“Just in the storage room. I have to go through them and make sure nothing’s expired.” She’s wearing this adorable gingham top and a pair of jean shorts with her red hair tucked into a matching bandana. The entire outfit makes the guy across the shelter, playing with kittens, stare every time she leans over the counter to wipe the corners.
Her cherry red outfit is such a contrast to the teal walls of the shelter, and she’s like a beacon for attention because of it. The shelter is her baby; if she’s not on the pitch, she’s here. She bought it three years ago when it was a failed Hookah shop, stripped everything down to the bones, and rebuilt it exactly how she wanted it—taking care of every animal in Harbor. She never says no, never lets an animal go hungry, and she proves every day that the world might be a horrible place, but it’s full of wonderful people.
If she takes in any more animals, she’ll need more space. The three rooms she has are already near capacity, and the front of the store is starting to collect a few random species that I don’t even think are legal to own in Rhode Island. But she loves every single one of them the same. It’s endearing and inspiring.
The dude is practically drooling, so I drop the box loudly to startle him before wandering over to her. “You have an audience,” I say, nodding toward the guy.
“Not my type,” she grumbles without looking up.
“What exactly is your type?” I ask, leaning against the countertop and playing with the rack of cat toys hanging in my face.
“Not that,” she cements. The guy isn’t bad; he’s shorter with dark curls and one of those bushy mustaches that look like they tickle.
“You don’t like a little carpet burn?” I ask her, and she finally stops cleaning to toss me a look. “What? Maybe if we get you laid, you won’t be so mean in DND.”
“I get laid a lot…” Cosy laughs. “I don’t need your help, and I’m not mean. The monsters are perfectly suited to your level.”
“Boring,” I yawn and throw my head back. “You got any hamsters in this place?” I ask her.
“Why…” she eyes me. “If you plan to let one loose in Bright’s apartment, count me out. I don’t need to be sleeping with one eye open.”
“Boo, you whore,” I whine, and she laughs.
“How’s Lady Gaga?” Cosy asks, wandering back through the shop.
“I still can’t believe you gave him a snake for his birthday. My Mom had a hissy fit over it.” I groan.
“Worth it.” Cosy snorts.
“He’s fine, Toby lets him out of his cage on a weekly basis, and the house descends into chaos, but they don’t have issues with mice anymore…” I shrug.
“So are you here because you’re hiding from a Saturday with them or because you want to be?” She asks me as she starts to dig through the box. I lower to the floor next to her and help with one, checking the bottoms for expiry dates and setting aside any questionable ones.
“Want to be,” I sigh. Then—because I’m honest—“also hiding. Two birds, one stone. Mom has Reid all up in knots—and you know him, he’s a dick.. So he pushes buttons, she gets worse, and then he closes up more. It’s a vicious circle I don’t want to be trapped in,” I explain.
“That’s the problem, though, Reaper.” She looks up at me. “Youarethe middle.”
I push over my tower of cans and groan, “This is why I moved out in the first place. Because I don’t want to be.”
“You let them depend on you way too much. Maybe it’s time you stop answering every time she calls crying?” Cosy suggests.
“That would involve starting a fight I don’t have the energy for.” I chew on my lip. I’m just not ready to quit cold turkey, even though the stress is building again.
“Find it,” Cosy says. “Before she starts walking all over you again.”
“What if I don’t answer one day and it’s something serious?” I ask her.
“Your mother is a grown ass woman, Reaper.”
“I know. I know that. I just…” I trail off. “My siblings aren’t, and if she’s falling apart, who’s there for them?”
“You aren’ttheirmother either,” she adds, “but I get that. You feel guilty, you want to pick up the pieces that she’s unable to carry, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your own mental health,” her voice goes soft. “Throttle your help. Give them what you can when you’re around, but don’t overextend yourself because you feel guilty.”
I open my mouth to say something, and the front door chimes, “I swear if that sketchy guy stole a kitten I’m—” her words die on her lips, and a smile forms. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Hi.” Daisy stands in the doorway with August and Lori, all three of them looking like they’re searching for something.
“Where’s your Dad?” Cosy asks her, and Daisy rolls her eyes.
