LAST SUMMER
Rory:
Hey, are you at home?
Me:
Just got off shift. Whatchu need?
Rory:
Can you please run by my place and pick up some clothes for me? I’m in the Second Ward. Long story, but I only have my tuxedo and I can’t leave. These shoes are fucking torture.
Me:
You can’t leave? Is last night’s hookup holding you hostage? Or is this a BDSM thing? Do you have a safe word?
Rory:
Fuck off. No, I promised this little girl. Again, long story.
Me:
I gotchu.
Where the hell had Rory been last night in a tuxedo? And now he couldn’t leave somebody’s house because of a little girl? I couldn’t wait for this story.
Rory:
Thanks. I owe you. Here’s the address.
Me:
Cool. I used to have a client on that street back when I did in-home caregiving. I can be there in 30. I’ll text you when I get there
Rory:
You’re the best
I was pretty tired from my overnight shift, so when I got to Rory’s place I grabbed an energy drink out of the fridge. It would do until I could get home.
A Trader Joe’s bag was sitting on the counter waiting to be put away, so I used it to transport Rory’s clothes. I knew exactly where he kept everything, so the entire errand didn’t take more than a few minutes.
When I got back in the car and put the address Rory had given me in my phone, I was surprised to see it was on the same block as my former client’s house. Maybe even... But it couldn’t be the same house, right?
During nursing school I’d done in-home caregiving at night.
It was a great way to earn money and still have plenty of time to study.
Dimi Costa had been one of my favorite clients.
She had great stories and taught me to play canasta.
Her grandson Shane had been her only relative.
He’d been more attentive to his grandmother than most. Gorgeous too.
Too bad he’d been off-limits as a relative of my client.
Hmmm. Not anymore. I should look him up. Unless Rory already had....
I turned onto the street, and, yes, my phone directed me right to Dimi Costa’s old house. Holy hell, Shane was Rory’s hookup? Damn! Good for Rory. I opened my text messages.
Me:
You dog, you hooked up with Shane Costa? He’s my old client’s grandson! I haven’t seen him since then, but he was hot as fuck. BTW I’m outside
Grabbing the bag of clothes, I hopped out of the car and jogged up to the house, practically skipping up the steps to the front porch. I couldn’t wait to see Rory with Shane. They’d probably be a good match, if this ended up being more than just a one-nighter.
I opened the screen door and knocked. A few seconds later I heard Rory shout, “No! Manny, they’re friendly!
” Automatically, I stepped back, but the front door opened wide, and a fucking tiger jumped at me.
Reflexively I threw the Trader Joe’s bag at it and ran for the side of the porch.
I swung over the railing and dropped to the ground, making myself as small as possible against the shrubs that lined the house.
“Manny?”
Was Rory high? He was going to get eaten. “Shhh! It’ll hear you!”
Footsteps came to the side of the porch, and Rory stuck his head over the railing. “It’s okay. The tiger won’t hurt you.”
I rose from my crouch and peered over the edge of the porch.
The tiger was now halfway to the street, in the middle of the walkway.
It turned and started back toward us. “Fuck!” I stood and let Rory help me climb back over the railing.
“Get inside, hurry!” I urged Rory toward the front door, but Shane Costa and some other guy were blocking the way.
“Manny?” Based on how high his dark eyebrows climbed, Shane was surprised to see me. “You know Rory?” He turned to the other guy, a stocky man with glasses and his hair done in artful coils. “Manny was Granny’s main caregiver before she died. Manny, this is Ellis.”
What the fuck? He was making small talk now? I fidgeted, shifting back and forth on my feet. The tiger was almost to the porch steps, and none of them seemed concerned. Did it live here or something? “Yeah. Hey. Nice to meet you. Uh, can we please go inside?”
Rory moved so he was between me and the tiger. “They won’t hurt you. I promise. I’ve been here for hours, and they’ve been perfectly nice.”
I craned my head to peek around Rory’s shoulder at the tiger. “Um, it’s a pet? Like, who keeps a tiger as a pet in Houston?” I was sure it was illegal, not that anyone in Texas gave a shit.
“Um. Not a pet. It’s complicated.”
I stared at him. The tiger wasn’t a pet, but it was hanging out in Shane’s house. Like, had it escaped from the zoo?
The tiger mounted the steps and walked toward us. Ellis went over to it and stroked its fur. “See? They’re friendly.”
I was happy to believe him from a distance, but the tiger chose to come investigate me.
I gulped and backed up until I ran into Shane.
The tiger sniffed at me. It was huge. I couldn’t see its teeth, but they had to be long and sharp.
Oh, fuck! It butted the top of its head into my stomach, hard enough that Shane had to steady me with both hands on my shoulders.
“Uh, what’s complicated about them being a pet or not?
” My voice was at least an octave higher than normal.
The tiger moved closer and wedged its gigantic head in between me and Shane, shoving us apart.
Then it curved its body and pushed me toward the front door with its shoulder. “What’s happening?”
Shane reached past me to open the front door. “Just go with it. They have their own agenda, we’re finding out.”
No one objected when the tiger herded me through the door, across the living room, and right up to the kitchen table. It grabbed the leg of one of the chairs with its wicked sharp claws and pulled it toward me. It wanted me to sit down? What the fuck kind of tiger was this?
Shane walked up. “I’ll, uh, set another place. Rory, could you get the desk chair from the guest bedroom? It’s down that hall.” He pointed. “Manny, you want some coffee?”
Not taking my eyes off the tiger, I made some sort of affirmative noise.
The tiger pointedly moved its eyes between me and the chair over and over again, and I could swear it was getting exasperated.
Gingerly I sat. The tiger sat on the floor next to me, where a bowl of coffee waited for them. Was I hallucinating? Was this a dream?
Rory came back with the desk chair. “You can pet them.”
It dawned on me how everyone had been using they/them pronouns for the tiger.
I mean, I guessed it made sense. How did anyone really know what gender a tiger identified as?
Slowly I lifted a hand and brushed the back of my fingers along the tiger’s shoulder.
The fur was soft, but—I peered closer. “Why does their fur look like it has writing on it?”
“They’re magical,” Shane said from the kitchen. “Like we’re pretty sure literally created with magic.”
The tiger winked at me. What the actual fuck?