“Yesterday we talked about fan theories. Tonight, let’s talk about the boring grown-up stuff. Tell me about your friends.” I figure this is a neutral topic, but she frowns and glances over my shoulder at the door.
“Most of my friends came from professional connections.”
I nod, “It’s hard to make friends as an adult and humans are generally very annoying.”
Her lip curls in the corner. “And they’re so time intensive, sometimes a gal doesn’t want to get drunk on wine on a Tuesday night. I kinda want to watch anime and play video games, but friends and work are constantly cutting into my self-care time.” Anime and video games. Could this woman be any more perfect? That’s it—we’re soulmates.
Our burgers are dropped in front of us with a grunt from the line cook. Clearly customer service is not this place’s strong suit.
“And dating is hard too. I don’t know if you heard,” she leans over the table, “but humans suck.”
“I’m well aware.” I take a bite of the burger trying to formulate my next thoughts. “That’s why I tried to stay emotionally and medically unavailable.”
She blinks a few times while swirling her fry in ketchup. “Do tell.”
“Oh, I got a vasectomy when I was twenty,” I say, wiping the grease off the corners of my lips.
Her mouth hangs open still waiting for a fry. “That’s not what I expected at all.”
“I told my friends it was because I didn’t want a woman claiming I got her pregnant. I’ve seen it happen.” I take a sip of my water and put it down on the table, wiping the condensation off with my thumb. “I’ve got some swimmers on ice, and it can be reversed later if need be. I didn’t want to turn into my dad.”
Alana puts the fry in her mouth and chews like it’s made of rubber. “Interesting. Another thing I assume you didn’t tell your friends about?”
“As far as they know he’s dead. A few years ago, he tracked me down outside a restaurant in L.A. and begged for money. I guess he pissed off the wrong people. I haven’t seen him since, and I’m not sad about it at all.”
Her lips curl in the corner, it’s the biggest smile I’ve gotten out of her so far. She used to smile all the time, but it was more like an ‘I know where the bodies are hidden and I’m not telling you’ smile. I kinda like the subtle look.
She finishes her fries and sits back in her chair. “I really need to get home to feed my cat.” My plate is also empty now, and I’m disappointed. I need to figure out how to keep this night going.
“You have a cat?” She didn’t strike me as a pet person. “Or is this a not-so-subtle innuendo?”
She huffs air out of her nose. “No, I have a munchkin cat named Midge.”
“What the hell? We’ve been talking for twenty-four hours, and you're only bringing this up now? I need to see pictures.” I make the gimme gesture with my hands.
There are several elements about my life I yearn for—her and fur and that damn script. Darren won’t let me get a dog because he's a man with an ice-cold heart who doesn’t believe in love. I was able to scratch that itch by filling in for a dog walker a few weeks ago. It was amazing, except for the shit.
She takes out her phone, taps a few times and shows me the cutest gray and white striped cat with tiny legs. She’s got video of it trying to jump on the couch and failing, which leads to falling and trying again, still unsuccessfully.
“So cute.” If I was an anime character, I would have little heart eyes right now.
“Wanna meet her?” Is she inviting me back to her place?
“Yes.” I think I say it too loud because the guy at the table next to us gives me a sideways glance as he laughs into his cup.
She gets us a cab via an app and while it’s not that far, she didn’t want people staring at me. Which is nice. I’ve gotten used to it, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable.
We get to her apartment, and it's not exactly what I expected and yet perfect for her. The building is at least ninety years old, beautiful, wood detailing on the stairs and exposed brick. I expected a sleek modern high-tech home for her. I pause in the doorway as a stubby-legged cat hops off the couch and walks towards us.
“Be careful,” Alana warns. “She doesn’t like anyone.” The cat immediately proves her wrong by weaving around my legs, tail high and purring like I’ve just summoned her with magic. She presses against me, insistent.
“Well,” I murmur, crouching. “That’s a lie.” I scratch behind her ears. She melts, purring louder like a tiny jet engine. Alana stands frozen in the kitchen, staring at me like I’ve committed some unforgivable crime.
“Traitor,” she mutters, and disappears into another room. “Or maybe she’s pissed at me for breaking her box.”
I scoop the cat up. She doesn’t even protest. Instead, she paws at my face like I’m a chew toy and settles against my chest. I sit on the couch with her cradled like a baby and take in the apartment.
It’s small. Cozy. The living room bleeds right into the kitchen. I can hear water running somewhere, which I assume is the bathroom. Probably one bedroom. A few framed photos of famous landmarks hang on the wall.
