Take Me Home

When I walk into the animal shelter, I am prepared to cry. I am prepared to fall in love. And I’m prepared to pull myself out if I suddenly get the urge to hum some Sarah McLachlan.

But I’m not prepared for him or his smile. Or the way he cuddles that cat. I’m not prepared to stare, like a crazy person, or to wonder what it’d be like if that calico cat were me.

Still, I watch him. 

Like a crazy person. 

And I wonder what it’d be like to have white paws and a one word vocabulary that consists of a monotone “meow.”

         I’m not prepared for the, “Can I help you?” from behind me.

         Or the, “Hungh?” that escapes my chapstick-coated lips as I turn around.

         And I’m not prepared for her.

I’ve never known how to handle the unexpected.

         But there is Missy Goldberg and it is unexpected. Completely so. And even though I’m twenty-freaking-two, I still feel like the scared little freshman she walked all over in high school. I still feel this sudden urge to run away. Still taste salt on my tongue.

         And she still looks the same with her sharp nose and pink lips. But she’s different somehow, in a way that I know but can hardly explain. Is it the fact that her blonde curls are pulled high into a ponytail revealing, for the first time, an imperfection— a burn behind her ear? Or is it the way her eyes water when they connect, almost sweetly, with mine? 

She’s still Missy. Missy Goldberg. And if I remember correctly, she was responsible for the bloody nose I got on my first day at Lincoln. For the rumors that spread about Vince and me. She’s still the girl that fueled the hatred I held for high school and is still the reason I tried so hard to be better, to go farther. She’s still the same person I used to lie awake at night wishing I could beat. She is and she isn’t both at once. 

That’s unexpected, too. 

         “Kathy?” she asks. My hand flies unconsciously to my forehead, and I smooth out my bangs to remind myself that they’re still there. “Kathy Vandergoth? Is that you?”

         My chest caves in. My heart pounds against it. No, I want to say. 

“Missy?” I ask instead.

         I don’t want to talk to her, but her smile is iridescent. Her eyes confirm sincerity. Her laugh makes me squirm.

She says, “What are you doing here? I heard you’d moved to New York!” Then her hand finds my shoulder. I try not to scream.

         “I, uh… I did.” I nod, wildly enough to shake her off, but I still feel the warmth of her touch.

I shiver. 

And the worker with the kitten looks up. I tuck a strand of dark hair behind my ear and rub the back of one stocking covered leg with the other. “I did,” I repeat, firmer this time, “but I’m staying with my parents for a while.”

         “Oh really?” Her head tilts. “Why’s that?”

         I exhale sharply, annoyed. 

She gasps innocently, noticing. 

“Oh, I’m sorry…” she starts. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry…”

         “No, it’s okay…” I say. But it’s not. It’s not. Cat Man moves closer, pretending, maybe, to play with the pugs in the pen behind me.

         Missy smiles, relieved. “I was just curious, you know? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

         “Yeah,” I say, matching her tone. My punishment is the pain I bring upon myself from fake smiling. “Crazy how that works.”

         “Yeah… Crazy…”

         I rub my arm and inch backward. “I’m just gonna look around...” 

I point a thumb behind me. A farewell, a goodbye— not a see you later. But it lands in something wet and I hear an “Oof!” when his body doubles over mine. I try to swirl around, but he’s got my hand and I’m taking him with me. We dance, pained and uncoordinated, to the tune of my shrill “Oh my God!” over his low “Jesus Christ!”

Somewhere, there is Missy.

Somewhere, she is bellowing “Oooooohhhhh nooooooooo…” 

Cat Man and I eventually part. Eventually. And I turn to him, mortified, offering apologies and curses but mostly the latter. He clutches his eye with one hand and pushes me away with his other.

         “I’m fine; I’m alright,” I hear him say.

         “Are you sure?” I press, not listening. 

“Yeah,” he says.

“Are you sure you’re really sure?” 

“I’m fine I said I’m fine.” 

I’m fine I said I’m fine.

I take that as my cue. 

I back away, heart constricting as I inch toward the door. “I’m sorry,” I tell the shop. 

“Kathy, no, it’s okay...” Missy’s lying, comforting Cat Man. She’s wincing and smiling both at once.

Both at once.

I stumble backwards out of the room and out onto the street. “I am so, so sorry,” I say again, really meaning it. Because it’s the truth. Because I should be. Because I am.

I always have been.

#

         I am on the way home when I hear it. The stupid thing waits until we’re two blocks away from the shelter to utter that monotone, “Meow.” At first, I think it’s in my imagination, but when I hear it again, I turn. And there she freaking is. Cat Man’s cat.

         I don’t know what to call her, so I call her by the color of her coat. “What are you doing, here, Calico?” I ask.

         She trots all the way to my boot, tail in the air, and says, “Meow.”

