The woman pulls herself to a seated position, wipes her nose with the fabric of her catsuit, and glances toward us, catching us staring.Shit.
I force a smile, and gesture at her with my ball.
“Oh,” she says, standing with another sniff. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose is red, her painted-on black whiskers are smeared across her cheeks. “Sorry, I-I don’t usually do all this.”
“All good,” I say with a tight smile, stepping up to the line and preparing to bowl.
If I curve it to the right it should?—
“It’s just,” she continues, taking a step toward our area and using a tail I hadn’t noticed to wipe her eyes. Judging by the way she’s moving into our space, she’s a talker. I mask the audible groan building by clearing my throat.
“Sorry, you want to bowl.” She blinks at the ball in my hands. “My kids love bowling.” Her eyes fill with water. “My divorce finalized yesterday.”
I cut my eyes to Marv; he’s frowning. She doesn’t notice.
“And my ex-husband wants yearly holiday rotations.Yearly.” When she laughs, it sounds like an actual cat being held underwater.
Our silence seems to encourage her, because not only does she keep going, but her voice gets louder with every word.
“What am I supposed to do with that?” she demands. “Who does that? I love Christmas. I love all holidays. We live in Christmas Village USA, for God’s sake. He did it on purpose. Afterhefucked a nurse.” She blows out a frustrated breath, and the cat ears on her head droop to the side. “Lots of nurses, actually.” Now she’s yelling. “And I gave birthday blowjobs!”
She’s furious, dressed like a cat, and it takes every ounce of willpower for me not to laugh at her shoutedblowjobs.
“And my job.” She groans—loudly. “I’m a writer. I write about motherhood. And holidays. And every year I write about family Christmas traditions. I can’t do it. I just can’t. I’m a cat without the rest of my litter.” She lets out another cry as she twists her tail in her hands. “Santa just marched into Springer with his Christmas tree-carved jack-o’-lantern and lit the townChristmas tree and had the town costume contest, and I’m here alone. I can’t write about this.” She makes a disgusted face. “I’d rather die.”
I’ve seen the Santa jack-o’-lantern and ridiculous contest—which Santa always wins—and the tree lighting. They’re nothing to die over, but I don’t dare tell this crazed feline woman that.
“I mean it,” she continues. “Just kill me now with your bowling ball. Smash it over my head and shove a pin through my heart. I won’t feel it. Just?—”
Whatever she’s saying next comes out too wet and garbled for me to understand, but she’s stepped to the side enough I can bowl my turn.
So I do.
Right down the middle for a strike.
I celebrate with a coordinated spin and clap. “Rock’s on fire today, Marv.”
He grunts. “You practice all year? Against the rules, you know.”
I chuckle, adjusting the antler- and bell-adorned hat on my head before swiping my beer from the table and eyeing the score screen—fourth strike in a row.
“College intramurals,” I remind him with a grin, taking a sip of the subpar lager. It lacks flavor, has zero depth, and I’m pretty sure they need to clean their lines. Bad beer is better than no beer, so I take another sip.
“Bullshit,” Marv says, standing. He adjusts the tuck of his Holiday Club bowling shirt at the elastic waistband of his sweatpants before investigating his ball with his flashlight. “That was twenty years ago.”
He’s right—I bowl like hell every September and October just so I can kick his ass come Halloween and?—
“What are you looking for?” the woman who refuses to leave asks Marv as he shines a light in every crevice of his ball. She’snow standing at the end of our U-shaped seating area, curious look on her tear-streaked face.
“You with them?” Marv’s eyes narrow; despite the harsh tone he uses, she makes no effort to leave. He sighs. “Fine. Gunpowder. Evidence. Anything they can use against me in a court of law.”
Pleased he doesn’t detect anything, he pockets the light in his sweatpants and takes his ball, sending it down the lane to slam into the pins. Bastard gets a strike.
The cat stares. Sniffs again.
She wants to talk.
No thanks.
