“We don’t have a choice.”
“All right, then let’s look at this objectively. All emotion out of it. Can you do that?”
My jaw clenched. “Yeah.”
“So, the way I see it, we have two options. The easiest option is this — tell Laney to choose. Us or her. We might have a shot at convincing them to get back on board if she’s gone. But otherwise, it might be hopeless. Laney paying for a night at the bar was great and all, but it wasn’t enough. No one would go in today, which means the shop is closed too. We can’t keep this up. So maybe if she’s gone, it can get us back on track sooner.”
As much as I didn’t want to see her, the thought of getting her fired sent dread twisting through my guts. I wished, not for the first time, that she would just disappear without any consequence for any of us.
“Last resort,” I said after a moment, and my phone buzzed again, alerting me that a voice message had been left.
Shep and I looked at each other for a split second, and his hand darted out toward my phone. I was a millisecond too late to stop him from grabbing it.
I stood, and so did he as he held up my phone.
“Give it back,” I barked.
He had the nerve to smirk. “Why? What are you afraid of?”
I moved around the table, and he kept pace, keeping it between us so I couldn’t reach him as he opened up my voicemail like a fucking traitor and played the message, putting it on speaker.
“You son of a bitch.” I darted, and he sidestepped to stay right across from me.
The message began, and my chest ached at the sound of her smoky voice, muffled by a stuffy nose.
“I … I’m sorry to bother you.” Kira wailed in the background, and the ache squeezed tighter. “My … my cat died last night.” A pause, more crying in the background. A deep breath. “We’re having his funeral tomorrow at my parents’ house, and Kira wanted you to be there.” Kira wailed Hairyyyyyyy, and Shep’s brow dropped. “I understand if you can’t make it, really. But it would mean a lot if you were there.” She rattled off the time for the funeral and her parents’ address with a shaky voice before disconnecting.
Shep eyed me. “Dude, you have to go.”
“No, I don’t.”
He slid my phone across the table toward me. “Yeah, you do.”
I picked it up and put it in my pocket.
“Listen, Joel. I get it. I really fucking do, but you can’t keep pretending that you didn’t play a part in all of this.”
“Trust me, I don’t. You said we had two options, so what’s the other one?”
He shook his head. “You’re not gonna like it. But you need to consider it.”
“Tell me, already.”
Shep watched me for a beat. “Make up with her.”
“What?” I shot the word at him like a cannonball.
“I don’t mean you have to be with her, but if you can figure out a way to let it go, everyone else would fall in line. You’re their fearless leader. They’d follow you anywhere, even down the path of redemption. But so long as you’re wounded, they will be too. The longer they see you hurting, the more they dig in their heels.”
My nostrils flared as a hot breath left them. It was impossible. But he was right. I deflected.
“I’m not going to her fucking cat’s funeral, Shep.”
He shrugged. “Even if you don’t go for her, you should go for that little girl.”
I glared at him. “It’s a cat funeral. A funeral. For a cat.”
“Yeah, I get what it is, I’ve got ears, asshole. But if you go, it’s an olive branch to her. You’re there for the little girl who I’m assuming must really want you there, since it convinced Annika to call you.”
I blinked at the sound of her name. “I’m not going, dude.”
He frowned. “Stop acting like you’re the only one who got hurt. She’s not wrong, you know. You gave her permission to do her job, and she did. You lied to her. She lied to you. You hurt each other.”
“It’s not the same,” I growled.
“I’m not saying it is. I’m saying you led her on just as much as she did you.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t lie to her and then fuck her.”
He gave me a look. “That’s exactly what you did.”
“You know what I mean, Shep.”
“I do know what you mean, but I’m saying that what you did to each other was shitty. You’re both assholes. I’m not saying you have to be best friends with her. I’m not even saying you have to forgive her. But either you find a way to work with her or she’s got to go. You can’t have it both ways.”
I turned for my room, not knowing where else to go. But I had to get away. “I’m not fucking going, Shep.”
And he sighed as I closed my door to shut the world out.
BLACKBIRD
Annika
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, I FOUND myself in my childhood kitchen, milling around with my family, all dressed in black, somber clothes. It felt more like an actual human wake than I cared to really acknowledge, and with more people than I’d anticipated, including several family friends who I’d known all my life. Mama had cooked enough food to feed half of Russia, including all of Kira’s favorites, and desserts galore.
All I’d had to eat was half a dozen chocolate pirogi, and I didn’t even feel bad about it.
Papa had pulled me aside and asked me about Joel, after Kira wouldn’t stop talking about him, wondering if he would come, and I’d told him everything, the two of us in the quiet bedroom hallway. And I cried again, loss piled on loss, and I couldn’t find the edges of the two anymore to separate them.
After a little while, when we’d said the little service would start, we moved into the living room where a table covered in black cloth stood with Kaz’s tiny cat-sized coffin on top. Papa had built it the day before out of simple pine and dug his small grave in our sliver of back yard, and Mama had covered the mirrors in mourning. I took my place next to the table as everyone sat in folding chairs lined up in the living room. Kira sat in front, her eyes big and shining, her stuffed bunny in her lap and hair braided in a crown around her head. Her small mouth was pinched, her rosy lips tight.
