Just conversation.
Someone to listen.
With Hannah I was only Mason. Not Agent Kohler. That separation was important.
“Hey back,” I replied. I let myself into my apartment. It was a little after seven. I had stayed late poring over channel lists on Internet Relay Chat. Tracing ISP addresses only to find them hijacked and unusable.
I had run a hundred circles getting absolutely nowhere.
But that didn’t matter. Not right now.
Tigger ran toward me, meowing loudly, obviously ready for dinner.
“Is that Tigger?” Hannah asked. I could hear the sound of banging on the other end.
“Not unless another feline has invaded my home while I was at work. Though knowing what a dick Tigger is, that wouldn’t be hard to believe.” I dropped my keys on the kitchen table and filled the cat’s bowl with food.
“You’re so hard on the poor little guy. What did he ever do to you?” She chuckled.
I stroked the cat’s back and, predictably, he hissed at me before stuffing his face into his bowl to eat.
“He’s okay. We have a relationship built on mutual distaste.”
“So why do you have him if you don’t even like him?” she asked.
It was an innocent question. One I didn’t want to answer.
“What are you doing? You’re making a lot of noise over there. Are you home?” I asked, my throat uncomfortably tight at the thought of exactly why I had Tigger.
“I’m making dinner. Or trying to. I’m not exactly known for my cooking.” Something dropped, making a loud clang. Hannah let loose a string of colorful curses that would have made even a sailor blush.
“That didn’t sound good,” I teased, wondering about her. About this woman making dinner on the other end of the phone. This woman who, just by talking, made me forget what a shit day I’d had.
“I dropped a jar of sauce on my toe. It fucking hurt,” she grumbled, and I laughed.
“Are you laughing at my injury?” Hannah asked with mock indignation.
“Never,” I swore, taking a bottle of beer from the fridge and popping the cap. “So whatcha making?”
More curses tickled my ear and I found myself smiling widely.
“Spaghetti. Nothing fancy. Though at the moment it seems most of it is going to end up on my clothes.”
I could have made a pervy comment about taking off her clothes or being able to help clean her up, but I didn’t. The tried-and-true methods of flirtation I was used to fell silent on my lips. Hannah wouldn’t hear them.
She deserved better than the tried-and-true.
Tigger finished his dinner and meowed again, letting me know that he wanted more. I filled the bowl one more time, scratching the top of his head, and was rewarded with a lack of aggression. Maybe we were getting somewhere.
“Tell me more about Tigger. I want to know how this crazy cohabitation began,” she pressed. I finished my beer and dropped the empty bottle in the recycling. I thought about having another one but didn’t. Except on a few notable occasions, I tried not to overindulge. It only led to trouble.
Just ask Madison.
“He was my brother’s cat,” I told her, walking back into the living room and sitting down on the couch. I stretched out my legs to make myself comfortable.
“Oh, I didn’t know you have a brother. So why didn’t he want him? Did Tigger pee in his shoes? Was he bringing home too many random felines at night?” Hannah joked, and I found myself laughing. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed when it came to anything regarding my brother. Even his semi-evil cat.
I took a deep breath and went for it. “My brother passed away last year. No one else would take the fucker, so now he’s here. Though he lets me know on a regular basis that he’s less than pleased with the arrangement.” There was no evasion. No changing the subject. It felt strange being open about Dillon. I hadn’t really talked about him to anyone since he died. My parents wouldn’t speak of him unless it was in relation to their grief and disappointment in me.
