19.

If a cookie crumbles, why isn’t that just considered a bunch of different cookies? You could say the same thing about mirrors.

Dice

K ENNY

We were alone in the elevator when Cydney asked, “When were you going to tell me that you’re a millionaire?”

I didn’t even think before I said, “I may not know you very well, Cyd, but I know that what I’ve got in my bank account doesn’t matter to you.”

“You’re right, but the fact that you’ve got plenty of money of your own does help ease my worries about what’s going to happen with our finances when you stop filming your show.”

“I’ve still got the shop for income,” I reminded her.

“True, and I know that being a tattoo artist can be a lucrative job in the right markets and circumstances, but even that won’t last forever.”

“Why not?”

“I know some men who have been tattoo artists for years, and what no one realizes is just how hard that repetitive movement is on a body. The artist has to be still for hours on end, sometimes in an odd and uncomfortable position, all the while keeping their hand steady and using the same motions over and over.”

“Most people have no idea that’s an issue.”

“Most people don’t have multiple tattoo artists in their family either.”

“Fain’s not really related to you, is he?”

“Fain and his siblings from Colorado, along with all of their children, are as much a part of my family as you are part of the Turners.”

“I’m not . . .”

“Bullshit!” Cydney snapped as the elevator came to a stop on my - no, our floor. I put my hand out to hold it open so Cydney could walk out into the hall as she said, “It’s definitely not a conventional way to join a family, thank God, but you’re part of theirs whether you want to admit it or not.”

“I depend on them too much to be family,” I informed her as I pushed open the front door. I motioned for her to walk in ahead of me, and I had just rolled suitcases inside and was lining them up next to the wall when the girls realized I was home.

The second they started yowling together, which I had to admit sounded like a pained scream, Cydney stopped in her tracks and whirled around to face me.

The look on her face reminded me of this morning’s bathtub meltdown, and I rushed to assure her, “I swear there isn't anyone tied up in here, and there’s definitely not a severed head in my fridge.”

“What is that?” Cydney asked. Even though the cats didn’t weigh much, I could hear their paws on the hardwood in the silence after Cydney’s question and watched as her eyes got even wider. The second Lamp shot past her and leaped up into my arms, she screamed and jumped back, bumping into the wall before she caught her balance and yelled, “What in the fuck is that? ”

“This is Lamp,” I explained as I bent forward to pick up Toast and Cake. Once I had the three cats in my arms, they nuzzled their faces against me, telling me without words how much they’d missed me. “The one in the middle is Toast, and the one on the right is Cake.”

“What?” Cydney asked in a frantic whisper. “Are those . . . oh my God! You’ve got penis cats!”

“What?”

Cydney rushed my way with her hand out and said, “I’ve always wanted to see a penis cat in real life but . . .” Her voice trailed off when Lamp hissed and then Toast swiped at her with her claws out. “And they’re assholes.”

“It’s not you, it’s me,” I assured her as I walked further into the apartment. I could hear her walking behind me and then snapped at Cake when she hissed. “Stop being a bitch!”

“They’ve missed you.”

“Half the time, they couldn’t care whether I’m alive or dead, but the other half, they act like I’m their best friend in the world - that is, until their food dish is full. Then they go back to not caring about me.”

“I think that’s a cat thing.”

“Lamp is the snuggliest,” I said before I kissed the top of her head. I leaned forward and set all three cats down on their feet and then stood up and smiled at Cydney. “Do you want to look around the apartment or . . .”

“I want to touch your penis cat,” she said as she stared down at the girls who were rubbing themselves against my legs as they stared up at her as if she was about to take me away again.

“So, they’re not actually called penis cats, Cyd. They’re . . .”

“I know what they are,” she said as she slowly bent forward and tried to pet Toast. She hissed at Cydney and then stood on her hind legs and started to swipe at her with her front paws like she was in a boxing match. Cydney wasn’t deterred and reached for Lamp who grudgingly let Cydney run her finger down her back. Cydney looked up at me and smiled before she said, “I never pegged you as a cat person.”

“Actually, you’ve never pegged me at all.”

“Shut up,” she muttered as she glared up at me. Cydney reached over and pinched my leg through my jeans and all three cats went on the attack.

