The Weight of Wet Things

Elena stood under the spray, letting the hot water drum against her shoulders until her skin pruned. She'd been in the shower forty-five minutes, washing away the residue of another disastrous date. Another man who told her she was 'too intense' before the appetizers even arrived. She shut off the taps and stepped out, catching her reflection in the fogged mirror—her dark hair plastered to her skull like wet seaweed, making her look strangely vulnerable, younger than thirty-five.

She towel-dried carelessly, pulled on her robe, and walked to the kitchen. That's when she heard it: the distinctive yowl from the fire escape. Her ex's cat, the one he'd 'accidentally' left behind when he moved out six months ago. The one she'd sworn she'd take to the shelter tomorrow, every tomorrow, since then.

She pushed up the window sash. Barnaby—stupid name for a cat—sat on the rusted metal, soaked through from the rain that had started while she was out. His orange fur matted to his sides, he looked half his usual size, shivering.

"You're an asshole," she told him, but she was already reaching.

He weighed nothing in her arms, wet fur and trembling muscle. She grabbed a towel and rubbed him roughly, the way she'd learned he liked. He purred instantly, that motorboat sound that vibrated against her chest.

"I should've dropped you at the shelter in February," she said, carrying him to the sofa. "What am I doing? What are we doing?"

Barnaby curled into the crook of her arm, warm now, kneading her robe with satisfied paws. Elena ran her fingers through his drying hair—fur, whatever—and felt something crack open in her chest. The loneliness she'd been holding at bay with bad dates and long showers suddenly flooded in.

She'd kept the cat because keeping him meant keeping something of herself. A reminder that she was someone who could love something small and helpless, even if Richard couldn't love her enough to stay.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Elena closed her eyes and let herself cry, finally, while Barnaby purred against her heartbeat, loud enough that she almost couldn't hear the sound of her own breaking.