“Obviously.”
“My mom doesn’t like this cat, but he’s making me so happy and I’ll make sure he doesn’t pee in the house. Please, please, please convince her.”
The trouble with Chaucer is he’s an equal opportunity whizzer. Hayden has told me all the stories of pet cleaning companies and furniture re-upholsterers she’s called in to fix the damage this cat has done. But he’s her husband’s cat, and Greg is strangely crazy about him, so Hayden is forced to put up with Chaucer’s predilection for pinpoint precise peeing. She manages by keeping the cat outside in their tiny backyard, which is adjacent to my very own tiny backyard.
“Lena, isn’t he supposed to be in the backyard. Doesn’t your mom want him outside?”
Lena buries her nose in his fur again.
“Lena,” I say gently. “Did you let Chaucer in again?”
She doesn’t look at me. She keeps Eskimo-kissing the cat. “I think he sneaked in. Um, it was when the Fedex guy dropped off that package at your doorstep.”
“Ooh! That’s my new tee-shirt for the show,” I say, distracted momentarily from the cat’s mode of entry. I’ve become known for cool and unusual tees, with interesting sayings, arty pictures, funky logos. I recently tracked down a tee-shirt from the online gift shop for the Metropolitan Opera – it’s a black vee-neck tee-shirt and across the front in blood red it says "Macbeth," and toppling off the "h" is a crown. I can’t wait to show it off in The Fashion Hound.
But I also enjoy the Fedex guy’s visits for another reason. He’s a certified babe. Yep, he’s one of the many reasons I make sure to shower and apply make-up each morning because you never known when the Fedex man might need to make a delivery. Not that kind. Not yet, at least. He’s totally hot, but I haven’t quite figured out how to ask him out. I guess being out of the dating circuit for the last, oh, six years has handicapped me in this department. Even so, he’s kind of become my sublimation, and the prospect of a visit from him is often enough to get me through the day.
“Do a fashion show for the girls, McKenna!” Lena leaps up from the bed, no longer interested in pleading Chaucer’s cause. Instead, she’s found a new one, all part of her strategy to delay bedtime.
Hayden’s heels click down the hallway. “Bedtime for you, missy. Fashion show another time.”
“No fashion show? That’s blasphemy,” I say to Hayden.
She shakes her head at me. “It’s like having two kids sometimes.”
Lena gives her mom a pout. “Can’t I stay up and say hi to the ladies?”
“Nope.”
Lena glances at her mom, then gives me a knowing smile. “You’re letting Chaucer stay inside again!”
“Just for tonight,” Hayden says, then she kisses her daughter and tucks her into bed. I head to the living room where I fiddle around with a new handheld camera I picked up the other day. I use a videographer for my show, but I like having my own small camera for little odds and ends that I need to shoot on my own. Soon, Hayden finishes with Lena, leaving the cat in her room. “I don’t have the heart to throw him back out. Not when Lena worked so hard to sneak him in and devise a cover up. I know the cat didn’t just slip inside. He was aided and abetted by my daughter.”
“Resourceful kid.”
“If he pees on her bed, I am going to be so pissed though.”
I laugh at her choice of verbs as I leave my camera on her coffee table, and head into the kitchen to prepare snacks.
“Thank you for helping me get her ready for bed.”
“Well, you can just pay me back whenever I need a patent attorney.”
“Babysitting bartering for legal advice you’ll never need? Sounds completely fair,” Hayden says, loading up her arms with a cheese platter and olive plate. I grab a small candy dish, and we return to the living room.
The dish wobbles in my hands when I spot Chaucer on the coffee table leaving his mark on my new camera. “Your cat!”
“Chaucer!” Hayden shouts angrily and scoops the cat from the table. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeats over and over. She marches to the backdoor, and I march to the kitchen where I find cleaner and some paper towels and try to rid my beautiful new handheld of that awful scent. I breathe in through my mouth as I clean, and once I’m done I try to turn on the camera. No luck. I shake my head at the cat, even though he’s now outside where he belongs. But yet, I have to tip my hat to him. As much as Chaucer rankles me, in some perverse way I admire him. The deliberateness, the in-your-face-ness of his strategy. He hit me where it hurts and he didn’t care. There’s something about the sheer recklessness of him that I wish I had more of. The cat does what the cat wants, consequences be damned. I think I’m going to be like that cat. Not pee on cameras, of course. But, be bold. Be daring. Do what I want, no matter what.
Hayden apologizes twenty million more times. “I promise if you ever, ever, ever need a business attorney for anything, I will make Greg handle it for free.”
“Let’s just hope I never need a good business attorney, but if I do, I will gladly accept the blood money offer seeing as the dude who handled The Fashion Hound sale charged me two arms and three legs. Wait. Is that blood money? Or pee money?” I add with a wink.
But she doesn’t respond. Instead, she bites her lip once, a sign that she wants to say something and is figuring out how.
“What? What is it, Hayden?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Do what?”
“You know what I mean. Look for a Trophy Husband.”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?” I say, doing my best to be the tough guy I haven’t been in a year.
“It just doesn’t seem like you.”
“Well, that’s because this is the first time my ex-fiancé has told me he that he’s had a baby with the woman he left me for, and took our baby name, to boot.”
“I know, sweetie. And I know that hurts an insane amount,” she says softly. “But…”
“But what?”
“But is this really going to help you get over him?”
Her question is a valid one, but try as I might to pack a full dose of toughness around my heart, the wound Todd inflicted is clearly still there. It hasn’t closed. And nobody knows how much it still hurts as well as Hayden and my girls, who have been here for me, taking my late-night phone calls and rehashing every moment that led up to Todd’s treacherous voicemail. They’ve tried to get me into yoga, they’ve sent me random hot guy of the day pictures, and they’ve engaged in more retail therapy than nearly anyone but a fashion blogger could handle. They’ve done everything to buoy me up, and it’s very nearly worked.