By the time Friday rolls around, I’m dreading the whole weekend. My parents message me to say they’re on the road from Philly, and they park outside the city, then catch a train into Penn Station, because my dad can’t bear the cost of parking in Manhattan. I take the subway uptown to meet them, and I spot my mom’s dark curls and flowery dress first, then behind her are my dad’s glasses, thinning hair, and white shirt tucked into smart pants. He always comes to New York looking like he’s attending a business meeting: “In case I meet anyone important, Jim.” When they get through the barrier, my mom pulls me into a warm hug as my dad gives me a chin lift.
“How are you doing?” my mom says into my ear as her arms tighten around me.
My dad’s eyes are sympathetic over her shoulder. “Oh, okay. You know.”
My dad makes a face, but what can I say? I can’t find it in me to explain everything that’s gone on since they were here last. And the jumping-off-a-roof thing ... that’s not stuff youeveradmit to your parents. The long view down and the small cars shimmer in my head. My mom leans back and frowns, smoothing her thumb over the red mark just under my eye.
“What happened to your face?”
“Oh, I tripped on some steps.” I want to groan out loud. Snowballing lies. Before I split up with Jane, I was never the guy who made up shit like this.
“Ouch,” my mom says at the same time that my dad says, “Were you drunk, son?” and chuckles.
I laugh.Yeah, that and a few times since.“I was a bit tipsy, yes,” I say, and he nods like he gets it. If only he knew.
When we get back to the apartment, Sadie answers the door, and I realize that in all my worry about telling them about Jane, I forgot to tell them about Sadie. My parents stare at her.
“Mom, Dad, this is Sadie,” I say. “She’s a developer who joined Williams Security about five months ago and is renting Des’s spare room.”
“Just temporarily,” Sadie adds, with a wince.
“Well, you didn’t tell us you had a roommate, James!” my mom exclaims, scanning down Sadie’s long cardigan and big slippers. My dad glances from Sadie to me and back again, and purses his lips.
I wave them into the apartment. “Would you guys like a coffee, or something stronger?”
“A coffee would be great,” my mom says.
Mr. Karen appears from my bedroom, where he’s taken a liking to burrowing under my comforter. He stretches out his body and then sits on his furry little bottom and stares up at my mom, blinking sleepily. He might not have many brain cells or spatial awareness, but I suspect he’s probably a genius at detecting a soft touch.
“Oh! You didn’t tell us you had a cat, James!” my mom exclaims.
“He’s on loan from the shelter.”
“On loan! How can a cutie like you be on loan, eh?” my mom says, clucking as she bends down and scratches Mr. K under the chin, and he starts purring as she coos at him.
“I’ve got a friend in Philly who does this,” she says. “She takes them in for a month or so. Of course, she ends up keeping them all. She’s got five cats now, and she told the rescue to stop sending them to her. But I said, ‘Why would they do that, Jean? It’s obviously working sending them to you.’”
Does everyone know about this cat shelter thing except me? And wouldn’t that be the perfect revenge, to carry on accepting cats and leave them for Des when he comes back?
“It’s very kind of her to keep them, but this one’s definitely going back; he’s a liability.”
“Oh, James, how can you say that? Look at him.”
We both stare down at where Mr. Karen’s big green eyes are fixed on my mom.
“Perhaps you’d like to take him back to Philadelphia. He’s looking for a good home, and I can see he’s detected someone with a house and a generously sized yard,” I say, but a pang runs through my chest. I’ve got used to having Mr. K around, despite the weird behavior and the swimming. He’s been gazing forlornly at the bath in Sadie’s bathroom ever since he had that little adventure. I’ve also found him sitting in the tub by himself, staring down the drain, like he can’t understand why there’s no water in this miraculous thing. I guess it’s like finding an empty indoor pool.
My mom ignores this and goes down on her haunches. “What’s he called?”
“Mr. Karen,” I say.
“That’s a funny name for a cat.”
My eye catches Sadie’s, and her lips curl up. It makes my breath catch. I can’t explain the rationale for that to my mom, now can I? “He’s a swimmer,” I say instead.
She frowns up at me. “A swimmer?”
“He likes to get into the bathwater and swim around.”
