7. Naomi

CHAPTER 7

Naomi

T he first thing I realize when I look at the clock next to my bed is that I'm late for the cats' breakfast.

The second thing I realize is that the cats aren't in bed with me.

They've slept with me every night since I arrived, and they usually wake me up by kneading my stomach and meowing long before they're due for their first meal of the day.

"Bijoux!" I call, my voice groggy. "Aurora Rose!"

I pat my hands along the comforter, searching for the shape of the cats tucked among the blanket's folds, but I can't feel them. My heart pounds, banishing the last of the sleep fog from my brain as I swing my legs out of bed.

"Here, kitties!" I call as I drop to my knees to peer under the bed. "Where are you?"

All I find are some dust bunnies and stray hairs. I get up and take off running down the hall, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood as images of last night flit through my mind like a slideshow on speed.

Or, more accurately, weed.

I remember Priya passing out on the living room couch after we all went inside. I think I left her there with a blanket and put Shal in one of the spare bedrooms.

The last thing I remember before going up to my own room is devouring a bag of Cheetos in the kitchen with Andrea and laughing at how weird it felt to lick cheese dust off my fingers.

The wave of embarrassment that builds when I imagine what I must have looked like shoving my fingers in my mouth and giggling like a maniac gets pushed aside when I make it down to the empty kitchen and don't find the cats waiting by their food bowls. I pivot and make a break for the igloo, sprinting past a still-sleeping Priya where she's lying with her entire body huddled under a fluffy pink blanket like it's a shroud.

When I find the insulated cat bed empty, my pulse reaches a dangerous pace and my vision swims. Mid-morning sunlight is streaming through the windows at full blast. I don't know how I'm going to tell Sandy I let her award-winning cats escape and get burned to a crisp while I was high out of my mind and trying to ignore how much I wanted to make out with her step-daughter.

I push through the vertigo and race back to the kitchen. I'm just about to shove the sliding door open when a voice from behind me asks what's wrong.

I turn and find Andrea with her hair piled in a messy bun and some very tiny sleep shorts just visible under the hem of the oversized t-shirt she's wearing.

I'm suddenly very aware that she's once again caught me in my pickle pajamas.

"The cats," I say, glad I can blame the breathiness of my voice on panic instead of what those little shorts are doing to my respiratory system. "I can't find them."

She swears and comes over to join me as I push the door open and step onto the deck.

"You've checked the whole house?"

I shake my head, raking my gaze over the wide backyard for any sight of exposed cat flesh. "Just their usual spots, but they would have heard me calling if they were inside. They've slept with me every night except last night. They must have gotten out."

I cup my hands around my mouth and shout their names loud enough to make Andrea flinch. I keep calling as I cross the deck and step down onto the lawn, my pitch rising when neither of their bald heads pokes out from behind a flower pot or under a pool chair.

I glance over my shoulder and see Andrea stalking along the bushes that line the property's fence. She's found a big stick to pry branches out of the way as she hollers summoning chants that would have Sandy fainting away onto the deck boards if she were here.

"Come on, you greasy little skin sacks! I have more important stuff to do today! Here, kitties!"

I'd laugh if I didn't feel close to tears.

They might have been greasy and sack-like, but they were also the cuddliest cats I'd ever met. We had a bond. Now they're probably some neighborhood dog's chew toy, and I'm going to get my dad fired because of some stupid plan to make my last real summer as a teenager ‘matter.'

A heaving gasp forces its way out of me. Andrea freezes in the middle of lifting the bottom of a shrub with her stick and turns at the sound.

"What is it?" she asks, already bounding over to me. "Did you find them? That did not sound good."

I shake my head, blinking against the burning sensation in my eyes. I should have known things like joints and tattoos and summer flings aren't for people like me.

"Hey. Hey, it's okay."

Andrea comes to a stop a foot away from me and lifts her hands like she's about to hug me before she drops her arms back to her sides. She shifts her weight from foot to foot as I cough to cover a sob.

"I lost them," I wheeze. "I lost the freaking cats. I had one job, and I lost them. They can't be in the sun. Those poor things. Poor Sandy. What am I supposed to do?"

Andrea lifts one of her hands again and reaches for my shoulder, her fingertips brushing the pickle-patterned fabric of my t-shirt like she's asking permission. When I don't pull away, she wraps a firm grip around my shoulder and guides us back to the house.

