“What the heck? You can’t spring that on me. They could get thousands of donations this month. What am I going to tell my followers when you can’t follow through on your promise?” The words tumble out in a low hiss as if she’s afraid she’ll get overheard, even with the audio muted.
She’s attacking the cage so viciously I’m pretty sure she scrubs an entire layer off the bottom.
“I’m good for it. You put me on the spot. It seemed like a good idea.”
“You’re good for it? What if it’s five thousand dollars? Ten, Twenty?”
I don’t even flinch or break eye contact with her, and I can see when it hits. She shuts her eyes, exposing her throat as she studies the ceiling.
“Right. How could I forget? You’re a Whitaker. Pocket change for you.” She shakes her head and then goes back to angrily scrubbing the cage.
“I thought you’d be happy. Your followers will be impressed. And it helps the animals. Win-win for everyone.”
“I am, but... I just didn’t expect it like that.” She loses steam, unable to snap back at me over this one. I can tell she’s struggling with herself, but it’s hard for me to grasp why. This is a good thing.
“Never mind. Let’s finish this up so we can get back to the question session. You’re right. They’ll love you.” She’s drooping a little now, and I’m still trying to figure out what I did wrong.
A grey tabby bumps into my leg as we’re finishing, and she scoops him up. “Hello, Arthur. How are you today?” She strokes a hand down the cat’s coat, and he answers with a little chirping noise.
“Arthur?”
“Yup. He came with the name. His owner was moving to a retirement home, so she had to surrender him. Poor guy.”
“That’s... shitty.”
“I know, but he’s not too old. We might still be able to find him a home.” Her hair falls over her cheek as she nuzzles into the cat, and I have to resist the urge to reach over and brush it behind her ear. She’d probably sic the beast on me if I did. I glance behind me at the first cat I handled, and all I see are a couple of glowing eyes staring back at me from inside the little tunnel. The hostility emanating from him almost matches Luna’s toward me.
“That’s terrible for both of them.”
“Yeah, it is.” She gives the cat one last squeeze before placing him gently on the ground. “We should clean up before we hit the camera again.”
“Yes, where’s the restroom?”
“You can clean up in here. There’s a sink. But the restroom is out the door and to the left. First door.”
“Got it.”
I head that way, needing a moment to myself. I’m a little on edge here, and I’ve been ignoring the knot in my chest since I got here, but I’m worried I’ll lose it in front of her. It’s been happening with more frequency this year. The suffocating feeling that I’m trapped. I’ve kept it together up to now, but the last place in the world I want to show my weakness is in front of her.
I lather up my hands, rubbing soapy bubbles up my forearms and rinsing five times. Then I gasp as I splash a shock of icy water over my face. It’s enough for a reset. I pat my face with some paper towels, staring at the mirror and swiping a hand over the carefully styled swoop of hair framing my face. When I’m absolutely sure there’s not a hair out of place, I take a deep breath and head back to the cat room to join Luna live.
I can’t help but smile as I’m pushing through the door. She’s taken a seat in one of the folding chairs, and she’s got two cats on her lap with two more weaving around her legs.
There’s another chair still folded up by the door, so I snatch it up to join her in front of the tripod.
Her smile is genuine when she turns to me. Not as wide as the one she’s always turning toward the camera. Softer and fewer teeth. Must be all the cats. She seems to be in her happy place here, and I can respect that. Mine is on the ice. At least, it always has been. The one place I can escape all the responsibilities and expectations of being a Whitaker. That’s the thing I think she’s not understanding. I never asked to be born into my family. Andwhile I understand how privileged I am, I also know that I don’t have the freedom to pursue my dreams. Not like Dev and Cole, or any of the other guys. No, I made a promise when I convinced my father to let Cece stay at Lakeview, and I’m not backing down on it. That’s not who I am.
I shake off the grim thoughts as I sit down.
Comments are rolling at the bottom of the screen, and a lot of them are centered around me.
“They want to know what position you play, Beau? And your number. Um, do you have any pets? I think they want to know everything. I don’t even know if we’ll get to all of these.”
I lean in a little as if I’m in a post-game interview. “I play defense. Number twenty-five. And no. I don’t have any pets. But my sister has a ferret and two guinea pigs. I just met them before Christmas.”
Hugs and heart emojis explode in the comments section.
“But this isn’t about me. We’re here for the cats. Anything you can do for them and for Paws would be incredible,” I say, shifting in my seat. I’ve been trained on media for what seems like my entire life, but it’s not what I was expecting. I didn’t think her followers would be so interested in me. Feels intrusive. I’m not sure how Luna handles it.
