1. Naomi

CHAPTER 1

Naomi

" C an you pull over? I think I'm going to puke."

My mom glances at me from the driver's seat. Her forehead creases with a few worry lines before she looks back at the road.

"You can do this, baby. Your dad said Sandy is so excited to meet you, and Peter has always been a good boss to him. They're going to love you, and besides, they're leaving in a couple hours, right?"

I shake my head, staring straight through the windshield with my arms wrapped around my stomach in a futile attempt to keep the nausea at bay. There's a bitter taste in my mouth, and sweat is breaking out on the back of my neck.

"Exactly. That's two whole hours of social interaction with Dad's boss and Dad's boss's wife. How am I supposed to keep up a good impression for two hours? What if I say something stupid? What if I can't say anything ? What if I actually puke? Like, on one of their expensive…vases, or something. They collect art, right? What if I get Dad fired because I throw up in some priceless sculptural vase made by a Portuguese master artisan?"

I glance at her as she guides the car off the highway and down the exit ramp. She's pressing her lips together like she's trying not to laugh.

I'd laugh too, if I weren't so paralyzed by terror. I always know when I start to sound like I've gone off the deep end, but when it comes to socializing, there's this diehard part of my brain that insists on validating all my insane imaginary scenarios with a constant chant of, ‘ What if? What if? What if? '

It doesn't matter that I only have a couple hours of talking to get through before they head to the airport and leave me to spend the summer house sitting in blissful solitude. I've already come up with a dozen ways those two hours could go horribly wrong.

"Well, Naomi," my mom says once we've pulled up to the red light at the bottom of the ramp, "I'm not sure exactly how that situation would play out, but I know we could handle it. I know you could handle it. I also know you're not going to throw up in a vase today."

I hunch forward as my stomach does a particularly aggressive flip in protest of her confidence. She reaches over and smoothes a hand down my back.

"I know you're nervous, honey, but I promise, you've got this. Do you want to try one of those exercises your therapist told you about?"

The traffic light turns green, and she puts her hand back on the steering wheel. I nod and straighten up in my seat, pulling a deep breath in through my nose as I prepare to tune into each of my senses one by one.

I start with scent. The sun-bleached cardboard pine tree dangling from the rearview mirror hasn't been switched out for at least a year, so mostly, the car smells like the stale air billowing on full blast from the air conditioning vents with a tinge of artificial lime bubbling out of my mom's sparkling water sitting in the cup holder between us.

I move on to touch. Even with the air conditioning on high enough to have goose bumps lining my arms, I can feel the backs of my thighs sticking to the fake leather seat. The late afternoon sun glaring through the windshield is warm on my cheeks.

Trying to focus on taste just reminds me how nauseous I am, so I steal a sip of the sparkling water and focus on the way the tiny bubbles fizz against my tongue. I take a couple more sips as I turn my attention to what I can see: a tree-lined street with wide sidewalks, a sprinkler dousing a vibrantly green yard, a shiny white truck glinting so bright in the sunlight I have to blink a couple times and look away.

We've entered of one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Ottawa, and the houses are all supersized. The lawns have that manicured look to them, with crushed gravel twining around tidy flowerbeds and symmetrically trimmed shrubs.

"Jesus," my mom says under her breath, "that one looks like it could be a hotel."

The house she's staring at is a sprawling two-storey brick mansion with a three-door garage. There are actual Corinthian columns holding up the roof above the entryway.

"I think it's an embassy," I say, peering at the unfamiliar flag fluttering next to the red and white Canadian one at the top of the two flagpoles adorning the yard.

"I haven't been to this neighborhood in years. I forgot how fancy it is."

I nod and focus back on my grounding exercise. I only have sound left, and with the windows rolled up, there's not much to focus on besides the hum of the engine and the constant rattle of the air conditioning. I tune into the whirring fans, letting them become a metronome in my ears as we turn the corner onto yet another wide street lined with giant houses.

"It says it will be on the left." My mom hunches forward over the wheel to get a better look at the house numbers.

I was just starting to feel like I might not be on the verge of a truly horrific combination of vomiting and cardiac arrest, but as soon as I glance at the map on her phone and see we really are only a few meters away, I'm right back to where I started.

I let out a low moan and rub circles against my sternum, begging my runaway heartbeat to slow down.

"Oh, honey…" Mom pulls up to the curb just before we reach the house and shifts the car into park. "What can I do? What do you need?"

I rip my seatbelt off and crouch forward into the emergency landing position, forehead pressed to my knees and hands wrapped tight around my ankles.

"A new brain," I answer with another moan.

My voice is muffled by my kneecaps. My mom clears her throat and tells me she didn't quite catch that. I stay folded over but turn onto my cheek instead.

"I said I need a new brain. I'm starting to think that's the only option here. Full-on brain transplant. I think if we can get me an appointment in the next few days, the summer break should give me enough recovery time to be a functional human by the time school starts in the fall."

