James pushed to his feet and ran down to his car in the garage. He opened the door to the back seat and poked his head in.
“Hey there, little guy. Are you okay?”
Two blue eyes surrounded by snow-white fur blinked out from the mesh front of the cat carrier.
“Sorry. I got waylaid. Come on, we’ll get you inside.” James reached for the handle of the carrier.
Hiss!
Yikes! He jumped back. The cat sounded angry, probably from being left in the car. He looked back in at it.
“Sorry about leaving you in here so long, but I have good news. This is your new home, Picasso.” He’d tentatively named the cat after one of Maxi’s favorite artists, but if she wanted another name, that was fine with him.Ifshe ever came home to see the cat.
He grabbed the carrier and the bag of cat supplies and brought them into the house. He set the carrier on the floor and looked in the bag, realizing he had no idea what to do with the supplies the lady at the animal rescue place had suggested he buy. He’d expected that Maxi would set everything up.
“Hmmm... litter box. Okay. I guess I need to put the litter in and put it... somewhere.” He glanced at the carrier where the cat was crouched down, staring at him as if ready to attack. “Better do that first before I let you out, eh?”
Where would Maxi put the litter box? The bathroom? Probably. The bathroom on the main floor was large, and he set the box up in the corner and poured litter in.
Back out in the living room, Picasso was moving around in the carrier.
Meow!
“Guess I better let you out now.” James opened the door and stood back.
Picasso poked his head out, his eyes wide as he looked around the room. He tentatively ventured from the carrier. His body low to the ground, he slinked around the carrier’s edges and finally came to the bag with his supplies. He stuck his head in and sniffed the cat food bag then turned an accusing glare on James.
Merooow!
Oh right. Poor guy was probably hungry. James filled one of the new stainless-steel bowls with water, the other with food. Picasso didn’t waste any time tucking in.
James watched the cat, wondering what Maxi would think of him. She’d been hinting at getting a pet for months now. James had pretended to dismiss the idea, acting like he didn't want a pet, because he’d wanted to surprise her and see the smile light up her face. He wasn’t a big animal person, and all that hair did make a mess on his suits. He was very particular about his appearance, but he’d purchased several sticky rollers that he hoped would help remove any hair. A little cat hair on his suits was worth it if the cat made Maxi happy.
Mew.Picasso had finished eating and trotted over to James. He rubbed against James’s leg, leaving a clump of white fur on the bottom of his dark-gray Brooks Brothers suit. James grimaced, but when the cat looked up at him with his wide blue eyes, his heart pinged. The small kitten was pretty cute.
He picked Picasso up, holding him away from his body so he didn't get more hair on his suit. “Don’t worry, little guy. We’ll get her back.”
Maxi put the last of her clothes away in the small pine bureau in the bedroom and shoved the drawer shut. The cottage was a bit more dilapidated than she remembered it being when she'd looked at it earlier, but she’d brought a cheery yellow comforter and sheet set and a few pieces of wall art to spruce up the bedroom.
Mew!Rembrandt jumped up on the bed and looked at her with his eager grayish-blue eyes.
When she’d returned home from her confrontation with James, she’d found him asleep on top of a pillow on the sofa, already seeking out the most comfortable spot in the cottage. He’d used his litter box and eaten the food she’d put out, too, so apparently he was settling in just fine. Maxi wished she could say the same for herself. It felt weird to be moving into a place of her own after living with James for her entire adult life.
She picked the cat up and tucked him under her chin. His purrs were comforting as she stroked his soft fur and walked to the main room. The kitchen was open to the living room, where she’d placed more pillows and artwork. It was starting to look like home.
Her phone pinged. It was James.
Are you okay? I’m worried.
A surge of regret and uncertainty bubbled up. Had she done the right thing? Could she make it on her own? But then she remembered James driving past her and pretending not to see her, and she became angry.
She didn’t want to answer him, but she also didn’t want him to keep texting, or worse, calling. She put Rembrandt down and picked up her phone.
I’m fine. Staying with a friend. We’ll talk later.
She didn’t want him to know about the cottage yet because she didn’t want him coming over. This was her retreat, her safe space. The place where she could be therealMaxi, the one that had been hidden all these years because she’d always done what James wanted. Always worn the outfits he’d approved of, hosted the executive dinners, and frequented the classier establishments instead of wearing colorful flowing skirts, attending art shows, and hanging out at the artsy bohemian bars and coffee shops that appealed to her.
Sure, she’d have to let him know about the cottage eventually, and they’d have to have a discussion at some point, but right now, it was too raw. She needed time to think.
