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Lev and I had always wanted a pet—anything furry and cuddly that we could hold and nurture—but our mother hadn’t liked the shedding aspect and Brad had toured too often.
After Lev died, Brad didn’t even want the responsibility of taking care of me. I was even angrier because his new kid, Alonso, had two dogs and a guinea pig, all because wife three (yes, he’d married twice more since divorcing my mother) had “surprised” her son with them.
Manipulation was alive and well in that Porter household. But it wasn’t my problem.
I pushed through the chain-mesh gate and let go of Aya’s hand so I could squat down in the small sea of fur. I settled my butt on what I hoped was a pee-free spot of grass and began gathering up the little bodies, rubbing them to my cheek.
I grinned at Aya. “You asked how I stayed sober. This is one way—animal therapy. I don’t have to pick one. I get them all.” For a short period of time.
She settled on her heels next to me, tickling one of the smoke-gray kittens under its chin. The baby closed its blue eyes and rumbled out a purr. My chest warmed at the sight of her, even as something else ached. I still couldn’t believe she was here.
She glanced over, a question settling on her features.
I cleared my throat, trying to move past the strange mix of feelings. “That one likes you. Would you like one? For your birthday? Like you mentioned in your texts?”
Her smile bloomed, and the warmth in my chest spread. I liked making Aya happy.
“You remember that?”
“I remember every single message.”
She hummed low in her chest, matching the kitten’s frequency.
“Well?”
“You know I’ve always wanted a cat. What about you? Why don’t you have one?”
I glanced around, taken aback. I didn’t want one. I wanted them all. How could I choose?
“Maybe I should,” I said.
She picked up an orange-and-white long-hair and placed the tiny body in my hands. I stared into green eyes and melted. I rubbed my palm over the small head, leaning close to press a kiss between its pink nose and eyes, which crossed in an attempt to keep staring at me.
With a startled sneeze, the baby pulled back. Mmrrrow.
I laughed. “You’re getting me a kitten?” Excitement billowed through me.
She winked. “It is almost your birthday. So if you plan to get me one, fair’s fair, Superstar.”
“We’d better take them both, then,” I said with a grin.
8
Aya
Nash took the kittens out of the carrier the moment we entered his sleek vehicle—I’d caught the Tesla logo on the front earlier. He settled both babies, a girl and a boy, in his lap, his eyes alight with happiness.
“What are we going to name them?” he asked.
“You pick,” I said.
“You’re not always going to be this easygoing, but all right.” He settled back, his good hand stroking the pewter-colored female. “This is going to take some serious thought.”
I turned away a little so he couldn’t see my smile. Nash, the big softie, had probably dreamed of owning a pet for years. He had names picked out; I was sure of it.
“You’re Mayet,” he said.
I turned in time to see him tickle the gray kitten’s chin.
