“I’m sure you’re not supposed to ride a motorcycle on the grass,” I grumble, frowning at the crowd.
“You want to tell them that?” Ayla laughs.
To my horror, the procession turns straight our way.
“Oh no.” I tense as I realize their target.
“The grill, damn it,” Ayla curses under her breath.
There’s a single grill in this part of the park, and it’s not far from Mixie’s favorite tree. We watch the crew arrive and begin to set up camp. A stereo appears out of nowhere, blasting metal music, and the noisy crowd spreads out.
“Matty, Ayla, what’s up?”
When I turn, I see the rest of our group wandering up. Alexander and his best friend Rafael hold hands and swing their arms as they approach. Behind them, Ayla’s boyfriend Horatio carries a bag of snacks, while a few more friends approach with flowers.
And behind them all, Milo strolls, looking beautiful and perfect and exactly how I would expect the ex-boyfriend I’m secretly still in love with to look.
Like sunshine.
My heart ready to sing, the noisiest barbecue in the world erupts in yells so loud they startle me.
“Yikes,” Rafael winces, nodding toward the scene. “Have you tried explaining you have a cat funeral today?”
“Cat memorial service,” I mumble. “And no.”
“I’ll go say hi,” Milo offers brightly as he hands me a small white flower. “I’m sure they can at least keep it down for Mixie’s service.”
“No.” I object so fast, I almost yelp it. “I don’t want to make a scene or cause an argument, and there can’t be any delay. This absolutely has to happentoday, okay?”
All my friends stare at me expectantly. My heart beats faster, and I feel like I owe them some sort of explanation for my rush.
“Come on, guys,” I plead. “You know I get fixated on stuff like this. If we don’t do it today, how am I going to move on?”
Everyone shares a glance, and collective agreement washes through the group.
“Cat memorial service it is,” Rafael smiles.
“I brought veggies and hummus, if anyone’s hungry,” Horatio adds.
I relax as my friends swiftly jump into motion. More photographs and mementos are added to the tree. Then Tonya gets things started with a story about a mouse that once chased Mixie across the apartment.
It’s good. Healing, even. And it’s exactly what I need to say goodbye to my pet and the eras of my life that she saw me through.
When my turn comes to share, I take a moment in silence in front of the tree and look out at my friends. I don’t have my cat anymore, but unlike when I first found her, I have other people now. Friends so close they’re family, just like she was.
I open my mouth to speak, and immediately, the motorcycle kicks to life again, rumbling loudly and coughing exhaust behind me. The tall guy sitting on the bike isn’t even going anywhere. He just sits on it, the machine rumbling beneath him.
I clear my throat, then speak as loudly as I can. “My mom and dad said I couldn’t keep the barn cat, so when Mixie and I first met, I used to save some of my dinner for her every night and secretly hoard canned fish in my bedroom.”
The crowd across from us grows louder, their voices hollering over the noisy music and cutting off half my words.
“It used to be that no one ever wanted to listen to my ideas or hear about what interested me,” I yell over the noise, angry at the interruptions. “But Mixie always did!”
Our neighbors keep hollering, and I turn away from my friends to face them. It’s not like me to be confrontational at all, but even if I’m not good at standing up for myself, I can sometimes work up the energy to defend other people.
Or animals, in this case.
“Mixie always cared because she was a great fucking cat!” I scream as loud as I can.
