1
Laurelin
* * *
“Laurelin? Laurelin, your damn cat is eating my ficus again!”
I raise my head at the sound of my name. But as Rachel’s words penetrate the fog of my brain, I stuff my face back into my pillow. The ficus will be fine. If I don’t get another half-hour of sleep, I won’t be fine at all.
I love my roommie, I really do. I even, begrudgingly, love her ficus, and the myriad of other plants housed in our shabby walk-up apartment. After all, Rach and I have been friends since college, which feels like ancient history but actually was only about seven or eight years ago. We’ve had a handful of other roommates since, but Rach and I found ourselves living together again when her ex dumped her last year.
But the second I start to drift back to sleep, the radiator turns on. Blissful silence is replaced by a horrible cacophony of clanking and clunking above my head. Why does that even happen? I thought radiators sent steam through metal pipes, so what’s causing the awful banging sound? I groan, trying to wedge flimsy foam plugs even deeper into my ears. Maybe Rachel and I should have tried a little harder to find a better place. After all, it’s not like this was the best I can afford…
But then I shake my head to banish the thought. The last thing I want to do is rely on my family’s fortune. Even though my current apartment sucks, it’s a hell of a lot comfier and cozier than a spartan, personality-less penthouse somewhere downtown. That’s just not my scene.
I take a deep breath and try to cultivate some gratitude for my crappy—I mean, homey—apartment. So many people have so much less, I remind myself. So many people would think this was a dream.
And then I remember the sandwiches.
“Dammit,” I groan into my satin pillowcase. “Shit!”
“Laurie!” Rachel pounds on my door frame. “Ficuses are poisonous to cats! You better get out here quick before something horrible happens!”
“I’m getting up,” I groan. “I’ll be there in a sec, I promise.”
My body and mind both protest the movement, but I manage to roll out of bed and into a barely bipedal stance. I grab a scrunchie from my night stand and plop my long blonde hair into a bun on top of my head. Then, I throw my fluffy white robe on, covering the raggedy t-shirt and shorts that I call pajamas, and fling open my bedroom door.
Sure enough, Toodles is perched on top of the kitchen table, gnawing happily away on the ficus at issue. Rachel is pouring herself a cup of tea and casts me a beseeching look.
“I kept shooing him away but he keeps going back,” she complains.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble around a yawn. I am nowhere near a morning person, and shuffling towards the kitchen table, I put my arms out. Toodles jumps happily into them and immediately begins purring as I cradle him to my chest, kissing him on the sides of his little grey face. I’ve had Toodles for about three years now, and am perfectly content as a crazy cat lady. Rachel is definitely more of a dog person.
“Do you want some tea?” my roomie asks, shaking her head. “Or maybe Toodles wants some tea?”
I smile at her gratefully. We can never stay annoyed at each other for long. Our friendship wouldn’t have lasted this long if that weren’t the case.
“Maybe just a half a cup, and yes, Toodles appreciates your kind offer but he says no to tea,” I say. “Besides, I have to get to the park soon because Marla will be waiting, and you know how she gets uppity if you’re more than a few minutes late.”
“How is Marla these days?” Rachel asks, getting out my favorite floral mug from the cupboard.
“She was doing well last time, at least,” I say, scratching the top of Toodles’ head as he purrs like a motor. “I think she’s staying at that bigger shelter on the east side of Manhattan now. She looked good.”
“I’m glad,” Rachel says, handing me the mug. “I worry about her sometimes. Okay, more than sometimes. A lot.”
I sigh and take a sip of hot jasmine tea, letting its warmth wake me up a little. “I do too. I worry about all of them. But Marla’s in her early 70’s now, you know? It’s just so sad that she doesn’t have anyone to take care of her and that we’re practically her best friends.”
Rachel smiles sadly. “I know. But I’m sure she’s glad to have you around.” She gathers up her mug and her journal that was on the counter. “I’m going to go do some writing in my room. Tell everyone I say hi, and I’ll go with you next time.”
“Will do,” I promise, nodding.