightstand her humans seem to be glued to several times a day. “Your breakfast isn’t even due for another hour!” he whisper-yells.
Ginger watches the way he begins to reconsider feeding her early, and doesn’t like it one bit. She doesn’t like it at all. In fact, she can’t believe she ever considered promoting him to Human #1 at one point.
Ridiculous.
Ginger has one more tool in her tool box to convince him, though, so she goes for it: she widens her eyes and looks up at Will with a soft meow before rubbing her entire body, tail in the air, against him. Now all she has to do is throw herself in his lap and?—
His goofy smile is immediate. “Alright, you little dictator. Breakfast it is.”
Will scoops her up in his arms and carries her to the kitchen counter, even if she doesn’t need the help—she’s not complaining, though.
Based on the way the tone of his voice and demeanor change—higher pitched than normal, more cuddles and ear rubs, something she’s heard Bridget call “baby talk”—Ginger knows that she hasn’t just succeeded in getting her breakfast delivered to her an hour early or in hitching a ride to the kitchen counter. Nope, she knows she’s gotten Will to give her a couple of treats after she finishes her wet food, too.
Bridget wakes and sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes. “Will? Are you feeding the cat? Do you need my help?”
“Go back to bed, baby,” Will whispers before going over to place a peck on her lips. “You need to rest before the movers get here. Big changes are ahead.”
* * *
Ginger rolls comfortably onto her back, paws in the air. She lets the warmth of the sun that comes in from the window sink deep through her layers of fur.
It’s her special time. Part of her new daily routine. Right after breakfast, she goes into the living room to sleep on that one strong ray of sunshine that makes its way onto the one specific spot every day.
Ginger was definitely not a fan of this new place when they first moved in—it was so big, it terrified her sometimes (though she’d never admit it out loud even if she could speak).
She’s often heard Will say things she didn’t understand about her, like that maybe Ginger had agoraphobia after living in such a small space for so long, and “it’s good we moved out of New York. More space for all of us.”—but now she’s a fan. She no longer needs to constantly see how disgustingly in love the humans are with each other.
The way Will struggles to not have at least one inch of his skin touching Bridget at all times. The way she constantly turns red and grins wildly whenever he looks at her a certain way or says the right thing. Things that Ginger has heard them use with her sometimes— love —but she doesn’t go crazy over it like they do over each other. Mostly, she’s glad she can walk away from their mating rituals when they happen. Before, she could only turn away and go back to sleep. Now, she can go downstairs and stare at the family of squirrels in the backyard. Plot their demise. The squirrels’ demise, that is.
“Will? Do you have everything?” Ginger hears Bridget ask. Her voice is an octave higher than it usually is, anxiety dripping from every word.
Curious, Ginger turns onto her side to watch their interaction through the doorway.
Will slings a backpack over his shoulders before taking her by the hips, pulling her tight against him. He presses his lips against Bridget and she moans, arms looping behind his neck as she inhales deeply. As if trying to memorize his scent.
Ginger almost wishes she had a hairball she could throw up right now.
She likes that her paw rents care about each other, but jeez .
“Yes, Bridge.” He smiles against her mouth while they both attempt to regulate their breathing.
“Lunch? Books? Notebooks and pens?”
“Check. Check. Check and check.”
Bridget blushes and tries to look away, but he won’t let her. Instead, he grabs her by the chin and kisses her long and hard once more.
“I just want to make sure your first day back to school goes well,” she murmurs against his lips.
He pulls back a bit to grin down at her. “I know. And it will. I promise.”
“I forgot who I was talking to, sorry. Mr. Charisma can get anyone to love him.”
Whatever she said makes him laugh. “I don’t know about that, but the only person I care to have love me is you.”
There’s that word again. They use it so often around the house, it’s become kind of the theme. Though Ginger’s still not sure what it means. “I don’t care about anyone else. What I do care about is making you proud. I care about your happiness in general, but especially about you liking it here in Rhode Island.” He pauses for a moment. “But I also care about getting through the next two years of grad school before AI takes any future jobs.”
Bridget laughs at his last comment. “I can’t speak for the future of AI and architecture, but I can speak for myself. I’m happy we left New York. I’m happy living a small life here on campus, opening my own thrift store. I liked the thrill of New York’s fashion world once, yes, but it’s been three years and a lot of perspective. Plus, my love for it all changed when I saw what it does to good people—even Molly quit. She went to a smaller company with a better culture. So I’m more than happy revamping vintage clothes and reselling them. And I love being here for you while you pursue something you really like. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
With a final kiss and a wistful look in his eyes, Will steps out of the house and into the crisp fall air.
* * *
From the kitchen counter, Ginger enjoys her dinner. She remembers with horror how Will started putting her food on the floor when they first moved here. Did he expect her to eat her meals like some common street animal or something? Sometimes she wondered whether he truly understood the family hierarchy. But then she reminds herself that he’s still relatively new here.
Both humans sit at the table enjoying their dinner—something called Taco Tuesday that Bridget has not stopped talking about all day. Ginger chomps down as she watches them interact, each one customizing this “taco” according to their preferences. She notices that Will prefers more meat, which Ginger can’t blame him for. But Bridget goes crazy for what looks like a thick cream.
“We need to talk to the landlord about the shower,” Bridget says.
Will seems mildly alarmed, but is too busy building his taco to pay full attention to Bridget. “The water pressure not working again?”
She sighs. “Not really. It’s like… trickling. A drizzle, really. Really messing up my hair math days.”
He snorts, but is otherwise focused on drizzling the perfect amount of a red sauce over his food. “After we get married, I’ll make sure that we buy a house with the perfect water pressure so your hair math days go off without a hitch.”
Bridget’s eyes widen, her whole body freezes—taco mid-air, mouth open. After a beat Will is clueless of, she blinks a couple of times. “We’re getting married?”
Will sits up straight and drops his carefully crafted taco on the plate in front of him. It takes him a second to answer before looking straight at her. He wipes his hands on a napkin. Takes her hands in his. Looks her in the eyes and smiles sheepishly. “Aren’t we?”
“You… haven’t asked,” she whispers.
He nods with a slight frown. “I am very much aware of this.” He raises her hands to his lips before placing them softly on the table. He goes back to eating his taco, leaving Bridget stunned.
“Are you planning on asking sometime soon?” Her voice is high. It trembles.
Why?
Will takes a bite of his food and takes a considerable amount of time chewing. Is he doing it on purpose or is human food really that bad that it requires ages to chew?
Once he swallows, he wipes his mouth to reveal a smug smile. “Very soon.”
Bridget exhales, eyes on her lap. Her skin changes color that way it always does—Ginger has never seen another human do it quite like her—though she must admit her exposure to other humans has been limited (thank god).
“Okay. Sounds good.”
With a soft laugh, Will leans over and kisses Bridget, digging a hand into her red hair. “I love you, Bridget Quinn. I’m going to love you forever. Thank you for being the best friend, partner, and lover a guy could ever hope to have.”
She sniffles once. Swallows twice. “Ditto.”
THE END