Serendipity and Me (9781101602805) (11 page)

 

In the pet aisle

Dad picks out

the tiniest package of kitten food

and a small bag of cat litter.

 

I almost point out

the price-per-ounce difference

in the bigger bags

 

then I figure that might give away

my plan for forever.

 

I reach for a blue litter box

and Dad tells me

Put that back.

We can make do with litter

and a lined cardboard box

for a week or less.

 

I want to say

If you only knew. . . .

 

But instead I joke

The kitten's the one

who's going to “make doo.”

Get it?

 

Dad just rolls his eyes

and shakes his head.

 

 

 

Back at home, Dad tucks the kitten food

behind the fruit bowl on the counter

and notices Mrs. Whittier's soup pot

drying on the drainer.

Can you take this back

and thank her? A lot?

 

Sure,
I say.

I pop Serendipity into the pot

and watch Dad's mouth drop open.

What could be cuter

than a kitten in a pot?

 

But Dad doesn't laugh or even smile.

He turns away.

 

A heartbeat later it occurs to me—

Mrs. Whittier has lived next door

all my life,

has been a big part of our lives

in the past.

She might know a lot

she could tell me

 

about family pictures

and why our family

doesn't look like a family

 

at all.

 

 

 

Mrs. Whittier takes the soup pot

and croons at Serendipity.

Then she brushes aside my thanks.

Of course, Sara.

I just wish I could do more for you.

 

And so here is my chance.

Do you think I could

come in and talk?

 

Mrs. Whittier looks

like I've handed her a gift.

Yes, of
course
, come in.

Tell me all about this little kitty.

 

I follow her and kitty-in-a-pot

into the kitchen,

explain how Serendipity

was dropped off.

 

It's been a while since I've been in here

long enough that I don't recognize

her ceramic pieces displayed on the open shelf

or the bright woven tablecloth

that brushes my knees when I sit.

 

The usual smell of bread baking

has been replaced by something spicy.

 

I finish explaining and start to ask

 

but the question about family pictures

seems too heavy to lift.

 

 

 

I say instead,
Where are your kitties?

 

Mrs. Whittier says,
Oh, you want to see them?

She snaps her fingers in a repeating rhythm

and Shoji and Kajiro come running

the tabby a shadow

to the orange and white Kajiro.

 

From under the tablecloth on my lap

I hear hissing.

Serendipity has become an air hose

of noisy spitting.

Shoji and Kajiro look up curiously.

 

Shouldn't they be the ones hissing?
I ask.

 

Mrs. Whittier shakes her head.

They're secure at home.

She's the one who feels threatened.

She gives her cats a splash of milk in their bowls

as a reward for coming when called.

 

I lift the tablecloth to pet Serendipity

and calm her down.

She keeps spitting even though

the cats have gone to their bowls.

Why are you being so silly?

 

She'll be fine once you get her back home.

 

I put the tablecloth

back over Serendipity's head.

Only if I can keep her.

 

Mrs. Whittier smiles sadly.

She looks down at her kitties

and I notice they have

new handmade bowls.

How long has it been

since I came to see her?

 

I'm suddenly ashamed.

Has Mrs. Whittier been as lonely as I have?

 

I try to remember who she has

to keep her company at home

besides her cats.

 

I know gentle Mr. Whittier died

sometime after my mom.

Mrs. Whittier has a grown stepdaughter

who was never very friendly

 

but I don't think I've seen her

since Mr. Whittier died.

 

I try to think of something to say

to make up for not visiting all this time

but no words come to me.

 

I thank her for the soup

 

and make a run for it.

 

 

 

After dinner

Dad asks if I want

to look at The Book.

He seems resigned

to mentioning things

he'd rather not.

 

I think I've changed my mind.

I'm not sure I want to deal

with difficult things, either

 

not right now

when my visit with Mrs. Whittier

has made me realize

there are more empty spaces

in our lives now

than the space Mom left.

 

My excuses are pitiful.

I just want a bath

and to go to bed,

I say.

I'm so tired.

 

Dad looks surprised

but he nods.

 

I can feel him watching me

from the corners

of his eyes.

 

 

 

Tonight I discover

a new form of marine life.

 

It is white and fluffy

and crouches on the edge of the tub.

A
sea marshmallow.

 

She wants to understand water.

She sticks her tongue under the faucet.

She watches the waves slosh

when I scooch around.

She waits for me to fill her up a cup.

She likes to drink it warm.

 

She pats the bubbles.

She leans too far and falls in.

 

This is more about water

than she wants to know.

 

 

 

I'm shocked enough

by the sight of her

struggling in the deep water

that I yell           
Dad!

I toss her out of the tub

and hide behind

the shower curtain.

 

He comes running

but stops when he sees her,

tufted legs splayed

head down,

miserable on the bath mat.

 

Stops and laughs.

 

She looks at him in reproach

and shakes all over

so hard she falls down.

 

Dad grabs a towel

and covers her in it

picks her up like a burrito baby

and roughs up her fur.

 

You goofy thing,
he says.

How'd you get all wet?

 

She looks wide-eyed into his face

and reaches a sweet paw to his cheek.

 

Smart girl.