The thought of starting university in September has been looming in my mind like a Dickensian specter of doom all year, but graduating from high school a couple weeks ago turned what felt like a low-level hum of agitation into a keening shriek I can't ignore for longer than a couple hours at a time.

"Is that what this is really about?" Mom asks. "The university nerves?"

I nod. There's no point denying it.

"Okay, how about this?" She leans forward to rest the side of her head on the steering wheel so she can look into my eyes. "I'll go up to the house with you. It would be polite for me to say hi to Sandy anyway. Then you'll have a buddy for most of the small talk, and by the time I leave, all you'll really have to do is listen and nod while she gives you the instructions about the cats and the house."

Part of me clutches at her words like a lifeline, but I still shake my head.

"That's really nice, but…I don't want to look like a twelve year-old. How are they going to trust me to look after their giant house for two months if I can't even walk up to the door without my mom?"

She starts rubbing my back again, smoothing down the fabric of my t-shirt before she traces a few circles along my spine. The slightest bit of tension melts from my muscles.

"No one's going to think that, honey. Like I said, it would be polite for me to say hi to Sandy. I'll make sure she knows that's why I'm there."

I close my eyes and take a shaky breath before forcing myself to let the air out as slow as I can. Once my lungs are empty, I open my eyes and sit up.

"Okay. Let's get this over with, I guess."

We pull into the driveway and are met by a solid metal gate in the low stone wall surrounding the property. From what I can see of the house, it's more modern than most of the castle-style mansions around here. The grey and white building is made of interlocking modular sections, with more huge windows and glass walls than I can count.

"Wow," Mom says as she inches the car up to the call box flanking the gate.

The ringtone sounds out a few times, and then a metallic popping noise emits from the gate before it swings open to reveal the rest of the driveway. She parks outside the two-door garage, and we both take a moment to ogle the gigantic in-ground pool in the backyard, complete with a hot tub that could fit an entire soccer team. There are stone pedestals topped with abstract statues in a variety of materials dotting the whole property.

"Wow," Mom repeats. "Maybe I should have volunteered for the house sitting job."

I jump when one of the garage doors starts rolling up. I follow my mom's lead in getting out of the car, and a woman's voice rings out from inside the garage just as I'm shutting my door.

"Hello, hello!" A short woman with curled, cherry red hair who looks like she's somewhere in her fifties comes out and beams at us. She's wearing sleek black leggings and a billowing pink tunic top. "Thank you so much for coming! You must be Naomi. The kids are so excited to meet you."

My tongue feels too thick in my mouth for me to voice my confusion, but she must read it in my face. She lets out a tittering laugh.

"I mean the cats. I call them the kids all the time. I'm sure you'll get used to it. Oh, we are just so glad to have you!"

I'm searching for the willpower to thrust my hand out and actually say something to her, but she closes the distance between us and pulls me into a tight hug instead. All I can do is stand there like a limp fish caught in her embrace. She smells like strawberry perfume, or maybe it's just her shampoo. There's a lock of her hair draped across my face, and I itch with the urge to flick it away.

She pulls back after a couple seconds and grips my shoulders while she continues to beam at me. "I don't know what we would have done without you. After our regular sitter cancelled, I told Peter I refused to leave the kids with a stranger and that Italy would just have to wait until next year. Thank goodness he was at work when I called so your dad overheard."

I force out a chuckle. It sounds more like a gurgled cry for help than a laugh, but still, it's a sound. Making sounds is the general goal of a conversation.

"Here I am!" I squeak.

My mom takes the opportunity to swoop in beside me. Sandy lets go of my shoulders and turns to smile at her instead.

"Mallory! It's been too long. You don't know how disappointed I was to miss catching up with you at the company Christmas party this year, but as they say, Fiji calls! Do you want to stay a minute, Mallory? I'm sure the kids would love to meet you too. Peter's out at the store trying to find a new neck pillow in time for our flight, so there's no rush. I swear, that man and his neck pillows. I found three other ones in his closet, but…"

Sandy keeps narrating the saga of the neck pillows as she retraces her path to the garage without waiting for an answer.

"Do you want me to come in?" Mom murmurs before Sandy can realize we're not following.

Sandy has already proven herself to be every introvert's dream come true, or what I call a solo-versationalist—meaning she really only needs a few nods and ‘mhmm's in return for maintaining a whole conversation on her own.

I still nod and tell my mom yes. We step inside the cool shade of the garage, and I try not to let my eyes bug out of my head when we walk past a glittering silver car that even I can tell probably cost as much as my whole degree will.

"We have to be quick so they don't get out," Sandy says, glancing back at us while she grips the handle of the door into the house. "They're strictly indoor cats, and the sun can do them a lot of damage."

We shuffle inside and are met with a chorus of yowling meows almost as fast as we're hit by a blast of air conditioning. I only have time to gawk at the towering height of the entryway's ceiling for half a second before something soft slams into my legs.

I look down at what has to be the ugliest cat I've ever seen in my life.