"We don't even know if they're lost yet," she says as we step back into the cool air of the kitchen. "They have a whole mansion to be hiding in. We're gonna find those weird little naked felines, okay? I promise."

I can still feel the ghost of her fingers wrapped around my shoulder when she lets go of me and turns to lead the way to the second floor.

"We'll work our way down," she says, glancing over her shoulder as I jog up the stairs behind her. "Room by room. They've got to be here somewhere."

She offers to cover the third floor on her own since there's nothing up there besides the home gym and a small washroom. I start by retracing my steps to my room and double-check the bed before tearing through the closet. I keep cooing and calling the cats' names the whole time.

I don't know how Priya and Shal aren't awake now. I'd be worried they're having some sort of prolonged negative reaction to the weed if there were space left in my brain to worry about anything but the cats.

I leave my bedroom looking like it got ransacked and sprint across the hall to check the guest bathroom. My anxiety is churning up gory images of the cats drowning in the bathtub. I know I didn't even take a shower last night, but my brain tries to tell me I must have been so high I don't remember going for a soak and deciding to plop the cats in for a rinse.

" It could happen," I tell myself even as I'm peering into the empty tub.

I yank open all the bathroom cupboards for good measure and check behind the thick, dark green drapes framing the window, but there are no cats to be found.

When I dash out of the bathroom, I find Andrea careening towards me.

"I did my room and this bathroom," I tell her.

She nods and comes skidding to a stop before pulling open the door of a walk-in storage closet and disappearing inside. We race through the rest of the second floor, tag-teaming each door and shouting confirmation when we've cleared a room.

I even crack open the door of the bedroom Shal is sleeping in and find her sprawled on top of the blankets fully dressed, with an arm slung over her eyes to block out the sunlight streaming through the open curtains. I whisper-shout the cats' names and pad inside to do a quick sweep of the closet. Shal mumbles something as I'm retreating back to the hall before letting out a loud snore and shifting to nuzzle her face against her pillow.

By the time we make it back down to the ground floor, my breath is coming in short bursts that leave me so dizzy I have to stand gripping the staircase banister as I sway on my feet for a second. Andrea is already bounding off through the house, leaving me to take over the kitchen and foyer. Once the room has stopped spinning, I get started on examining every possible nook and cranny a hairless cat could have wriggled its way into.

I can't stop picturing what Sandy's face will look like when I tell her the cats are gone. My dad's boss is forever going to see him as ‘that guy whose daughter lost my wife's beloved pets and crushed her spirit beyond repair.' I'm pretty sure smashing every sculpture in this mansion would have been a better mistake than losing the cats.

I can't even look after two tiny animals for the summer. How the hell am I supposed to manage starting university and living life as an actual adult?

I slam the door of the cupboard under the kitchen sink shut so hard it rebounds and smashes into my shin. I yelp and bend down to rub my leg, sniffing to hold back tears that have nothing to do with the pain.

My therapist is going to tell me losing the cats has nothing to do with me starting university, but right now, I don't care about all the mantras and mental health exercises I've spent the past five years stuffing my head with.

When it comes down to it, I'm just not ready for life the way everyone else seems to be. It's like other people slid into existence with a set of instructions already encoded into their brains that I've spent the past eighteen years trying to learn through trial and an overwhelming amount of error.

I can't even have basic conversations without getting everything wrong and ending up exhausted by the end. It all just takes so much effort, like I'm stuck in analogue mode and everyone else has gone high-speed digital.

I think it's possible you might be neurodivergent.

My therapist's voice rings out above all the swirling thoughts in my head, the words making my already shallow breath freeze in my lungs.

It's been over a year since she first said that to me, and the statement still hits like a bucket of ice water pouring down my back. She always asks if I want to talk about what that means or how it might be affecting me, but I tell her ‘maybe next time' every single time.

Therapy was supposed to help me feel normal. I don't want another label like ‘anxiety disorder' slapped on my forehead so it can glare at me every time I look in the mirror.

I don't want another word for how different I am, for how freaking hard it is to get something— anything —right.

I turn to grip the edge of the sink, the porcelain cool under my fingers as I curl them around the lip of the basin. My shoulders are shaking, and I taste bile in the back of my throat.

"I'm gonna be sick," I mutter, bracing for the first heave.

"Naomi!"

