Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

“It never would’ve worked out anyway. He thinks cats are
as smart as humans.”
She looks appalled. “Good riddance.”
Knowing that would change her tune, I smile. “I’m
thinking of setting him up with Marybeth.”
“Your colleague? The one who dresses like she’s Amish?”
“She’s not Amish. She’s a schoolteacher.”
“Does she teach butter churning and buggy maintenance?”
“No, science. But she is into quilting. She also has five
cats.”
Shuddering, Sloane raises her glass in a toast. “It’s a match
made in heaven.”
I clink my glass against hers. “May they have a long and
hairball-filled future together.”
We drink. I guzzle my entire glass of wine, knowing
Sloane is watching me as I do.
When I set the empty glass back on the table and motion to
the waiter for another round, she sighs. She reaches across the
table and squeezes my hand.
“I love you, you know.”
Knowing where this is headed, I look out the windows
toward the lake. “I think all that kale you eat has warped your
brain.”
“I worry.”
“You don’t have to. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”
And this is exactly why I should’ve stayed at home.
My voice quiet, I say, “It took two years before I could
drive a car without thinking, ‘What if I didn’t break for this
curve? What if I ran straight into that brick wall?’ Another
year after that before I stopped googling ‘painless ways to
commit suicide.’ Then another before I stopped randomly
bursting into tears. It’s only been the last few months that I can