         I scoff at her, but can’t repress a smile. “Meow to you, too,” I assent. I pick her up and check her tag. “Franny, huh?” I ask it. When her green eyes meet my brown ones, I nod. “Yeah… I like Calico better, too.” 

Cradling her like he did makes Calico purr. “What are you doing here?” I repeat. “How’d you get out without Cat Man seeing you?”

         She gives me this look that asks, Didn’t you poke his eye out?

         “Haha,” I tell her, equally snarky. “Real cute.”

         I move into the shade of the barber shop behind us and think. Should I take her back? Should I take her home? Calico watches me, and I can’t take my eyes off of hers. 

I wanted a dog, I tell her with my frown.

         Sorry, she purrs. I didn’t know.

         We stand there like that for a minute. At an impasse. Neither of us wanting to lose. Then she starts fidgeting. 

“You want to get down?” 

Her claws prod me as an answer. 

“Okay, okay! Geez, Calico. Cálmate.”

         I hear a laugh and I look up. It’s not the cat.

“Her name’s Franny, you know,” he says gently. And though Cat Man is smiling, I suddenly feel sick and can hardly offer a friendly face in return.

         “Not if she wants to come home with me,” I give, instead.

         I don’t know what he’s thinking. Calico wraps her tail around my boot, and I use her as an excuse to get closer to him. “You know I’m really—”

         “Sorry?” he finishes. He slips his hands into his pockets. “Mm. I might’ve heard.”

         Picking her up, I edge a little closer. “I am, you know.”

         He nods. “I know.” When his hand makes contact with Calico’s head, she rumbles like a warmed-up car engine. My throat constricts as I imagine his hands on me. All of a sudden, I want to purr, too. 

“You can take her if you want,” he adds unexpectedly. His eyes rest on mine. “Do you want to?” he asks them.

         I’m almost shocked to see my reflection swimming in hazel. I look scared because I am. I look embarrassed because I’m that, too. But I look different somehow. Different and the same. Is it the fact that after years away, I see myself in front of the old barber shop once again? Or could it be the way my face falls a little at the sound of a dare?

         Calico meows. 

Take me home, she commands.

         I can’t, I frown back.

         She blinks, and I cringe.

         “I’d love to,” I tell them, “but I have to think about it.” I hand her over and pray she’s not angry with me. “Sorry she followed me out, though. I thought I closed the door when I left.”

         When he answers, he’s smiling at her. “No worries. Franny’s a big girl. She can take care of herself, but I’m sorry she followed you. She’s been doing that a lot lately. Following people home, ya know? I keep tryna protect her from getting her heart broken but…” We find each other’s gaze again. I hold my breath. “She’s hard of hearing.” 

I don’t know what to say to that, but he tickles her tummy and says something for me.

“No one’s gonna love you like I do, Francesca.”

         I exhale and she purrs and at her purr, he laughs. I like his laugh. I really do. But soon he’s not laughing. He’s leaving— almost gone. I realize somehow, distantly, that means Calico’s almost gone, too.

         “I’ll come back tomorrow!” I yell after them. “I will!”

         He doesn’t even look back when he says it. 

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow, right Franny?”

         Her fat head turns to me, bounce, bouncing as he walks. She blinks once. I blink back. Then she turns away, abandoning me. 

Yeah right, I think she "Meow"s.

#

         My parents’ house feels like home. Like the only place I could ever be. Like it was stupid to think I belonged anywhere else. But everything’s different now. Somehow different; somehow the same. 

I feel a bit out of place here. I feel out of sync. I feel like I’m squeezing into an old pair of jeans, comfortable and uncomfortable both at once; both at once.

         I told the folks I’d needed to come home because I didn’t get the job I’d wanted. I’d needed a break, a new plan, a little time. I’d pay rent, I’d said. But my parents are wonderful. I didn’t need to pay rent. Of course you need a break, they’d said. We’ll take care of you; come home.

But I think I came back to take care of them. Though they’re just in their fifties, they act older. Much older. When their dog, Marnie, died last year, they didn’t have much to do except get old, I guess. That’s why I came back: to give them something to care about and another darned dog.

         But all I saw was Calico. Did I really break her heart? Should I have taken her home? My family never had a cat. We liked dogs, they liked dogs. I mean, my mom did rescue a kitten from a chihuahua, once. She thought about keeping the beast. Should I have brought Calico home?

         I wonder as the grandfather clock ticks the seconds away, noisily. It keeps me company in the cluttered “sitting room.” As I was growing up, my mom insisted this front room be called that. It was so, so important to her, then. I can’t remember why, now.

         I remember, however, why I loathed this room. Why, I hated this couch, that stand, that clock. The floral wallpaper made me want to laugh; the wide window exposing us to the neighborhood made me want to cry. My parents’ house feels like home, but it’s not. It's not. And if it is, well, it isn't; both at once, both at once.

