Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
FOR THE LOVE OF HIM
Jules
I open my eyes to a pitch-dark room, groggy and thirsty. I turn over, instinctively looking for the warm body I’ve gotten used to waking up next to and gasp. The cool, undisturbed space where Omar’s big warm body should be brings me fully awake.
I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek on one of them. I don’t need to turn on the lights or call out to know he really left. I sat on the stairs for hours, not taking my eyes off the door, waiting for him to come back. Hoping against hope that he’d return.
There’s a small meow and the click of delicate claws on the hardwood. I fumble for the switch on the bedside table lamp. The light is bright enough that I can make out the silhouette of her arched back and her long curved tail right before she leaps onto the bed. She eyes me, head cocked to one side with an unblinking sapphire stare.
I don’t blame her for being skeptical of me.
After all, I’d forgotten all about her until a loud, distressed yowl from the dining room shook me out of my stupor. She was pacing back and forth inside a crate big enough to hold a tiger, and when I opened the door to let her out, she darted out and disappeared.
This is progress. I found her under the bed last night and when I reached a hand toward her and tried to coax her out, she hissed and backed away. I tried again, but only half-heartedly, and gave up when she batted a paw at my hand.
Numb and exhausted, I shut the door to make sure she couldn’t sneak away again and lay down, cocooning myself in the white down comforter. I only planned to close my eyes for a few minutes. But a glance at my wrist confirms what I suspect—it’s almost nine o’clock in the morning. I grab my phone to check for notifications. He hasn’t called or messaged. He didn’t come home.
My heart sinks. What am I going to do?
The cat meows, and I push my worry aside for a minute. She must be starving and probably pissed all over the floor while I slept. I reach a hand toward her but stop mid motion. My father had a scratch on the back of his hand that he said was courtesy of a cat he picked up without permission
I put my hand out a few inches, palm open. “Hello darling, I’m Jules.” She meows softly. Her nose twitches, and she takes a step toward me. She’s several feet away. But after last night, this feels like progress.
I move until my hand is close enough to touch the top of her head, but I don’t. “I promise I’m not a shitty mum. You caught me on a bad day.”
She nudges my fingers with the cool, smooth tip of her nose.
“That’s it, sweetie. Come on.” I pull my hand back, keeping it just out of reach, and she meows in protest. But she takes one tentative, delicate half-step toward me.
I keep drawing my hand back every time she takes a step toward it.
“You can trust me,” I praise her.
She comes slowly, her eyes moving between my hand and my face all the way until her front paws are touching the tips of my toes.
I reach around her slowly, and her head follows the movement of my arm. She stiffens when I curl a hand under her soft belly but relaxes as my other hand curls to support her legs and bottom. I’m surprised by how light she is. I didn’t realize she’d be so small at nearly three months old.
“Come on, let’s go find you something to eat.” Happy to have something to focus on besides my sorry state of affairs, I say the command words to turn on the lights downstairs and make my way to the kitchen in search of food and water.
She curls up in my arms, content to be carried down the stairs. I set her down once we’re in the kitchen, and she prances around the island. I follow her, and sure enough, there are two bowls and a small bag of food with feeding instructions on a large label.
While the cat eats, I walk through the house I’ve started to think of as home and marvel at how normal everything looks still. Our shoes are piled by the front door. The post that was delivered while I was licking my wounds in bed is scattered on the black and white herringbone tiled entryway floor. The spare keys are in the small bowl by the door, and the faint scent of neroli is in the air.
This is home, lived in, loved in. Safe.
But the silence and darkness that have replaced the light, music, laughter, moans of pleasure, and deep sighs of contentment say different.
The bright ache where only flutters of happiness used to be says different. But sleep has done wonders. I leave him a voicemail to tell him what a few hours’ hindsight has taught me.
I was trying to have my cake and eat it too, and my dad taught me there is no way to take without giving. Whether you realize it or not.
I thought I was ready to live without Omar until I got a taste of what that would mean. Losing my law license is nothing compared to losing the possibility of a future he’s a part of.
I’ve apologized and made promises. Now I need to show him that I mean what I say.