10
MAX
A Not-So-Exclusive
Nora.
I wake up with her name in my head, Melody’s tiny purr vibrating against my collarbone like a battery-powered lullaby.
I can feel the air shift whenever she is near me—I don’t know what it is about her. She is beautiful of course, but I’ve met a lot of beautiful women. She is whip-smart and I like that she isn’t very impressed by my fame or wealth. It’s refreshing, honestly. I also like the way her whole face lights up, when she laughs. But there’s something in her essence that pulls at me. Don’t get me wrong: I want to fuck her more than I want anything else. But I don’t think she is a woman for one night. And attraction in my orbit is collateral damage waiting to happen. Cameras follow me the way stray thoughts follow insomniacs. Rehab rumors, paternity gossip, the constant hum of people waiting for a headline—they’re my background music. I know she craves and deserves something quieter than my life. A life with a husband, a bunch of children, a house with books in every room and maybe a cat dozing in the sun.
Speaking of cats: last night I fell asleep on the couch with Melody—me halfway through a documentary, her curled at the hinge of my elbow. Now pale light seeps around the loft’s blackout shades, and I can’t shake the fear that I’ve missed some critical kitten-care step. Litter box: installed. Water: refreshed at 2 a.m. Scratching post: improvised from a rolled-up bath mat. Still, doubt buzzes louder than her motor-purr.
I ease my phone from the coffee table and open Nora’s contact—Nora Bookworm. Thumb hovers, then taps.
Max:
Morning. Melody made it through the night, but I’m not sure I’ve set things up right. Anything I should fix before she decides I’m a terrible foster dad?
Nora:
Morning! If she’s eating, drinking, and using the litter box, you’re already ahead of half the internet. How did those three things go?
Max:
Food: gone in sixty seconds. Water: topped off twice. Litter box: one solid hit, one attempt behind my amp (redirected in time).
Nora:
All sounds normal. Maybe add a blanket or old T-shirt so she smells something familiar when she curls up.
Max:
Tour hoodie from 2018 okay? Smells like coffee and stale guitar strings.
Nora:
Perfect. Comfort plus conversation piece.
Max:
Any tips on how much to feed her? She acts like every packet is herlast meal.
Nora:
Half a pouch three times a day. If she finishes and begs for more, that’s normal. Don’t cave right away—small stomach.
Max:
Copy that. I guess I’m on portion patrol.
There’s a pause while Melody crawls into the box and immediately falls asleep. I snap a quiet picture but hold off on sending it. Texting again feels easier than stepping away.
Max:
She’s already out cold again. Is that okay? Seems like she sleeps a lot.
Nora:
