Page 65 of Buttons

“Leo,” I whisper, turning to look at my son. “We’re home, buddy.”

He doesn’t stir. Darn. I hoped he would have woken so I wouldn’t have to carry both of them. Being older, Leo is getting too big to hold. Feeling guilty for keeping them up past their bedtime, I decide not to wake either child, and instead, will just juggle them. After all, I’m a single mom. I’m used to juggling.

By the grace of these arms, I manage to carry both children safely inside. Once inside, I set Leo on the couch, then carry Meredith to her room and place her on her bed. Then I return for Leo and place him in his.

“Night, my babies. Love you.”

“Pepper,” Meredith murmurs when I reach her bedroom door to return to the living room. She’s referring to the kitten she’d bonded with at the shelter today. “Can keep her.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” I whisper.

“Orange one, too,” she insists, despite being ninety percent asleep. “Need both.”

I smile as I shut her door. Even in sleep, she pushes boundaries and asks for more. I’ve grown to cherish this early sign that she won’t be easily limited by others’ expectations.

I press a hand against my sternum, feeling the excitement I’ve been containing all evening. Beneath the maternal softness required for bedtime routines, there’s a current of energy that has nothing to do with Julian’s surprising appearance at the shelter. Beatrix answered my dreams tonight. After working so hard on the grant for a new cat sanctuary, she’s allowing me to be the director, under the wing of SKCAS.

Though I should head to sleep, I decide that in order to calm these excited nerves, I’ll spend a few minutes making a “to-do” list for the sanctuary. I open my notebook from my bag andspread it across the small table. On the first clean page, I write “Director’s List” in big letters across the top.

Step one: Secure the grant

Step two: Secure the location

I go on and on until I’m sure I have everything down in the correct order.

Feeling calm, I close the list and finally go to bed.

Chapter 27

Julian

After the cheerful chaos of the animal shelter, with its barking dogs and chattering children, the stillness in my home makes my chest ache with loss. I spent the entire day with my children and wife, and returning here alone is a painful reminder that I lost the best things that ever happened to me.

I stand motionless for a moment, breathing in air that smells faintly of the cleaning service that comes three times weekly. No trace of cooking or children or life, just the antiseptic scent of polished surfaces. I glance down and notice a single cat hair clinging to my pant leg that somehow survived the careful brushing I gave myself before leaving the shelter. Without thinking, I pluck it off, then hesitate before dropping it into the decorative crystal bowl that sits on the entry table. Apparently, I’m sentimental now, and soon will become obsessed with filling this bowl with cat hairs from my family’s shelter.

My stomach growls. I check my watch. It’s 8:37 p.m. I haven’t eaten since the protein bar I grabbed on my way to the shelter this afternoon.

Since Elowen left, I’ve tried cooking here and there, and so far, I have found it calming. There’s something about following a recipe and getting to experience the result through my taste buds that I enjoy.

In the pantry, I find several varieties of pasta, organized by type in clear containers with printed labels. Elowen had done it for me, even though I hadn’t cooked back then. She’d only done it for me in case I happened to open the pantry. I grab a container of spaghetti and set it on the counter.

My phone provides a simple pasta recipe that promises to be “quick and easy” and “perfect for beginners.” I read through the instructions twice. Onion, garlic, tomatoes, olive oil, Alfredo sauce, salt, pepper, cheese. I can manage this.

It takes several attempts as I want to perfect the dish as much as possible, but by nine-thirty, it’s ready. I plate my creation and carry it to the kitchen island.

How is it possible that I’m forty-two years old and just now learning how challenging it is to prepare a simple meal? How many other basic life skills have I outsourced? Most of them, now that I think about it.

While eating, I think about Leo at the shelter today, confidently explaining to other children how to approach shy cats. My nine-year-old son has mastered a skill that brings comfort to frightened animals. Meanwhile, his father can’t cook spaghetti without consulting his phone.

As hard as I am on myself right now, at least I’m learning something new. The kids haven’t spent the night yet, but I bet cooking would be a fun activity to do together. If I’m lucky, maybe Elowen will even stay.