2. Collie #2
He started to pluck the drawings off the wall. “Not according to my art director. I met with her this afternoon, and she called these ideas trite. I have to start all over again.”
I turned to him and asked, “What does trite mean?”
“Dull, boring, unoriginal.”
“Was she high? Those drawings are phenomenal!”
“They’re well-rendered, but she’s right. They look a bit like the last game I worked on, and we want something fresh for this next one. The good news is that we’re at the beginning of the design process, so I still have time to get a clue.”
He dropped the drawings into a drawer and shut it. “I still think they’re beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks. I guess they are, but they’re still not good enough.” He changed the subject by pointing at a closed door and saying, “There’s a half-bath through there, and I’ll show you where the shower is.”
With that, he was on the move again. I scooped up my stuff and hurried after him.
His bedroom was directly across the hall from the office. It was a huge room, which contained a king-size bed with gray linens, one nightstand, and one chair. Nothing else.
I followed him into the adjoining gray and white bathroom. Like the rest of the house, it was blank and pristine.
He opened a cabinet and placed a white towel and a wash cloth on the empty vanity. Then he grabbed a multipack of toothbrushes, popped one out of its plastic shell, and handed it to me as he asked, “Need anything else?”
“I’m all set.”
“Okay. Join me in the kitchen when you’re done.” With that, he left the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him.
I sat down on the closed toilet lid and let my shoulders slump as I shut my eyes. The last two days had been beyond exhausting, and I needed to catch my breath.
But after a minute, I made myself get up and turn on the shower. I didn’t want to take so long in here that he started to wonder what I was doing in his bathroom.
Once I was clean and dressed, I joined him in the kitchen, where six takeout boxes were neatly arranged on the island. Beside them were several serving utensils, two white, shallow bowls, two sets of chopsticks, and a single fork.
As he started to fill one of the bowls with rice, I said, “The fork’s for me, isn’t it?”
“You also have the option of chopsticks.”
“But you assumed I wouldn’t know how to use them.”
“I never said that.”
“It was implied with the fork.” I picked up the chopsticks and used them to pluck a single grain of rice from the bowl.
“While it’s true that I’d never set foot outside of Idaho before yesterday, I always dreamed of a bigger world than my tiny hick town.
That’s why I’m fluent in French and Spanish, read travel books for fun, and taught myself to use chopsticks when I was eight. ”
“That’s impressive. I didn’t learn to use chopsticks until I was in college, and I only speak one and a half languages.”
“What’s the half?”
“Korean. I’ve been trying to learn it for years, but I’m nowhere near fluent.”
“You’re Korean-American, right?” He nodded, and I asked, “Do you have any relatives that can help you with the language?”
“None of my relatives speak Korean. I was adopted from South Korea when I was four months old and raised by a white family.”
We both took a seat on the barstools at the kitchen island, and I asked, “Were you an only child?”
“I have three sisters, but they’re a lot older than me, so it kind of felt like I was. My dad really wanted a boy, so he and my mom ended up adopting me when their daughters were in their late teens.”
“Are you and your parents close?”
“No. They’re super religious, and conservative…”
“And you’re gay.”
“Exactly.” Miller was ready to change the subject. “I forgot about drinks,” he said, as he got up and went to the refrigerator. “What would you like?”
“A soda, if you have it.”
He brought us two bottles of something fancy that I’d never heard of. I clinked my bottle to his and said, “Here’s to new friends.”
Miller started to reply, but just then, a black cat jumped onto the kitchen island. It startled me so much that I let out a scream worthy of a victim in a horror movie. The cat shot off the island and darted away.
Once I finally stopped screaming, I blurted, “What the hell!”
“I thought you liked cats.” Miller definitely looked amused.
“I love them. I just didn’t know you had one, so that scared the shit out of me.”
“She came with the house, more or less. When I moved in, she stood outside the back door and cried until I let her in. Then she refused to go back outside.”
I nodded. “That’s the cat distribution system at work. If you don’t own a cat, one will be appointed to you. Kind of like a public defender.” I looked around, but the cat was nowhere to be seen. “Poor thing. I probably scared her half to death when I screamed.”
He chuckled and said, “I’ve never heard anything quite like that. On the plus side, I’m forever telling her to get off the kitchen island and counters, and I’m pretty sure you cured her of ever jumping up here again.”
“I should go find her and try to make amends.”
“Don’t bother. She won’t like you.”
“Why would you say such a mean thing?”
“It’s nothing personal, that’s just how she is. She doesn’t let me touch her. Every time I need to take her to the vet, it’s this whole ordeal of trying to lure her into the cat carrier. It makes me feel like Wile E. Coyote, trying to catch the Road Runner.”
“So, you share your home with a feral cat.”
“I don’t think she’s feral, exactly. She just hates people.”
I raised a brow and asked, “How is that different than being feral?”
“How would I know? I’m not a cat expert.”
“I’m going to go talk to her. What’s her name?”
“I just call her Cat.”
“Oh, come on! No wonder she hates you.”
“Why? What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s not a name! It’d be like me walking around addressing everyone I met as ‘Human.’ No, no, don’t tell me your name. I don’t care about you at all, so Human will suffice.”
He rolled his eyes, and when I started to get up, he said, “Eat some dinner first. Then you can spend the rest of the evening getting rejected by Cat the cat.”
I sat back down, because I was incredibly hungry.
After I polished off a big bowl of tofu and veggies over rice, I helped him pack up the leftovers.
He didn’t just stick the paper boxes in the fridge, like a normal person.
Instead, he transferred everything into glass bowls with blue plastic lids, which got stacked neatly in his immaculate refrigerator.
Once we were finished, I said, “Thanks for dinner. I’m going to go find your cat now. Can I name her?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“Any ideas where to look?”
“Her room is at the front of the house.”
I thought he was kidding, but no. The room in question was probably meant to be a formal living room, judging by the pretty chandelier and impressive, marble-fronted fireplace. Instead, it had been transformed into a cat wonderland.
The room was a huge contrast to the rest of Miller’s tidy, perfectly organized home. It was scattered with toys, and it contained six cat trees in various sizes, shapes, and configurations, along with no fewer than ten pet beds.
I took one look at the total chaos and pure pet indulgence and grinned. I really liked this guy.