Before they could do any damage, I swept her into my arms and carried her through the apartment. As I passed through each room, I told her what it was but didn’t stop walking until I made it to the bedroom. “And this is where the magic happens.”

“Really?”

“Technically, I wouldn’t know yet because I haven’t gotten you naked, but I’m about to.”

Cydney laughed and then started squirming for me to put her down. “You can see me naked, but that’s going to have to be in the shower because I’m airplane icky and can’t stand that.”

“What?”

“Even though I sat next to the window, which I thank you for, by the way, I still feel gross.”

“What does sitting by the window have to do with anything?”

“The person on the outside seat encounters, on average, about sixty-one people, but the person sitting next to the window seat generally only comes into contact with about twelve people.” When I just stared at her in confusion, she shrugged and said, “Not that it makes much difference since we were all in a tube breathing the same air anyway.”

“How do you know these things?” I asked. Before she could answer, I asked, “ Why do you know things like that?”

“My sister likes WebMD, but I’m more of a statistics kind of girl. For some reason, I can remember strange facts. Not nearly as many as Uncle Hank, but I’ve got more practical knowledge than he does, I think.”

“Hank is a trivia buff?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s a wiz. He would have kicked ass on Jeopardy. ”

“Why doesn’t he apply to be on the show?”

“Because Alex isn’t on it anymore. He was really sad when he died, and now he rarely even watches because he doesn’t like the new host.”

“Alex?”

“Yeah. Alex Trebek,” Cydney said as she slowly made her way around my room, looking at the art I’d chosen for the walls and reaching out to feel the texture of the bedspread and then the pillowcase. “It was so sad when he died. I thought Uncle Hank wasn’t ever going to recover.”

“Really?” I asked, wondering if we were talking about the same man. Surely the stone cold-looking man I’d met a few times hadn’t been upset when a person he knew from television passed away, right?

“He watched the show when he was in prison and then didn’t stop after he got out. When I was a kid, I’d sit on his lap and keep score. I think that’s how I learned to add. I can’t remember a time he ever lost a game.”

“Wow. I would have never guessed that about him.”

“Did you do anything like that in prison?”

“Not really, no. I didn’t realize that Hank had ever been in prison.”

“He’s not the only one,” Cydney said casually, as if being surrounded by convicted criminals was perfectly normal. As if she knew what I was thinking, she smiled and said, “Aren’t you glad that I got desensitized to the stigma that comes with someone having served hard time?”

“Absolutely,” I said without thinking.

Cydney yanked off the hoodie she was wearing and tossed it toward me before she grinned and took off toward the open bathroom door. Over her shoulder, she called out, “Come show me how glad you are!”

That was a task that I knew I was up for and would love every second of, so I did just that.

◆◆◆

“I have a question.”

“What’s that, babe?” I asked as I sat up and put my feet on the floor, not quite ready to start a new day that would be filled with extraneous bullshit that didn’t have anything to do with my actual business but instead, what people thought my business entailed because of the little snippets they saw on the screen.

“Do you ever let the cats sleep in bed with you?”

“With us? I’m guessing you’re going to have an opinion on that.”

Cydney cleared her throat before she said, “Sort of. Okay, I do, but I want to know your answer first.”

I took a deep breath and then blew it out as I ran my hands over my face. The girls were just outside the door doing their morning karaoke - a little ditty I liked to call “Get Out Here and Serve Us, You Swine.”

“I need coffee,” I muttered as I stood up and stumbled toward the bathroom. I felt more human after I’d relieved myself, brushed my teeth, and splashed water on my face. By the time I walked back out into the bedroom, I was sure I could speak in complete sentences using words with more than one syllable. Cydney was still in bed, staring at the door as if the cats were planning an invasion and would come through with guns blazing any second now. She glanced at me before I said, “I do not like for the cats to sleep in bed with me or even be in the room while I’m naked because the last time they were, Lamp mistook my balls for one of those crinkle toys she chases around the living room, and I ended up throwing her across the room.”

Cydney burst out laughing, and the yowling out in the hallway just got louder.

I pulled some shorts out of the drawer and stepped into them before I turned to ask Cydney a question. I found her staring at the drawstring of my shorts, or perhaps the quickly growing package beneath it, and laughed when she swallowed hard and asked, “What were we talking about?”