I took a heavy breath as they all got settled, blinking back tears, telling myself the show was for Kira. But it was more for me than I was really willing to admit. I fought the urge to lay my hand on his little coffin, winding my fingers together in front of me instead, squeezing them tight.
“I’d like to thank you all for joining us today to say goodbye to Kazimir, destroyer of peace, shoes, and sometimes, hearts.”
A chuckle rolled through them, and I gave a small smile, feeling a little better. Until the door opened, spilling slanted daylight into the room.
Joel stood in the doorframe, massive, imposing, his brows low and lips drawn, his eyes connecting with mine immediately.
I couldn’t breathe, the room suddenly hot, stifling.
Everyone had turned to the motion, and Kira cried, “Hairy!” before bolting around the chairs and into his arms.
He scooped her up, clutching her into his chest as her little arms wound around his neck.
“Hey, kid. You doing okay?” he asked softly.
She leaned back, arms still circling his neck, sniffling. “He’s gone.”
His face softened and bent, his eyes brimming with sadness. “I know. I know he is. I’m sorry.”
She nodded, fresh tears slipping down her round cheeks. When he set her down, she slipped her tiny hand into his gigantic one and pulled him to the front. And he did her bidding, sitting right next to her.
Right in front of me.
I swallowed down a dozen emotions, his eyes heavy on me as I looked away. I felt cheated by his presence, no longer free to feel however I felt, everything complicated simply because he was there. So I looked at everyone but him, determined to keep it together.
“Mama found Kaz behind the shop, tied up in a trash bag with his brothers and sisters, the lot o
f them mewling and crying to get out. When she freed them, they took off, all of them but Kaz, who climbed into her lap and purred his thanks. She gave him milk and brought him here, brought him home.”
Kira leaned into Joel, Roxy nearly forgotten altogether. She looked a little miffed at the fact too, shooting him looks, though it may have also been on my account.
“I was beside myself — Mama had refused me a pet since I’d been able to talk.” Another chuckle. “But Kaz wiggled his way into our lives easily, mine easiest. You might remember me pushing him up and down the street in a buggy with a bonnet on.”
Mama laughed, which turned into a sob. She dabbed the corner of her eye with her handkerchief and leaned into Papa.
“He slept in my bed and let me walk him with a collar. And even though Mama threatened to turn him out for scratching at the sofa and marking her closet when he was mad, she never did. I don’t think she could have, because even though he was impossible, he was family. He was ours.” Another swallow, another breath, another heartbeat. “He didn’t have many friends, which made his affection that much more enviable. And they say that only the good die young, which is probably why he lived for eighteen years, and we all thought of him as immortal. But everything has its end in life, and nothing lasts forever.”
Joel’s eyes screamed at me, begging me to look, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I forged on.
“And so, to Kazimir, we say goodbye. I hope that your heaven that awaits is full of bright yellow canaries and big windows where you can watch the cars all day. I hope there are warm squares of sun for you to nap in and couches to scratch without anyone to stop you. I hope your belly is always full of milk and fresh fish and that there’s someone to hold your face and tell you how lovely and horrible and crazy you are. We’ll miss you, old friend.”
I bent down, extending an arm to Kira, and she slipped out from under Joel’s arm and next to the table. I took her seat, twisting my hands in my lap, unprepared to be next to Joel. The heat of him, his body so close to mine — I could feel him through the space between us like he was calling me.
Kira clasped her hands in front of her, bobbing her head as she sang, in Russian, a children’s song with a shaky voice, her eyes trained on the ceiling and around to the walls, avoiding looking at any of us. Even that young, she tried not to cry and knew that if she did meet our eyes, she wouldn’t be able to stop her tears.
In a far, far away Kingdom,
Where there is a castle, a river and a garden,
Maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred years ago
Only lived cats,
And more cats,
Kingdom of the cats,
Kingdom of the cats was there.
Cats, cats,
Cats and cats
Cats, cats, cats,
Furry tails.
In be Kingdom of the cats, they happily lived-
Made fairytales, made songs, danced and sang.
Cat king, Princess kitten,
Ruled happily over their land.
Danced, had fun every day.
Milliner and washer woman cats,
Cooks, artists,
Kingdom of the cats,
Kingdom of the cats was there
Cats, cats, cats,
Cats and cats
Cats, cats, cats,
Furry tails.
In the kingdom of the cats,
Lived happily,
Made fairytales, made songs, danced and sang.
Throughout her song, I wanted to reach for his hand, which rested in his lap. But I was no longer welcome to touch him, particularly for comfort. I’d done that and paid the price.
When she was finished, her cheeks were pink and she looked to me.
“And now,” she announced, “Anni will sing ‘Let It Go’ for Kaz. It was his favorite.”
I stood and we switched places again. In part, I hated the idea of singing a Disney song in front of anyone, not only for the fact that it was maybe the most played out song in the history of Disney songs, but because I never sang in front of people. But there was my whole family and the guy whose heart I wrecked, and Kira, my sweet Bunny, waiting for me to sing it to give her reprieve. And I couldn’t deny her that.
