I was happy at the small, round kitchen table with my morning coffee which I had served to myself a little after noon. My right elbow on the table, fist to chin, staring at the apartment door or down into the cup of coffee.
My thoughts bouncing all around like a bouncy ball thrown down a street.
“What do you think of this one?”
“Huh? What?”
Grace dropped her phone to the table and pushed it in front of me.
“I like this one. I’d name her Ginger.”
“Ginger,” I said as I looked at the cat’s face.
Oh, great, the cat talk, again.
Every once in a while, she would get on a kick about getting a cat. That would just finalize the everything cat theme to the apartment. But it always went the same way. She’d pick out a couple of cats she loved and then would talk herself out of it.
“Ginger?” I asked. “Why Ginger?”
“It’s just the name,” Grace said. “You know, they pick their own name.”
I glanced up at Grace. “Oh?”
“I’m just saying…”
“So, Grace and Ginger?” I asked. “That sounds like an old sitcom.”
“Well, screw you too then,” Grace said.
She reached for her phone and I hurried to grab it.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I think this cat is amazing. Are you going to get her?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said.
I handed Grace her phone back. “If you want a cat, Grace, then get one. What would you tell one of your clients? If they were obsessed about something? If they kept thinking about something? If they would get close to something and then suddenly hesitate?”
A smile grew a mile wide in each direction on Grace’s face. She turned the phone screen off and set her eyes right on me.
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Everything you just said. That has nothing to do with a cat.”
“Oh, come on, Grace…”
“No,” she said. “Classic deflection. You’re trying to get my answer from me because you’re afraid to answer for yourself. Is it because of the story? Did something happen with Bel? She sort of mentioned you told her you weren’t all that interested.”
“It’s not that I’m not interested,” I said. “I just… I don’t know right now. Okay? And why are we talking about me?”
“You’re sitting here looking like your head is about to explode,” Grace said.
“Can we go back to looking at cats?”
There’s a question I never thought I’d ask Grace…
Grace walked to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. I watched her drown the coffee with sugar and cream. She returned to the table but didn’t sit down.
“Face it,” she said.
“What?”
“Face it. You asked what I would tell a client. If something is that important to take up space in your mind, then you need to face it. Now, it depends on what that something is. If it’s something you can truly face, then go for it. If it’s something that’s gone or in the past, then you can talk to someone about it.”
“Right,” I said. “So why are you obsessed with cats but won’t get a cat?”
“Well… why are you so afraid to explore the inner workings of your heart? Your writing can expose you and you’re afraid that it will.”
“Are you infatuated with cats because you weren’t allowed to get one as a child?” I asked. “So now you spend your adult life…”
“You almost had a book deal, Amelia,” Grace said. “It didn’t work out. So you quit.”
“This is where I tell you to screw off,” I said.
“Roommates, right?” Grace asked.
She offered her mug for me to cheers with her.
“Yeah, roommates,” I said as I lifted my mug and tapped it against hers.
I decided to retreat back to my bedroom for a little peace and quiet.
I got halfway down the hallway when Grace said, “I had a cat once. It ran away. I never saw it again.”
I looked over my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“I told myself I didn’t have a good enough home to make it want to stay.”
I nodded. “I used to write stories to make my mother laugh because all she did was cry. I tried really hard to save her from her own life.”
“Did it work?”
“No.”
“What happened to her?” Grace asked.
“She did what your cat did,” I said.
I walked into my bedroom and wanted to go back to sleep. Or cry a little.
Or just go see Josh again.
I will never touch anyone the way I have touched you. I will never hold anyone the way I have held you. The air that you breathe is almost sacred to those around you who don’t even understand who you are or who they are faced with. You can move the world with a sigh. Your laugh can shake the last few leaves off the trees to welcome in winter. When you stand in the middle of the street with your bare hands out and your head back, catching snowflakes on your tongue, you don’t realize that the snow isn’t just falling… the snowflakes are fighting to be lucky enough to touch you. To gently rest on your sweet tongue. To touch your soft lips.
Those lips I had tasted so many times… in life and in dreams.
What I’ll never have again.
What I can’t stop craving…
I almost had the entire thing memorized.
I wasn’t sure if that was foolish or not.
It was just… there.
The letter. The words. The way they danced in my mind as I tried to visualize who Delilah was. And where she went. And the person who loved her… if that person ever found happiness or not.
The letter was a living and breathing story. So many ideas rushed to me again and again about the story within the letter. True love. Pain. Loss. Second chances. Now, of course, if I was younger, the characters in my mind would be animals. Luckily that part of my life had come and gone.
Then again… I looked at my bag and touched it, feeling my heart race a little.
Had it really come and gone?
The building was tall and stony. It looked more like an old warehouse versus apartments. I checked the address on the piece of paper fifteen times, even right up to the point of me standing outside a massive dark green door, comparing the black numbers on it to the scribbled handwriting on the napkin from the restaurant I worked at.
I sighed and knocked on the door.
I figured with any luck - or just my luck - Josh wouldn’t be home.
That wasn’t the worse thing in the world. I could have easily then just slid the copied story under the door for him to read.
Before I could finish that thought, the large door opened.
And Josh stood there - shirtless.
I wasn’t sure if I was licking my lips in real life or if it was just in my mind.
My eyes skipped right down to his jeans. Of all things. His jeans. Dark blue jeans that hung lower than they were supposed to, but I wasn’t going to complain about it for even a second. Those deadly lines and cuts that went down into his jeans were the reason why the whole lip licking thing was happening.