The three of us cut through the house, Sugar quiet at my side even when Liesel breaks off from us at the corridor to the laundry rooms. My fingers are still linked with Sugar’s, keeping her close. There’s a small part of me that’s terrified she may bolt at any moment, and a lot of it has to do with that constantly startled look in her eyes. It’s not like there’s anywhere to go, but rationality has never been a strong character trait for Sugar when she’s panicked.
“My room is up here,” I say, climbing the stairs off the kitchen. I’m propelled by her silence to continue talking, filling the gap. “My mom’s suite is on the other side of the house, so Abby shouldn’t bother her. Not like my mom would care. I just…” I don’t finish that train of thought. I’m not sure what shape my mom is in tonight, or if we should bother her, or what kind of reaction she would have to me bringing Sugar home. Liesel barely kept her mouth shut, obviously dying to find out more. “I think the best idea is to get her settled in the bathroom. Maybe in the tub? Or is that weird? The floors are heated and it stays pretty warm in there, and look, don’t worry about Liesel and the towels. I swear she sleeps with a bottle of Clorox or something. It’s like her magic elixir.”
I continue talking as we walk down the long hall, passing the ominous, closed door to Heston’s rooms, before turning into my own. It’s been a long time since I’ve brought anyone in here, and even then, it’d never been a girl. The first room we enter isn’t technically the ‘bed’ part of the ‘bedroom’. It’s a sitting room, with a door leading to the proper bedroom just inside. When we enter, it’s immaculate, thanks to Liesel’s staff and the fact I live in the dorm ninety percent of the year. It’s always just been my bedroom, but I’m not stupid. Most people don’t have a living area in their bedroom, or a bathroom the size of a small post office, or a balcony that could comfortably entertain most of my lacrosse team.
The walls are painted slate gray, matching both the décor and bedding on the enormous king-sized bed. My mom—or really, her decorator—picked it all out. On the shelf against the far wall, there are a few items that make a halfhearted attempt at defining me. Lacrosse trophies and awards. A picture of our family from years ago, on a trip to Europe. Classic novels from all my past literature classes are stacked underneath. Over the desk is a huge Atlanta United flag. I point out the hidden flatscreen that pops out of the floor, because even I think it’s cool. If Liesel didn’t clean in here every week, everything would be covered in a thick coat of dust. For the first time, I realize with startling clarity that I’m not attached to much in here. Preston has become my home more than anywhere else. Aside from my mom, that’s where the people I consider my real family are.
Up to and including the girl standing in the middle of the room.
Her eyes are taking everything in, and there’s a little crease between her eyebrows that’s really starting to freak me the fuck out. “This is your room.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question, but more like something she’s just considering.
“This is my room,” I confirm. She looks like she wants to say more, but Abby cries out again, her carrier tipping with her panicked turning. “Come on,” I say, gesturing to the bathroom. “Let’s get this mama cat somewhere comfortable.”
“Right,” Sugar says, dragging her eyes off a photo of me standing on the dock at the Briar Cliffs as a kid. In it, my hair seems even blonder, my skin dark from playing in the lake all summer. The place where the photo was taken is not far from where Sugar and I first…met.
“I have the linens,” Liesel says, bursting into the bedroom with a cardboard box filled with towels and blankets. She looks frenzied and entirely out of sorts for a bad bitch like Liesel. “Don’t you dare expect me to midwife these kittens, young man. That is not a part of my job description!”
Sugar steps in then, gently taking the box from her hands. “Thank you, these should be perfect.”
Liesel looks ready to fuck off to parts unknown, far away from the cat about to give birth, but also hesitant to leave us alone, probably in anticipation of the mess that’s going to be made. “Use the intercom if you need anything. I sent the cooking staff home on account of the weather, so all they’ve prepared is dinner for later. If you want lunch, you’ll have to go scare something up yourself. God help us.”
“Liesel,” I say, halting her. “How is she today?”
She meets my gaze with a tight expression, giving me one sharp shake of her head.
I nod in understanding. “Thanks,” I say, carrying the crate into the bathroom. I switch on the heater while Sugar closes the door, placing the box on the floor. She’s hasty about lining the bottom with towels, but she takes a long moment to adjust them, just so. “So… any idea what we’re supposed to do?”
“Not other than what I read on the internet,” she says, standing up, dusting off her hands. At least she looks a little less panicked now, wearing the closet equivalent to a game face. “She should nest in the box, and when she’s ready, it should all just… be pretty natural.”
I set the crate down and open the door. Abby’s shivering inside, another one of those low howls echoing off the bathroom tiles. I worry for a moment that she may be difficult to get out of the crate, but she’s restless enough that she instantly darts out. Sugar and I look on anxiously as Abby anxiously circles the room, holding our breath when she finally approaches the box.
We both breathe a sigh of relief when, after a long interval of suspicious sniffing, she steps inside. Abby paws at the linens, turning in tight circles, and I don’t know if this is what nesting is, but she finally sits down.
“She looks tired,” Sugar says, frowning. “I hope she has enough energy.”
Abby peers up at us with her battle-worn face, mouth opened with a sudden bout of panting. It’s weird seeing her inside like this. She’s an outside cat through-and-through, feral as they come. But she doesn’t look scared—not of us. She must know that it’s safer here.
I look at Sugar and hope she feels the same. “I guess we wait.”
We don’t need to wait long.
“I’m telling you,” Sugar repeats, gnawing on a fingernail as she looks into the box. “We should drape something over the tub. Make it like a little cave.”
“She’s already had one,” I point out from my spot on the counter, far across the room. “I think she’s willing to grin and bear my meager accommodations.”
I don’t get close to the box. I’d made that mistake once, thinking stupidly—so, so naively—that I had what it takes to stomach the harsh and very gross realities of birth. Sugar still sends me a little smirk every now and then, like she’s remembering the exact shade of green my face turned.
“I think… yeah, I think another one is coming.” Despite all her mockery, even Sugar cringes away from it, fixing her eyes to another spot in the bathroom.
I take some mercy on us both. “Come on, let’s go fuck off and let our girl do her thing.”
Sugar doesn’t need to be asked twice, and we leave Abby be, closing the door softly behind us. I watch her once again take in my room, walking to the shelves and eyeing it all up. It’s barely two in the afternoon, so the sun is pouring in from the French doors, illuminating the silhouette of her hair in a halo. I know from dicking around on my phone earlier that classes ended up being cancelled for the day because of the ice storm, so we’re not even technically skipping anymore.