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I say in a hushed tone, “I was going to a party with someone I hook up with.” There’s no harm in telling her I had plans when she wasn’t even in my life thirteen hours ago.

Her spine tightens and her voice dips. “Is she someone?” I see the panic flash in her eyes. The woman is nothing to me compared to Jilly. I cannot tell her that.

“She’s a pleasant someone who simply filled time. But I didn’t realize I was settling for good enough until tonight. She’s not you.” Her eyes dance as I profess way too fucking much.

She says, “Then I say no hooking up with people who aren’t me through the holidays.” She crooks an eyebrow at me, and I fall further.

She puts her hand on my chest. “Come to Chicago and you’ll get to come in Chicago. On the twenty-seventh. Ethan won’t be home until January sixth. Come see my house and my city, and be with me, just for a little bit.” I don’t like to leave my comfort zone of Philly or the Vineyard, but I’ll travel for this woman.

I pull her closer and find her lips again. She can taste my “yes.” My body telling her every intention I have for tonight and beyond. She moans in response as if she understands what I’m telling her. I tear my mouth away from her to clarify, “Yes. I’d be honored to screw you there, too. I want you for the holidays.” This woman is my undoing right now. I need to remember we have an expiration date.

“And I get to watch The Philadelphia Story,” I say. I can’t help but engrain myself into her traditions. I feel like I’m trying to contain a handful of sand, holding back my emotions and all the sexual things I want to do to her.

She says, “Good.” In the sweetest sleepy voice. I lean over, kiss her as her eyes flutter, and say, “See you soon.” She weakly responds as I barely register anything else.

I wake up draped over Jillien Thompson. She’s softly purring. I’d tell her, but she’s not fond of cats. Both of mine are sleeping around and on top of her. I glance at the clock—it’s almost noon. I don’t break the spell. I hold her while petting Malakai on her black head, then her white belly. I want to dazzle Jilly with a great night in Philly. I want her to get dressed up again.

I attempt to ease my arm out and as I do, she grabs my hand and curls it into her chest. She rolls over, then curls up and stretches like a kitten. Maybe she hates cats because she is one.

“Good morning,” she says lazily.

I brush my lips on hers. Our nasty breath doesn’t matter.

“Well, that’s a nice wake up.” She smiles broadly.

“Yes.” I kiss her again and notice the redness around her lips. “How’s your face?”

She says, “It’ll be fine. How’s your face?”

“Happy,” I say.

She smiles, quietly moans in approval, then kisses me again. “What time is it? And where’s my phone?” I jump up and grab her phone, handing it to her. “It’s noon.”

“You charged my phone.”

I smooth her hair away from her face. “I did.”

“Thank you. When?” she says.

“Just before we went down for a snack—”

“Just before you went down…”

“Yes, before I dined on you. Before I licked you until you screamed my name in my kitchen. Probably going to do it again soon.”

Her phone roars to life with notifications. I dress in my Jill-approved cat boxers and robe. She scrolls quickly through messages, then suddenly stops. Her face breaks into a broad smile, and I know there’s a text from Ethan. I’ve seen lots of her smiles over the years and in the last day, but I’ve never seen this one. This is all his. She is all his. I’m instantly jealous of an almost thirteen-year-old.

17

JILLIEN

I scroll through my texts: Meg, my mom, my mommy friends group text, my trainer, the ex, work, work, work, work, work, and Ethan. I only wanted to read my son’s. He tells me about his yesterday with his pictures of flying giant beach kites, Harrison Ford’s Walk of Fame star, and a selfie of him at a Venice Beach freak show. I’m thrilled to be with Fletch and our holiday plans, but I’d give everything to be with Ethan, too. Oddly, I keep thinking about Ethan here, not Liam in Chicago with us.

I’m covered in fucking cat hair. “Smile, Other Cat.” It’s crawling on me. I send a selfie with my grandmother’s grave and a picture of Liam’s house before I knew I’d be sleeping here. Liam’s milling about his bedroom.

“Come here,” I command, but he continues milling.

“Imma run for food. The cat’s name is Roman” He’s mumbling and holds up a pair of dark skinny jeans for my approval. I smile and nod. I offhandedly pet the cat on my lap. “No names. I need them anonymous like whores. No names.”