“Cats in the bedroom,” I reminded her as I cupped my balls as if to adjust them in the loose shorts. “What are your thoughts?”

Cydney shook her head to clear it and then looked up at my face. “There aren’t a lot of studies on it, but the general consensus from first responders is that a cat will start munching on your dead body as soon as it gets cold.”

“Stray cats or . . .”

“House cats.”

“No.”

“I saw a Reddit thread about it and then asked some of my cop friends. Zozo worked a case one time where the neighbors were worried because they hadn’t seen the old lady that lived on their block for a few days and she wasn’t answering the door. So, Zozo and Brawley went over to do a wellness check and could see the woman’s feet on the ground, unmoving even when they beat on the door. They busted in thinking that she needed help and found that she’d been dead for a few days and her cats were having an old lady buffet.” I swallowed hard to try and resist the urge to throw up, but Cydney wasn’t finished. “They go for the nose first and will eat your entire head, working their way into your chest within twenty-four hours.” I coughed and then gagged, but Cydney wasn’t deterred. “One study showed that cats will keep coming back even if the body has been there for days. I think I read that one was like thirty-five days or something and . . .”

Cydney’s voice trailed off when I sprinted toward the bathroom and slammed the door behind me. The last thing I heard before I hit my knees and threw up was her laughter, but I didn’t even care. I was too busy wondering how to bleach the image of Lamp, Toast, and Cake munching on my dead body to try.

I decided to let the cats annoy Cydney for a while longer and got into the shower when I finished brushing my teeth for a second time. I was completely unhurried, being very passive aggressive, in the hopes that she might decide that playing to my weak stomach wasn’t the best idea. However, when I walked out of the bathroom to get dressed, I found that she wasn’t in there waiting for me. She had braved the wild jungle of man-eating cats alone.

I shuddered at the thought again but decided I had no other choice but to face them, although I had to admit I’d look at them in an entirely new light from now on. When I opened the bedroom door, I was overtaken by the wonderful aroma of coffee and instantly forgave Cydney for any and everythings. Once I had my cup made, I walked toward the glass doors and slid one open so I could join Cydney outside.

I thought she didn’t hear me because she was too interested in her phone conversation, but she smiled up at me and motioned me toward the table where she had a bowl of fruit salad and a container of yogurt waiting for me.

Before I had a chance to thank her, she started talking again, and I looked out over the Vegas skyline, admiring the sunrise during the quietest part of the day, as I listened to Cydney conduct business. Her entire demeanor was different when she went into work mode. Even her voice sounded different - shorter clipped words without that Texas drawl that I’d come to love.

“I’ll be living in the Pacific Time Zone for the foreseeable future other than occasional visits back home where I’ll be in Central, so I won’t be available as early as usual now,” she explained to whoever was on the other end of the line. Suddenly, her voice got even calmer as she sat up straighter in her chair and glared at the cats who were staring at her through their tunnel wire. “That being said, my time zone doesn’t matter in this case because yesterday was the deadline for those proofs.”

I realized that this wasn’t just regular “business Cydney” now but “hard-ass pissed-off business Cydney,” and I found that I enjoyed watching the transformation.

By the time she finished her call, I was worried about losing my job and didn’t even work for her. When I looked her way, I saw her sip her coffee before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled.

“You know what I hate?” she asked. Before I had a chance to answer, she said, “Other than the usual.”

“I guess I’m going to have to learn what the usual is before I can answer that question.”

“Generic Pop-Tarts, peppermint candy, sun-dried tomatoes, drivers who go slow in the fast lane, people who wait until the last second to merge even though the signs telling them that they were going to need to do exactly that started three miles ago, dark chocolate anything, pineapples on pizza, fingernails so long that there’s no way that woman is able to wipe her own ass efficiently, and car salesmen.” I burst out laughing and then she shocked me again by saying, “And real Christmas trees. I’m allergic to evergreen anything, so they’re a problem.”

I took another sip of my coffee before I said, “All of those things are good to know, but what specific thing do you hate right now?”

“People who think I’m weak because I’m a woman or think that I don’t know my shit because I work for my grandmother and father.”

“I can see how that would piss you off.”

“I’ve been working for my family’s company since I was a kid, and I know the ins and outs just like my father did when he was my age.” When I nodded in understanding, she said, “You met Tata, and she seemed like a sweet grandma, right?”

