He inspects the sandwich closely. “Is this too much cheese?”
“There’s no such thing as too much cheese, my guy. Justtake a bite.”
“You’re being awfully aggressive about a sandwich.”
“That,” I say, “is not just a sandwich. It’s Amelia’s Famous Grilled Cheese, and yes, please imagine a little trademark symbol afterward.”
“Didn’t you get it from a recipe website?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and press a fist to my forehead. Gregory is trying my patience. “No. Amelia’s Famous Grilled Cheese is an original creation.”
“If you say so. Okay, here goes nothing.”
I open my eyes just in time to see Gregory take his first huge bite. Right in the middle of the slice too—the best part.
His eyes go wide as he chews, and my lips curve up in satisfaction. Another convert.
“Oh my God,” he groans. “What is in this? Crack? Nicotine?” I laugh as he continues to name off highly addictive substances.
“Just cheese and fig jam,” I say like it’s no big deal.
(The jam is a big deal. It’s Mrs. Reacher’s homemade jam that she sells at her bakery downtown, and ithasto be hers. That, plus using mayo instead of butter before frying it up makes the sandwich).
“Impossible.” He takes another bite. “Fairy dust? Magic potion?” Then he makes a sort of moaning noise that quite frankly makes my skin feel tight.
I go back to the stove and make my own sandwich, then join him at the table. By this point his plate is empty and he eyes my food with interest.
“No,” I say, curving an arm around my plate protectively. “Gregory,no.”
He pouts.
My mom comes in and tells us that Dr. Valentine is on her way. While I eat and we wait, she asks Gregory questions about himself. I wonder if my dad knows about Gregory’s dad and he told my mom, because she seems to know to avoid talking about parents (plural) and doesn’t ask if a job brought them here.
I’m just thinking about how much more polite Gregory is to my mom than when he’s talking to me, when my phone lights up on the table. It’s a text from Myles, and while the message itself doesn’t show up, his name does. I quickly press a button on the side, and the screen goes black. Then I glance at Gregory. His eyes dart from my phone to my face, and then he looks away.
The doorbell rings, and my mom goes to answer it. She comes back through the kitchen on her way to the garage, Dr. Valentine trailing behind. Gregory and I stay in the kitchen so we don’t get in the way, and they’re in the garage for less than ten minutes before they come back in.
“Well,” my mom says, “we know what the problem is.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Fiona’s in labor.”
“As in, she’s pregnant?” Gregory asks.
“Yes,” Dr. Valentine says. “I expect the kittens to be here soon.”
I fall back in my chair. “Well, I guess that’s better than her being sick,” I say to Gregory. “At least she’ll be okay.”
“Yes, this is wonderful news,” my mom deadpans, casting me an annoyed glance. “This morning I had one pet, and tomorrow morning I’ll have several.” She turns back to the vet and asks, “You don’t happen to know somewhere we could take them, do you?”
“I can make some calls tomorrow and let you know,” Dr. Valentine says. “But she needs to stay put right now. I’d recommend taking the male cat somewhere else for the time being, though. He might be fine around the mom and the babies, but he might not. And we really don’t need to give the mom anything else to worry about, like protecting the newborns from him. It’s better not to risk it.”
“Waffles is a boy?” I ask. “Do you think he’s the dad?”
Dr. Valentine nods. “If they’ve been hanging around together for a while, it’s possible.”
“Wow,” I say, and look at Gregory.