I look up and find Andrea skidding into the kitchen, her socked feet sliding on the tiled floor. Her eyes are wide, and most of her hair has escaped from her bun to hang in wild, burgundy-tinged tendrils down her back.

"Come here!"

She beckons with a finger before careening back out of the kitchen. I push the nausea down enough to follow her, not daring to trust the excitement in her voice, not when I've already resigned myself to the tragic demise of both cats.

I find Andrea standing at the foot of the couch where Priya is still lying with a pink blanket covering her body from head to toe. The soft rise and fall of the fabric assures me I don't have to worry about killing my best friend too, even though she sure is sleeping like the dead today.

"What is it?" I whisper to Andrea, who's now grinning at me like I should be jumping for joy.

"Listen," she whispers back, leaning forward over the couch and cupping a hand to her ear.

I step up beside her and mirror her pose. At first, I can't hear anything except the hum of the air conditioning and Andrea's breathing beside me. I scooch in a little closer and squint at the blanket while I strain my ears to pick up on whatever has Andrea so excited.

I'm about to straighten up and ask if she indulged in another joint this morning when I hear it.

Purring.

Something under the blanket is purring, and I'm pretty sure it's not Priya.

My jaw drops, and I must look even more shocked than I feel; Andrea clamps a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter as she watches me.

A wave of relief floods my body with so much force I almost drop to my knees. I force my feet to carry me to the couch, where I hunch over and lift up a corner of the blanket. A couple seconds pass, and then a pale pink nose pokes out to sniff the fresh air.

Now I really do crumple to my knees, trembling with relief as both Bijoux and Aurora Rose blink at me with bleary eyes before curling back up against Priya.

I let the blanket drop and tumble backwards to land flat on my butt. For the first time since I woke up, I feel like I can breathe.

Andrea is shaking with the force of her silent laughter, one hand braced against the arm of the couch while the other stays clamped over her mouth. A snort pushes past her fingers, and she turns and flees. I'm too stunned to do anything except sit and listen as she sprints for the door to the back deck and then explodes into loud guffaws before she even has a chance to slide the door shut.

Once I've recovered enough to walk, I find her sprawled on one of the rattan couches, wiping tears of laughter away with one hand while she works the elastic out of her hair with the other.

I join her on the deck, my movements jerky and robotic as I plop onto the nearest chair and sit staring out at the backyard without really seeing anything.

I've just experienced a week's worth of emotions within an hour of waking up, and my body seems to be going through a system reboot.

"Those little assholes," Andrea says, still giggling a little as she sits up enough to redo her bun. "They were right there the whole time, and they didn't even bother meowing."

"Uh-huh," I say.

She must be too focused on her hair to notice my zombie state.

"Well, that's today's disaster all dealt with," she continues. "Thank god I didn't take the train to Toronto today instead of tomorrow morning. Who knows how long it would have taken you to go through the whole house on your own?"

I bob my head a few times before the meaning of her words dawns on me.

Toronto.

Train.

"Wait. Are you leaving?" I can't stop myself from staring at her so hard I forget to blink. "Like, tomorrow?"

She presses her lips together for a moment. "I mean…yeah. My mom wants me to go back and sort my life out, and I mean…I'm literally living out of garbage bags. I don't really know what else to do."

"Oh."

I knew she was only staying for a few days, but somehow, I figured I'd get some warning.

I drop my gaze when I realize how stupid I'm being. I've known her for three days. She doesn't owe me a warning. She doesn't owe me anything.

My chest goes hollow at the thought.

"So you're doing that internship?" I ask, turning my attention to the yard again. Most of the dew has evaporated off the grass now. I can smell chlorine wafting off the pool.

"I…" She trails off and slumps back down on the couch cushions again. "I don't really want to think about it. I start my internship at the end of August, and I guess I'll just…figure something out for the rest of the summer."

"Do you think you'll get back together with your boyfriend?" I blurt.

I want to pull the question back into my mouth as soon as I say it. My cheeks burn as I stare so hard at a tree across the yard I almost expect one of its branches to snap off.

I see her shaking her head out of the corner of my eye. "No. That's done for good. I don't even… God, it's just so crazy, because it's only been a few days, and I already don't even know why I was with him in the first place. I was looking for something that mattered to me, and for a minute there, I think I really fooled myself into believing it was him."

