Chapter 15 #2
Sara nods and pulls her in for a hug. As I watch them hug goodbye and see the way Aspen practically melts into them, twin pangs lance through my chest. On one hand, it makes me proud to see her have found her own family out here with these two and the clear bond they have.
And with the way they both sized me up the entire time we’ve been talking, they clearly look out for her best interests.
But on the other, it makes me miss what I used to have with my own friends.
The two women scoot past us, Sara giving me a nod in goodbye while Marley ignores me, and head down the stairs. Aspen watches them go, then continues up to the third floor. I follow her into her apartment as she flips on the living room light.
It’s a fairly spacious apartment, with an open concept between the living room, kitchen, and dining area. It’s bathed in warm tones mixed with jewel-colored pieces. Art covers the wall and I find myself searching the pieces that feel like Aspen’s touch.
She hangs her purse on a hook by the door and gestures toward the space. “This is my home. It’s probably not much to you but it works for us.”
Annoyance flares at her comment but I leave it be. This place is infused with personality and warmth, which is more than I can say for how my house has felt lately.
“Do you want anything to drink?” She motions toward the fridge.
“I’m good.”
“Well then.” She shifts and rubs her hands together.
“I guess I’ll give you a little tour. This is obviously the main area and then over here”—she walks past the kitchen to a large sliding glass door—“we have a balcony. You can’t see much since it’s dark, but I like to have my coffee out there in the mornings. ”
“Sounds nice,” I muse.
She leads me down the opposite end of the hallway and into a room on the right. Her bedroom by the looks of it as she flicks on a light.
A flash of orange comes darting our way and I jolt back, catching myself on the doorframe.
Penny laughs and bats at my shoulder. “Don’t be scared! This is my son.”
I stare down at the orange fluff. “That’s a cat.”
She glares at me. “Yes, but he’s also my son.” She then drops to her knees and coos at the little thing.
Or big thing, I should say. Jesus, that’s one of the fattest cats I’ve ever seen in my life.
“How was your day, buddy? I missed you!”
The cat purrs and nudges her hand.
“Macaroni, meet Reid.”
“Macaroni?”
“Yeah,” she says and looks up at me. “Like mac and cheese.”
I roll my eyes. “I gathered as such. It just sounds like something a child would name a pet.”
“It fits him!”
“Sure does. Jesus, how much does he weigh?”
“Shh!” She covers the cat’s head with one of her hands. “We’re working on his weight. Don’t insult him.”
The cat ducks out from under her hand and pads toward me. He sniffs the air as he gets closer, whiskers twitching with the movement. He inspects my pants, getting a closer whiff of me, before his back arches and his ears sit flat on his head. The little fucker glares up at me and hisses.
“Macaroni!” Aspen scolds but the cat doesn’t stop. If anything, his golden eyes turn harsher as he looks up at me.
I take a small step back and wait for claws to jab into my leg. “Is he going to attack me?”
Aspen scoops up the cat and cradles him like a baby. He relaxes in her hold but keeps his ears back while watching me. “No, he’d never. He’s a sweet boy.”
Seems doubtful.
“He was actually a foster, just like us, isn’t that right?” She kisses the top of his head.
“Don’t compare me to a fucking cat.”
“Watch your language around him!”
“You’re kidding.” I blink at her.
She snuggles the big fluff ball before depositing him on her bed. He stretches his back legs before curling up and tucking his paws in close. His golden eyes stay on me the entire time, like he’s sizing me up and ready to pounce.
Am I actually fighting with a fucking cat?
“Well, this is my room,” she says and looks around.
The comforter on her bed is a simple ivory with teal and orange accent pillows.
There’s a light layer of cat hair on some of them, courtesy of the bastard still glaring at me.
Her walls are a typical renter white but they’re covered in photos in mismatching frames.
I walk over to the other side of the room to take a closer look.
I recognize Marley and Sara in some of them, but there’s also many other women, all around a similar looking age, in the rest. Aspen’s smile is bright in each and every one. Photos of her at the beach, in other homes, at birthday parties, and dressed up for Halloween.
“I like to be surrounded by memories with my friends every night,” Aspen says, voice soft.
She doesn’t have to say it. That she doesn’t have any childhood or family photos to hang up like so many others do.
I understand. I know that, too.
“It looks like you have an amazing support system around you,” I say, glancing over my shoulder at her. She stands next to me, looking at the collage on the wall, and smiles faintly. She’s so much shorter than me but she stands tall regardless of the foot separating us.
“Yeah, I do. I’m very lucky to have them all out here.”
“I’m glad you did.” She deserves it.
I tear my eyes away from the pictures and see my guitar—her guitar—propped up in the corner on a small stand. My feet move before my mind catches up, carrying me over to stand in front of it. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, and hell, it’s the reason I recognized her in the first place.
But seeing it out in the open like this, surrounded by the rest of her things while the two of us are here in this moment, it’s a tether back to a past neither of us want to remember but still have pieces to cling to.