"Oh, Bijoux!" Sandy gushes as the cat starts pawing at my shins, still meowing. "He loves you already!"

The cat is grey and completely hairless, with giant ears and pale eyes tucked amongst the wrinkly folds of its face. Without any hair to soften out the shape of its body, the whole cat seems to consist of wrinkly folds of flesh.

I've seen pictures of hairless cats before, but it seems nothing can truly prepare you for the shock of being face to face with an animal that's totally naked.

"And here's Aurora Rose. Hello, sweet girl!"

I glance over to see a second hairless cat, this one with marbled white and tan skin, rubbing against my mom's leg. She crouches down to give it a few tentative scratches, and it bumps its head against her hand.

"Poor little things!" Mom coos before looking up at Sandy. "Do you know what happened to them?"

Sandy cocks her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I mean to their fur. Is it a medical thing? It's so great that you took them in. I'm guessing not a lot of people would."

I glance between the two of them, and it clicks for me at the exact same time I see a storm cloud gathering on Sandy's face.

My mom must not know hairless cats are a thing, and Sandy must think they're the cutest thing in the world.

I watch as Sandy smoothes her features into a mask of the utmost dignity before she takes a few stiff steps over to my mom and bends to pick up Aurora Rose.

"Aurora Rose and Bijoux are Sphinx cats ," she says in a frosty tone. She tilts her chin up to emphasize the awe the end of that sentence is meant to inspire. "Sphinx cats are the premiere breed of hairless cats in the world. They both have immaculate pedigrees and have won several awards."

My mom's eyes widen, and she opens and closes her mouth a couple times, like she can't settle on an appropriate response to finding out she's mistaken the premiere hairless cat breed in the world for the victim of an unfortunate skin condition. I don't blame her. We are way beyond the territory of any social script I know.

"Oh!" she says after blinking a couple times. "Hairless cats. Right. I am so sorry. You don't, um, see them around too much, but now that you mention it, yes, of course. Hairless cats."

Sandy stands there stroking Aurora Rose's head like a queen deciding if she wants to grant a royal pardon or not.

"Their eyes are pretty," I blurt.

Sandy's attention snaps to me. I bend over so I can avoid her eyes and pretend I'm focused on assuaging the desires of the cat still batting at my shins.

My comment seems to be just what Sandy needed to slip back into sweet and friendly mode; when I find the nerve to glance back up at her, she's beaming.

"Aren't they just? I'm so glad you think so. Something tells me you and the kids are going to get along just fine. I stretched out their bathing schedule a little so you and I can get a wash in together before Peter and I leave."

I freeze. "Bathing?"

Sandy chuckles. "Of course! I was so happy you still took the job after I asked Peter to ask your father if you were up for some high maintenance kitties."

That part of the conversation was not conveyed to me. One of the best parts of this job was just how low maintenance it sounded. In theory, it's every introvert's dream come true: two whole months in a giant house with nothing but feline companionship to interrupt my solitude—and maybe a couple peaceful sunbathing sessions with my best friend while we work through our summer reading lists together.

I just have to survive the rest of this conversation first.

"Sphinx cats' skin doesn't absorb oils, of course," Sandy continues. "After their baths, I'll show you how to clean out any earwax build-up as well. Oh, and between their toes. That can get a bit gunky."

She laughs like she's talking about a sweet and quirky cat habit like sleeping in a dresser drawer or hiding toys behind the couch.

"Of course," my mom echoes, letting out a laugh of her own that's tinged with just enough sarcasm to let me know she's way too amused by the image of me cleaning out cat toe gunk.

"Peter will hopefully be back with his darn neck pillow sometime before our plane takes off, so we should probably get started on their routine."

My mom claps a hand on my shoulder, and even though I can practically feel her holding back another laugh, the way she rubs her thumb over my shoulder blade is nothing but reassuring.

"How about you and Sandy get started, and I'll bring your bags in for you?"

I straighten up, and the cat lets out a yowl of protest.

"Oh, um, right. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Mom."

She gives my shoulder a final squeeze. "I'll say goodbye before I go."

We're only a twenty minute drive away from our house. I can go home for dinner with my parents and little brother any night I want. It's not like we're signing off for the whole summer or anything, which makes me feel extra stupid when a lump rises in my throat.

The longest I've ever been away from home was a week of summer camp in junior high. It was supposed to be a month, but my already moderate-to-severe social anxiety morphed into full- blown panic attacks that had the counselors begging my parents to come get me almost as desperately as I did.

I started therapy pretty soon after that.

I force myself to remember this isn't camp. In a couple hours, I'm going to have this entire mansion to myself for the whole summer.

Just me, Bijoux, and Aurora Rose living our best introvert life.

I ignore the fact that these cats seem to be exceptionally extroverted and focus on the image of a still and quiet morning on the couch with them instead.

I take a deep breath and let it out.

I can do this.

"Shall we?" Sandy asks before leading the way into the rest of the house.