I stay quiet and wait to see if she'll elaborate. She shakes her head a few more times, and for a moment, she looks even lonelier than she did last night.

"God, I wish I could just stay here all summer," she says instead of telling me more. "Right here on this couch. I'll give it to my dad and Sandy; they sure know how to pick a house."

I dig my fingernails into the tops of my thighs to keep from asking her the question I spend way too much of my life asking myself: what if?

What if she stayed?

What if she really did spend all summer here?

With me?

I jerk as a shiver rolls through me.

She tilts her head. "You cold?"

"Oh, no," I mumble. "Just…relieved."

She chuckles. "Yeah, I'm sure the house will be much more peaceful for you without me here."

I blink a few times before I realize she thinks I'm relieved about her leaving.

" No . No, that's not what I meant," I stammer. "I'm relieved about the cats, not you. I don't want you to leave. I—"

I cut myself off with a gasp.

We both go still, the gurgle of the pool filter filling the silence.

"I just…I just mean you can stay if you want," I rasp, my voice so quiet I'm not even sure she can hear me. "Not that you need permission. I just… If you want to stay, you don't have to worry about me."

If it weren't totally crazy, I might actually believe there's a hint of flirting in her voice when she asks, "You sure about that?"

I nod, still not meeting her eyes, and force myself to swallow so my answer doesn't come out as a wheeze. "I don't mind."

"Hmm." She sits up and folds her legs into a lotus position. "I wouldn't want to get in the way of your summer bucket list thing. You three seem to have your hands full with that."

A bark of laughter bursts out of me. "Ha. I think it's safe to say we're done with the list."

I glance over and see her watching me with her head tilted to the side. "What do you mean? You just got started."

"We smoked one joint, and I nearly got the cats killed and apparently incapacitated my two best friends so much they're knocked out cold. No way am I doing anything else on that list."

She lets out a sound I can only describe as a guffaw and then waves a hand toward me when I gawk at her. "I'm sorry. It's just…you didn't nearly get the cats killed . They were fine the whole time, and your friends have only got a bit of a weed hangover. I don't think you have anything to worry about."

I bite my tongue to keep from telling her I always have something to worry about.

"I'm just…I don't think I'm cut out for normal teenager stuff," I say.

Or normal human being stuff in general.

Andrea flexes her hands out in front of her to crack her knuckles and then drops them to rest on her knees.

"Normal is boring," she tells me. "You're not boring, Naomi."

I glance at her face again, and this time, I can't look away. Nobody has ever stared at me like that, like they're trying to sear through my body to get at the very core of who I am.

For a second, I want to give her everything she's looking for. I want to split myself open and offer myself up. I want her to know me. All of me.

Then I remember all the parts of me that would probably make her turn and run.

I drop my gaze to the deck boards.

"You're not boring," she repeats, "and I don't think you should give up on that list. You were right; you'll never get another summer like this, and who cares if all the regular teenage milestones seem stupid and cliché? This is your chance to make them your own, and I think you should take it."

I curl my hands into fists in my lap and ask, "Why?"

She's quiet for so long I start to think I'm not getting an answer, but just as I'm about to clear my throat and say I should go inside before I get a sunburn, she speaks up.

"Because I think the world needs more of you, Naomi Waters."

My breath catches, and something in my chests spurts wings that stretch out wide to catch the morning air.

"And because I believe in the sanctity of a bucket list," she adds as she uncrosses her legs and gets to her feet, "I've decided I'm going to stick around until you finish it. I think you three could use an accountability buddy."

She walks over until she's standing just a few feet in front of me and plants her hands on her hips. I try not to gulp as I look up at her.

"You're staying?"

She nods, her eyes sparking like wildfire as she grins. "Toronto can wait. I think destiny called me here to help you get this list completed."

I still feel like the smarter move here would be crumpling the list up and tossing it in the trash, but I don't have any other reason to tell her to stay.

At least not any reasons I can say out loud.

"Well, you've got your work cut out for you with that."

"I'd say I'm off to a promising start. Here."

She grins again and shoves her hand out towards me, holding it in the air between us. I look between her face and her fingertips for so long she chuckles and makes a show out of rolling her eyes.

"Summer list item number five," she says, reaching forward to tug my hand out of my lap and clasp it with hers. "Make a new friend. Nice to meet you, Naomi. I'm your new friend Andrea King."