Chapter 32
I spend so much of my day thinking about how I should talk to Mike.
But then I don’t, or I won’t, and so I just feel that much worse about everything.
I should have said good morning. I should have found a reason to invite him over for tea.
I should. I like Mike. My eyes take pleasure in just his appearance.
My neurons light up when I’m close. Talking with him is fun.
And, of course, there is the fact that the crush I’ve been nursing for months has grown into something deeper and stronger.
But Mike wants to be friends. And that’s fine.
A few months ago, it would have been laughable, but that was because he had the gall to say what no one else would. That I was stuck. That I was prickly. That I was settling for a life I didn’t want.
And I hated him for it, but that was before I knew he lovingly, thoughtfully annotated his personal library.
It was before I saw him in plays. I knew Mike had talent.
A good caricature on a delicious-looking specimen is more than a cheap cosplay trick.
But even at the escape room last April, there was obviously something more happening for everything to click.
When it comes to Mike, there are lots of somethings more.
Timing. Intelligence. Presence. It all amounts to talent, and talent has been and always will be attractive to me.
But I know that so much of that talent stems from hard work and clever study of the greatest minds in humanity.
And that’s indefatigably hot. I can’t for the life of me get past the books.
His annotated insights are next-level. They’re direct evidence of passion and commitment that translates into a quality of craft that makes me shiver.
So yeah. I should talk to Mike. I should tell him all these things. Instead, I write snippets of them in the margins of his book of sonnets.
I should subsist on a steady diet of more than just fiction.
I should do better.
But all these shoulds are creating a brick wall of self-loathing.
All these shoulds make it that much harder to act.
The reason I am shoulding versus doing is simple—I’m scared. If I tell Mike any of this, I’ll lose my spines. If I tell Mike, he’ll see that all the prickles are the only defense I have for a wildly romantic, mushy heart that is yearning for more than a friend.
This morning, I should have canceled my FroggoDoggo date with Princess Kitty 2000. Any woman who agrees to take a cat to a food and wine festival needs her head examined.
“Remember that the lighting at midday can be pretty harsh, so use the parasol for filming.” Cheryl looks at me. “We should have discussed wardrobe, but at least you’re not in sweats.”
I look down at my long denim skirt and oversized fuzzy lilac cardigan and feel slightly judged. I scratch Mitzy’s chin.
“It’s unseasonably chilly, so I think the fur coat will be exceptional.”
“You want me to put your cat in a fur coat?”
“Yes! The powder pink, I think. With the London blue topaz tiara. After you film some content, come back for her coffee chat. Would you be willing to go live today on Instagram? So many fans think we’re pulling tricks with editing. And engagement has been down.”
“Let’s do it!” What do I care? I get paid either way.
“Wonderful! Remember to ask her about what she enjoyed at the festival.” Cheryl pulls me aside. “I’m hoping the outing perks her up a bit.”
“No news from Dr. Fernandez?”
Cheryl’s shoulders sag. “He thought it might be kidney disease, but the tests came back fine.” She pats my arm like I’m the one who needs consoling. “But how are you, Beatrice? Fully recovered?”
“Antibiotics cleared me right up.”
“I’m so happy to hear it.” Cheryl grabs her luxury handbag. “If you get a chance to walk by the beach, make sure you film Mitzy looking at the waves. Sometimes I get so distracted by how pretty her eyes look with the ocean in the background I forget she likes to watch the surfers. Ta-ta.”
After getting the cat dressed—and realizing my life has no meaning—I hook Mitzy up to her harness and get her in her stroller, which looks like a suspended bubble on wheels.
Mitzy sits like a turkey inside it for most of the ride.
But when we get to the festival, she stands, preens, and poses for many a picture.
“Would you like an autograph?” I ask as Cheryl instructed. I hand the paw print stickers to all who walk by. I take lots of photos and video of Mitzy doing her thing. I get to the point where I’m actually enjoying being out with this cat.