So I took a breath and began to sing. I sang like she was the only one in the room, though it took me a second to find my footing. But when I did, I sang. I sang it loud and proud, my eyes on her the whole time, if they weren’t closed. I told her to let it go, to be strong, to leave her hurt behind her and keep going.
When I was finished, she bounded out of her seat and rushed me, and I knelt to meet her, closing my eyes.
“I love you, Kira. I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“I love you too, Anni,” she whispered back shakily. “I miss him.”
“Me too.” She was so small in my arms, my hand splayed against her back as we hugged until I had to let her go.
She took her seat again, and I made the mistake of looking at Joel. His eyes told me a thousand things I couldn’t decipher, and my heart said a thousand things he couldn’t hear. But it said them all the same.
Joel
Annika looked away, and for that I was thankful. Because when she looked at me like that, I forgot why I hated her so much. When I witnessed her sadness firsthand, heard the catch in her voice as she sang a song I was sure she didn’t like to a little girl who she loved so much, it was hard to remember.
But I had to remember. Because what she’d done couldn’t be undone, not by something so simple as a song at a cat funeral.
When Kira took her seat again, Annika stood and spoke, avoiding my eyes. “I have one more song to sing for Kaz, and for Mama for saving him, and for Papa for taking care of all of us. And I wanted to thank you all again. It means so much to us that you’re here.” She looked to Kira, then briefly to me before threading her hands in front of her and taking a deep breath.
Somewhere in the first line of the song — “Blackbird” by The Beatles — my heart stopped, then started again with a painful thump in my ribs. She didn’t cry, but her eyes were wide and shining, as she sang of his broken wings learning to fly, her cheeks flushed and knuckles white where they twined together as she sang of his freedom. And she said goodbye to her old friend as a little girl leaned into my side, her breath hiccuping as she cried with the openness that only a child could have.
When the song ended, we all stood, and Max walked from the second row to pick up the pine box. We followed him through the kitchen and to the backyard, under a hemlock tree where he’d dug a small grave. Some words were spoken in Russian and maybe Hebrew, and everyone reached down and grabbed a handful of earth, tossing it into the grave. Kira, whose hand was in mine, nodded to me, urging me to do the same, so I did.
It was somber, final, and the sadness of death seeped into me. I chided myself — it was a cat funeral, and not even for a cat I knew particularly well. But I couldn’t shake the heaviness of it as we headed back inside single file. He was an old cat, a part of their family. And he only liked three people in the world, it would seem — Annika, Kira, and me.
Everyone gathered in the kitchen, moving toward the food, but I edged for the door, bending down to get level with Kira.
“Thank you for inviting me, Kira.”
“I didn’t, Anni did.”
I kept my eyes on her when they wanted to look for Annika. “Yeah, but she just invited me because of you.”
She shook her head. “Nu-uh. She wanted you to come too. Kaz would have been sad if you didn’t come, Hairy.”
I chuckled. “Maybe so. I’m glad to see you, but I’ve got to get going.”
She pouted. “You haven’t even had Babushky’s pirogis yet. They’re my favorite.”
“I bet they’re delicious, but I really do have to go. I’m sorry about Kaz.”
She nodded down at her shoes. “He was super old. Babushky says he’s in heaven now.” She didn’t sound like she believed it.
“Is that what you thin
k?”
She rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “I dunno. It makes me happier to think he is.”
“Then you should think about him there with a big bowl of cream and a can of tuna fish.”
She smiled at that and grabbed me around the neck, surprising me. “Thanks, Hairy.”
I hugged her to me and smiled. “Anytime, Bunny.”
When she let me go, Annika was there, and I stood as ice ran through my veins. Kira hugged Annika’s leg with her bunny hanging in her arms, and Annika rested a hand on the back of the little girl’s head. We watched each other for a heartbeat.
“Thank you for coming, Joel. I know this wasn’t—”
“I didn’t come for you,” I said, the words harsh, harsher than I’d intended. I swallowed and turned for the door, leaving her there with splotchy cheeks and brimming eyes. I couldn’t. I couldn’t talk to her. I couldn’t deal with her. Not then. Maybe not ever.
I’d almost reached the door when Max materialized on the stairwell in the entry.
“Ah,” he said, smiling jovially, “the bear has come to bid the cat farewell?”
I kept my back to the rest of the house, anxious to be done with the whole affair. “Only because the bunny asked me to.”
He nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets as he descended the last few steps. “I see. Do you remember zvezda moya?”
“I remember,” I answered quietly.
“It hurts, I know, but to hold the star in your hand is worth the pain.” His eyes were so much like hers, crystalline, somehow cold and warm all at once, bottomless, and they looked into mine, telling me things I didn’t want to hear.
“Not if it burns me to the ground, Max.”
His smile fell, making him look older, and he nodded, clasping my shoulder and squeezing once. And we turned away from each other like conspirators after their last deal was settled and done.
Annika