“She’s not what I’d consider a cookie-cutter grandma-type, but yes.”

“She was a single mother working her way through school as a stripper, and that gives a woman a certain hardness,” Cydney proclaimed. “She takes no shit, not even from her own kid or grandchildren. If I fuck up, she tells me I fucked up, and if I fuck up too badly, she’ll take it to the board and have my ass fired.”

“Really?”

“She’ll hate it, but she’ll do it.”

“Interesting.”

“Granted, it would take a whole lot of fuck-ups for her to even consider it. She’d probably just take me out back and whip my ass before she chewed me out and told me to do better, but I have no doubt that she’d fire me if she thought it was necessary and deserved. Dad would do the same thing, and Mom would back his play.”

“So you’re not just some nepo-baby who got the world handed to her on a silver platter.”

“No. And this baby won’t be either,” Cydney proclaimed. “She’ll have two businesses to run instead of just one, so she’s gonna have to be on top of her game from the get-go.”

“You’re planning for her to take over my business? But what if she doesn’t want to be a tattoo artist?”

“She won’t have to be an artist, but someone’s going to have to keep the shop running in the black along with managing the merch and other products you’ve already got out there and any you come up with in the future. If your team plays their cards right, they can keep you and your brand relevant far into your retirement, and by then, it will be time for the kids to take over.”

“The kids? You’re planning for us to have more than one?”

“I hope so, if you’re willing to take that leap. If not, then we’ll have to make some big decisions soon. But it’s not just our children that I’m talking about - it’s your nieces and nephews too.”

“I’m an only child, Cyd.”

“Why do you refuse to be part of the Turner family?”

“Because I’m not their family, I’m their friend. I’d never turn my back on them or ever let them go without.”

“And you think that’s what family does?”

“In my experience, yes. Friends, good friends that you can count on, are much more reliable than family.”

Cydney slowly shook her head and looked sad when she said, “What breaks my heart the most is that I think you believe that.”

“I do.”

“If that’s the case, then what’s going to happen with us? I don’t want to just be your friend, Kenny. I want to make a family with you, and by your own admission, that’s not something you can trust or count on.”

“It’s not. I mean, it wasn’t, but you’re different. That’s my baby, too, and I plan on making sure that nothing I experienced as a child ever touches him.”

“Like a family would do.” When I started to shake my head, she said, “That’s what a real family would do, Kenny. Your father wasn’t a good example of anything as far as I can understand, but the Turners are more of a family to you than he ever was and you absolutely refuse to acknowledge it. That’s almost enough to bring me to tears, and I can only imagine how it makes Debbie feel since she considers you her child in every way but blood.”

“I don’t know my mother. I never did.”

“Did you ever try to look for her?”

“I don’t even know her name.”

“How? It’s got to be on your birth certificate . . .”

“It wasn’t. I didn’t have a birth certificate until I started school. It was a big deal that I didn’t have one, and my father was pissed that he had to go to court and waste a lot of money to get one. That’s why I was a year older than the other students in my class - I couldn’t start school because, according to the government, I didn’t exist.”

“How did they . . . What . . . Where were you born?” Cydney stammered. When I shrugged, she asked, “Did you ever go to a doctor when you were a kid?”

“Not as far as I know. My dad had one of his girlfriends take me to school to register, but they gave her grief about it, so he said “fuck it” and gave up. Some people showed up at the girlfriend’s apartment asking questions, and the next thing I know, I’m in some stranger’s house, living the good life only to be yanked away once my father jumped through whatever hoops he had to so he could get the paperwork in order to register me for school.”

“And then what?”

“By then, I was old enough to take care of myself, so it was really a non-issue.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Holy shit. Family will just fuck you over and leave you behind, Cyd.”

“Not real family, sweetheart,” Cydney said as she stood up and walked around the table. She sat down on my knee and pulled my head to her chest in an almost maternal embrace before she sniffed and whispered, “We’ll show you what real family is like at the same time we show the princess.”

I was too busy fighting off tears to think of anything else to say besides, “I thought it was Junior.”

“I go back and forth.”

“You’re gonna make a great mom, Cyd.”

“And you’re going to make a great dad, Kenny. I know you will.”