Cheryl didn’t see my surprise—I’m wearing a custom-made “I Heart Princess Kitty 2000” T-shirt for the occasion. It’s not a pink fur coat or topaz tiara, but I think I make a pretty good wingman.
“Can I get a picture?” a familiar voice says behind me.
Of course Mike is here.
“That depends.” I take his cup of ice cream. “Are you going to make fun of Her Highness?”
Mike fishes out his phone. “Never. Her hired help is a different story.” He leans in close and snaps a selfie of the three of us while I sample his ice cream.
“What flavor is this?”
“Blackberry. Help yourself,” he says.
A little boy with a balloon walks up. “Is that your cat?”
“Sadly, no, but I’m her friend.”
“Can I pet her?”
“She’s feeling a little shy today, but how about an autograph?” I hand the boy a sticker.
“I wish I had a princess kitty.”
“Aww.” Heart melting. “Maybe you could share that with your family.”
“Nah, we have Baseball. He’s a dog.”
“I like dogs,” I say.
“And Scooter. He’s a turtle.”
“Oh.”
“And Harriet and Chester. They’re guinea pigs.”
“But no cats?”
“No, Mom says they’d eat the fish.”
“Well, guinea pigs are cool.”
“They just squeak.”
“During the day, sure. But what if they’re superheroes at night? With capes and everything.”
I make my goodbyes to the boy and the mom and stroll toward the beach. Mike tags along, smirking. “What?”
“Nothing. My truck’s this way.”
I crouch down to Mitzy’s level and get a video circling her before I focus in on the ocean. “In that case, can we get a ride? We’re late for our coffee chat, and we’re supposed to go live.”
“Sure. On one condition.”
I sigh.
“Come on.” He bumps my shoulder with his own. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
“I want to watch. It’s not every day you get to witness a grown woman talking to a cat in a tiara.”
I look Mike up and down and grin. He’s the most engaging clickbait I’ve ever seen. “I’ll do you one better.”
“She might not want to talk with you,” I say when we get back to Mitzy’s house.
“I won’t be offended.”
I slip off Mitzy’s tiara and coat. “Remember, this is live, so if you laugh you’re gone.” And I’ll be in hot water.
“I love clear direction. I shall be sincere and…”
Lovable. Handsome. Charming.
“Attentive. Enthusiastic,” I say.
“Got it.” Mike sits cross-legged on the floor next to the board of buttons. “Anything else?”
I set Mitzy’s phone up on the tripod, check to make sure Mike’s in frame, then fill two mugs with water. “Pretend the water is coffee.”
“Excellent. Are we rolling?”
I log on to Mitzy’s Instagram account and toggle through a few settings before enabling the livestream. “We are now.”
Mike cradles his mug like it is hot, blows across the surface, and takes the smallest of sips. “Mitzy?” He presses the Mitzy button. “What would you like to chat about today?” He presses the Question button.
The cat meanders over to Mike, bumping the More button along the way.
“More what, hmm?” I press the More and Question buttons.
Mike takes another sip from his mug. “More coffee?” he asks, scratching the cat’s ears.
Mitzy threads her way through the board and presses the Mitzy and Friend buttons.
“Yes, I’m Beatrice. I’m Mitzy’s friend.” I press the Friend and Mitzy button. “This is Mike. A new friend.” I press the Friend button again.
The cat’s tail swishes. She presses the Mitzy, Friend, and Question buttons again. “Mitzy, friend. Hmm?” I repeat.
“Does she press these specific buttons a lot?” Mike asks, stroking the cat’s back.
“Yeah. Friend and More and Mitzy are her favorite words. I think it’s her way of asking me for treats.” I wink at the camera.
“But she has a Treat button,” Mike says. He presses it.
“Now you have to eat a treat, Mike.” I grab the crystal jar.
He laughs, but he accepts the treat before slipping it to Mitzy.
Mitzy presses the More, Friend, and Mitzy buttons again before meowing.
“Sure, he can be your friend. Can’t you, Mike?”
