And what does he want?
Chapter Thirty
Lot
He doesn’t love me like that.
On Thursday, I pull up to Mom’s with Queenie, eyes scanning, ears perked, like she knows something’s going on.
“I’m not giving you away,” I tell her. “Just testing the waters. Keeping it in the family, so no attitude, okay? Be cute.”
Her meow is all sass like a moody teenager. But here goes.
Mom opens the door wearing an ivory cardigan set, high-waisted jeans, and lipstick. No scrubs today since she took Maurice to the doctor earlier. He got the all clear. He’ll be going back to work next week, and I’ll be heading back to New York. I’ve already booked my flight for Tuesday morning. I knew the longer I let it lag, the harder it would be to go.
“Hi, Queenie,” Mom coos. “You’re even prettier than your pictures.”
Queenie gives her side-eye that’s filled with caution and suspicion.
“They say pets take on their owners’ personalities.”
“She’s not my pet.”
Mom just smiles. “Put her down and let her look around before we get acquainted.”
I set Queenie on the floor, but she sticks to my ankles like Velcro. “You could try feeding her a treat,” I suggest, grabbing the small bag of chicken pellets from my purse and handing it to Mom. “She’ll do anything for these.”
She crouches, coaxing Queenie forward with a piece. Lured by temptation, she soon budges, sniffs, and takes it from her palm. When Mom strokes her back, she purrs like they’re besties.
“Go visit with your dad while we get to know each other,” she says.
“Are you sure?”
“We’ll be fine.” She feeds Queenie another pellet, giving her royal treatment.
I pause in the doorway before heading down the hall. Watching them sends a little dart through my chest. I suppose it’s the routine and familiarity more than anything that I’ll miss. Plus, I can’t think about leaving Queenie without thinking about leaving Dice.
That’s a whole other mess of feelings.
Maurice is in his recliner, papers stacked on the side table, shirt buttoned to the neck like he never left work mode. He glances up as I enter. No smile, but no scowl either. We’ve been getting along better since our “talk.” He’s been less judgy, and I’ve learned to let the small things slide.
“Where’s this Queenie you want us to meet?” he asks.
“In the kitchen. Mom’s playing cat whisperer.” I cross to the sofa and perch on the edge, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. “Congrats on getting cleared. All that physio paid off.”
“Would’ve gotten there either way.”
“Still,it’s good news.”
He gives a small nod. “You heading back soon?”
“Tuesday.”
He nods again, thoughtful this time. “You held it together while I was out. Appreciate that.”
“You’ve got a good team. They stepped up to keep it all running smooth. And they look great in the new T-shirts.”
“Hmph. New logo’s not bad.”