Everything’s like that and I forget how to breathe for a second… two… 

In, out.

Inhale, exhale.

Do I settle in?

Do I bust out?

Should be one or the other. But I’m sitting here wondering where I fit in now. At the window? By the clock?

         My mom peeks in, her dark hair twisted into a braided bun. “Dinner’s ready, Kat,” she says, and the corner of my mouth tugs in a way that I know but don’t want to explain. I hated cats when I was little. All my life. Until now. The nickname never sat well with me.

Sounded childish then. Sounds different somehow, now.

         “Thanks, Mom. I’m coming,” I say aloud. But I don’t move. Can’t. My feet are heavy, and my mind is messing around. All I see is Calico, hear is Calico, that is all. I’m watching Cat Man leave with her; I see her big, green eyes trying to poison me with guilt. I hear her asking me to take her home. And I hear myself thinking, I’m sorry… I don’t know where that is right now.

#

         This time, I take her with me.

         “If you don’t like her, then you can say no.”

         Mom sighs but turns off the engine in a way that sounds like “I said I would, Katherine,” before she pulls down her visor to check her bun in the mirror. I raise an eyebrow at her insistently. Finally, she mutters an audible, “oh-kay,” and I sit back in my seat, undo the belt, and prepare myself to face Calico again.

         Together, Mom and I open our car doors and step onto the gravel this town calls a parking lot. My heart pounds against my chest as I close the door behind me and start toward the shelter once again. What if Mom doesn’t like Calico? What if Cat Man’s not even here to see I’ve kept my word?

         “Ready?” I ask Mom, and she looks at me with a quizzical smile.

         “After you,” she teases, indicating the door with a simple sweep of her hand.

         I take a deep breath. 

I take the lead. 

And once we’re inside, I immediately spot my cat. 

I am prepared to get a little teary. I am prepared to beg my mom to keep her. I am prepared to take responsibility for Calico Francesca Vandergoth. 

But I'm not prepared for the seven year old who is holding her in her arms like a stuffed animal. Or how happy she looks as she whirls Calico around. Or the sudden silence that falls around me as I look on. Or the way that I feel right now. Not at all.

         “Mommy, can we keep her?!” the little girl begs.

         Her mother looks on with smiling eyes.

         Even though Missy’s back is to me, I can tell she’s smiling, too. “Franny is very special to this shelter. In fact…” She squats down. She looks the kid in the eye. “…my boyfriend’s kind of got a crush on her.” Missy’s smile, smile, smiling as she reaches out to pet Calico’s head. “If you want to take her home, you have to promise me you’ll take good care of her. Promise?”

         “Katherine?”

         “Huh?” 

I tear my eyes away to find my mom. She’s already moved along.

         “Katherine, which one is she?” she asks looking around. Just browsing.

         I don’t respond.

I don’t breathe, don't move. Can’t. My mind is racing trying to process, to catch up. Boyfriend? Promise? Keep her? Take her home?

         My ears pull me back to the little girl when Calico begins to purr. The little girl nods decisively. “I promise,” she says.

My mom calls.

“Katherine?”

         Missy stands. “Good.” Turning to the girl’s mother, she adds, “Let’s make it official, then, shall we?”

         “Yes!” the girl exclaims.

No, my heart is screaming. No, no, noooooo...

         “Kat?”

         I don’t know how she knows. But when Mom’s hand finds my shoulder and she squeezes, I taste salt. I want to run.

         “Are you—?” she starts gently. But she doesn’t finish.

Won’t.

         I breathe, in, out, in, out, trying to be okay— deciding to be all better. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I turn to my mom and force a smile.

“She’s not here,” I say with a shrug. And then I repeat it. “She’s not here. She’s gone.” 

         “Oh, honey,” Mom exhales before wrapping me in her arms.

“Mom, it’s nothing,” I tell her. But the words taste like lies so I repeat them. “It’s alright. I didn’t want her. I just felt bad for her. That’s all.” That’s all.

         “We can look for something else,” Mom starts.

         “No, no,” I tell her. “I’m fine, I said, it’s fine. Just…” I stop, reaching for the words lodged in my throat. My eyes start to water and I focus on breathing, just breathing, in, out. I look behind me and see Calico saying her goodbyes to Cat Man. I feel stupid and sorry both at once.

Both at once. 

I take a deep breath, recomposing. In, out. I can’t look at her because I’m breathing, but I tell my mother, “Just take me home, yeah?” 

         “Yeah, Sweetheart…” she says, tucking my hair behind my ear. She nods, smiling maybe, pushing me forward. Taking the lead. “It's alright,” she tells the shop and me. We inhale, exhale. Use one foot, then the other. We’re in, then we’re out. In, out. “Let’s go home.”