“Of course.” Mike scratches the cat’s chin. “It’s nice to have a friend. Right, Bea?”
I know better. I know the flirtatious smile and arched brow are for the camera. Not for me. “Mm-hmm,” I say, hiding behind my mug.
Mitzy paws the More button before scratching the Friend button.
Mike laughs affably. “You want to be more than friends?”
Girlfriend, get in line.
“I’m flattered.” Mike strokes the back of the fluffy white cat, who’s purring loudly. Yeah, he has that effect on me too. “But we’ve only just met.”
Mitzy rubs her cheek against Mike’s bent knee.
“Mitz, you can’t throw yourself at a man who’s friend-zoning you.” Ask me how I know.
Mitzy looks at me and meows.
“Give him some space, Princess. Being friends isn’t a bad thing.” I press the Friend button. It’s not the button I want either, but it’s the one I’ve got. “In time, it could turn into more.” I lean in and scratch the kitty’s chin.
“I’m not falling in love with a cat, Beatrice.” Mike sips his coffee. I mean, water.
Mitzy daintily walks between the buttons again, stopping to press both Friend and More.
“Oh my goodness, Mitzy.” I laugh. “You’re relentless.” Can’t say I blame her.
“Mitzy?” Mike sets his cup down and bends to look the cat in the eye. “Are you asking for a new friend? A Mitzy-size friend?”
She struts over and pushes the Mitzy button. She then kicks the More button with her back paw. And Mitzy again.
“You want a buddy? A kitty buddy?” Oh my stars. The cat can actually communicate!
“A companion,” Mike corrects. “Her Highness wants a companion. Is that right?”
The cat meows and scratches the More and Mitzy button a few more times.
“Are we talking about a second cat?” I ask.
Mike strokes Mitzy, who has settled in his lap. “Yes, I think she’s advocating for additional feline companionship.”
The cat starts kneading Mike’s leg, and I get up to stop the video there.
“And here I thought she just wanted treats. That’s adorable, Mitz.” And slightly heartbreaking. Mitzy is lonely. I download the video and pin it to Mitzy’s account. “You mind if I at-you in the comments?”
“Fine,” Mike says, not looking up from the large ball of fur in his lap.
I grab our mugs and head into the kitchen.
“I can do that,” Mike says, getting up.
And I don’t know how it happens. I’m at the sink one minute, and he’s behind me, taking the mugs out of my hand. But I don’t move. I stand there. His arms aren’t around me, but I know they could be in an instant.
If we weren’t just friends.
Gently, Mike sets the mugs in the kitchen sink. “You’re crying, Bea.”
I swipe at the tears on my cheeks. “I’m not.” I sniff. “I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry.” He swallows.
I look up into his honey eyes, and it’s a mistake. I feel myself free-falling.
Mitzy’s phone starts vibrating like it is possessed. The cat hisses and darts to the back room.
I grab Mitzy’s phone and check the notifications. “Your coffee chat is going viral, Mike.”
More. Mitzy. Friend. More. More. More. Mitzy. Friend. More. More, is playing in the background.
“And yours haven’t? Mitzy is a sparkling conversationalist. Vulnerable. Sincere. Witty.”
“There’s a lot of crying emojis…and prayer hands.”
The garage door slams open. “Where is he?” Cheryl demands. “At MikeBenedickTXCA—where is he?”
Before I can defend Mike, Cheryl runs at him, grabs him in a hug, and starts sobbing.
“Thank you! I knew she was in a funk for ages. We’ve run all sorts of tests.
Bought the stupid buttons and…” She’s sobbing hard.
“Of course. Of course this house needs another cat.” She lets go of Mike long enough to pick up her cat, who bolted back into the kitchen when she heard the garage door.
“Mitzy, honey, let’s go find you a new best friend. ”
“A new friend,” Mike corrects. “You’re her best friend.”
Cheryl smiles, blinking back tears, and then bursts into more sobs. “Bring him back, anytime,” she says to me. “Anytime. Come on, Princess Mitz. Let’s make some phone calls.”