Page 88 of We Are Just Us

“Remember when you killed Gretchen?” Devon said.

“I didn’t kill Gretchen. The temperature fluctuated.”

“You left her on the porch overnight in January. She died.”

“Who’s Gretchen?” Kieran asked nervously.

“Sourdough starter,” Devon said. “She named her sourdough starter Gretchen. Fed her every day. Talked to her. Introduced her to guests.”

“Gretchen was a good starter,” Patti said quietly.

“Gretchen smelled like vinegar and sadness.”

“She smelled like fermentation, which is natural.”

“She died. And don’t get me started on the Great Kimchi Incident,” Devon said.

“Oh god,” Patti said, rolling her eyes.

“She brought homemade kimchi to a potluck,” Devon told Kieran. “Opened the jar and cleared half the room.”

“It was potent,” Patti said.

“A grown man left the house, Patti. He took his plate with him.”

“It was probiotic,” Patti said.

“It was a biohazard.”

Patti was trying not to laugh. Devon wasn’t trying at all.

Something landed on Kieran’s head.

He froze.

Heavy. Purring. Claws.

A calico cat had draped herself across the top of his head like a beret, her body covering his entire crown, front paws dangling over his forehead. She began kneading immediately. “Oh!”

“Don’t. Move,” Devon said.

“She’s making biscuits,” Patti said. “It’s an honor.”

“It’s painful!” Kieran hollered.

“It’s an honor that’s painful,” Devon clarified. “Like a Purple Heart.”

Kazax kneaded harder. Her purring vibrated through Kieran’s entire skull. Individual claws rearranged his hair into a design that was going to require an explanation later.

“How long does she—”

“Don’t move her,” they said simultaneously.

Kieran sipped his glass. Kazax purred against him. The room was warm and still.

The album shifted to a new track. A slower, sadder ballad. Patti went quiet for a second, her fingers resting on the back of Devon’s neck.

“This was the album,” Patti said, almost to herself.