“Did Ellie adopt Ruthie after I died? Is that how you met her?”
I’m a bit emotional at the thought, because I truly believed that I had left her to a fate of living at an animal rescue for the rest of her days. At the very best, I thought my parents might have grudgingly taken her in, but they’ve never been pet people, and Ruthie can be a lot.
“Ellie didn’t adopt her.Idid.”
He crouches down and startsscratching her chin. And shelets him.
Meow. And now she’s pushing her head up into his hand and purring. What the hell is going on? If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that sheremembershim.
Hell,doI know any better?
Doesshe remember him?
“I spent seven years with this little hellion. I’m sure Ellie would’ve taken her, but Cat’s allergic…”
It takes me a moment to register what he said. Even though I’m still confused about how I feel about Alex, and even though I still have doubts about our potential to make it as an actual romantic couple, all at once, I’m overcome with emotion.
“You adopted my cat?” I clarify a little breathlessly, then I bend down, pick up a purring Ruthie, and cuddle her close to me. I stare at her with suddenly watery eyes. And, oh no, here comes my cat voice—unintentionally, of course, but I’m too overwhelmed to have the decency to feel embarrassed by it. “Were you a little billionaire cat, Ruthie? Good for you, girl.”
Gratitude. That’s what this overwhelming emotion is, I realize. I’m grateful that Alex was able to give Ruthie a good home after I failed her.
“There is no way that’s Ruthie,” Alex declares, and I look up to see him scrutinizing her.
“Howdareyou accuse me of not knowing my cat. Ruthie wasdropped off at the West Los Angeles Animal Shelter in 2012. This cat has all the same features and was dropped off on New Year’s Eve 2012. Ergo, it’s Ruthie.”
“So the timing lines up. One problem: Ruthie is a monster, and this kitten is sweet and adorable—and she’s letting youhold her.”
I frown and point out, “Ruthie always let me hold her.” At his disbelieving look, I roll my eyes and continue. “Okay, let me prove it. Look at her little cream-colored chin. Just like Ruthie’s. And this orange patch on the back of her neck? The black line down her spine leading to the floofiest mostly black tail—”
“Did you just sayfloofiest?”
“And look—her eyes.”
I hold her out right in front of his face so that they’re staring each other in the eyes. She leans forward and licks his nose, just once.
“It’s really Ruthie?”
“It’s really Ruthie.” Only then do I catch the glimmer in his eyes. I would chalk it up to a trick of the light, only the glimmer gets bigger and bigger until it rolls down his cheek.
“Are youcrying?”
I set Ruthie on the floor, unsure how to proceed. Penguin runs over and rubs his head against hers before looking up at me and letting out a silentmeowas if he, too, is baffled.
Alex wipes his cheeks with the backs of his hands, shaking his head. For a moment I wonder if he’s about to deny he’s crying, but instead he says, “You don’t know. You weren’t there. I know—I know that she was your cat. But she was alsomycat. And then she was gone, and you were gone, and you’dbeengone, but… it was so sudden. I was divorced, and Ruthie was all I had, and she wasgone, and now she’shere. But it’s been so long since I saw her, I didn’t eventhink—”
He stops talking, wipes his eyes again, and bends down to petRuthie. I think that the reason why he’s so pointedly looking down is so I won’t see him crying.
I was wrong. It isn’t gratitude I’m feeling. It’s love. Love for the man in front of me. The realization comes so suddenly, it almost knocks the wind out of me. I knew I loved him, of course, but until now, I regretted it. Guiltily, I realize I didn’t think hedeservedmy love.
I thought him full of artifice, but there’s nothing artificial in the sight in front of me.
Alex loves Ruthie. HelovedRuthie, before. I don’t know why it’s so easy for me to accept that as fact, but once I do, I wonder if maybe I should accept his declarations of love for me as facts too.
“Okay. We can try.”
“What?” he asks, distracted. He doesn’t look up at me; he’s too focused on Ruthie, which would annoy me if it weren’t so endearing.
A little louder, I repeat, “Isaid—we can try. Dating. Being together. Again, I mean, but with no lies between us this time.”
