“It sounds like a liability nightmare,” she said while shoving a particularly large cherry tomato into her mouth.
“That was my first thought.”
“What was your second thought?” came out in tomato-muffle.
I sank down into the chair across from her desk. It was covered in journals and charts and a framed photo of her two rescue greyhounds wearing matching bandanas. Ayesha was the only person at the clinic whose office was messier than mine, which I found both comforting and mildly competitive.
“My second thought was that we have fourteen animals in the adoption pipeline right now, and our social media presence is essentially nonexistent. The person proposing this event has a TikTok following that generated over three hundred thousand views on a single video about a kitten escaping from a bathroom.”
Ayesha looked up. “Threehundred thousand?”
“Three hundred and forty, last I checked.”
“For a kitten video.”
“It was a compelling kitten. She stood on another kitten’s back and used her paw as a lever to open the door latch. It was genuinely impressive and earned theBourne Identitysoundtrack he played inthe background.”
Ayesha set down her fork and swallowed the last of the fruit-not-fruit. “Tell me the logistics.”
I told her everything Benji had proposed. I told her honestly, including the parts I was uncertain about. Ayesha listened the way she always listened, with the focused, analytical attention of a woman who didn’t waste time on reactions until she had all the information.
“Who selects the animals?” she asked.
“I would. Only socialized, stable animals with clean health clearances. Nothing post-surgical, nothing newly surrendered, nothing with behavioral flags. I’d want Carlos there for handling, and I’d want full veterinary oversight on-site, meaning me, the entire time.”
“And the environment?”
“I’m going to the bar this weekend to assess the space. If I’m not satisfied with the setup, it doesn’t happen.”
“You’re going to the bar,” she repeated. Something in her voice shifted from clinical to personal. Ayesha had been gently, persistently, and unsuccessfully trying to get me to do things that involved leaving my apartment and interacting with humans for the entire ten months I’d worked at the clinic. She had invited me to dinner parties, book clubs,a hiking group, and once, memorably, to a “casual gathering” that turned out to be a setup with her friend from medical school. He was a very nice orthodontist named James whom I’d spoken to for eleven minutes before excusing myself to go home to feed General Tso, which was true but which I also could have delayed by an hour if I’d wanted to, which I hadn’t.
“Don’t,” I said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to say something about me going to a bar voluntarily and what that might indicate about my social trajectory.”
“I was going to say that this sounds like a good idea, and that I support it, and that you should bring the border collie mix because she’s been here for three months, and she deserves a chance.” She paused. “And also that I’m glad you’re going to a bar voluntarily, because you’ve been living like a monk with a clubbed foot, and it’s starting to concern me.”
“My foot is fine, and I live with someone now. Involuntarily, yes, but still with someone. The monk comparison no longer applies, especially with the pathetic pedis.”
“Pathetic pedis,” she repeated with a chuckle and a head shake. “Oh, right, the roommate. He’s a bartender, isn’t he?” Another shift in her voice, this oneaccompanied by the very slight raising of one eyebrow that was how Ayesha began every full interrogation. “How’s that going?”
“He’s loud and leaves glitter on everything. His cat is a menace, and he named all my foster kittens after Destiny’s Child.”
“But.”
“That needs a but?”
“Peter.” She folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward. “I’ve known you for ten months. You’ve never talked about another person this much. You’ve told me about the Post-it notes, the kitten escapes, the TikTok videos, and that he hand-fed Hiro during a pain episode. You described his French press technique as ‘improving,’ which is the most emotionally generous thing I’ve ever heard you say about another human being. Thereisa but.”
I stared at Ayesha.
She was looking at me with the expression she wore when she knew she was right and was waiting for me to arrive at the same conclusion on my own schedule. It was the expression of a woman who had spent her career being patient with creatures who couldn’t tell her what was wrong and who applied the same patience to her human colleagues.
“He’s . . . not what I expected,” I said.
“In what way?”
