Cat Patrick: Just Like Fate

I cover my mouth as hot tears spill over my cheeks—sobs shake my body. She watches me with weary eyes, eyes just like my mother’s.

“We’ve always taken care of each other, you and I,” she says. “But now you’ll have to take care of yourself.”

“But I want you,” I say like I’m a child. “I can’t do it without you.”

She smiles gently. “You tend to the things at home for me,” she says. “Walk the cat, water the flowers.”

“I will.” My grandmother’s cat, Junior, walks on a leash and hates everyone but her. He’s a menace, but when I asked her last year to get rid of him, she said he’d only leave when she did. Back then I never even thought it was a possibility.

Gram reaches to run the backs of her cool fingers over my cheek, and I clutch her shoulder like I can hold her to this earth. “Don’t ever give up on yourself,” she says. “Life is hard sometimes, and I’m sorry I won’t be here for you.” A tear slides over her temple.

“I’m scared,” I say.

“Shh,” she says. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not. We all die.” Her words give me chills. I swallow hard as her breaths become uneven. “Try to make good choices, but when you make a bad one, learn from it and move on.”

“Gram—”

“And be careful who you love, Caroline,” she whispers. “Never let them take too much. Never let them take what’s you .”

I nod, not fully getting her meaning but wanting to encourage her to go on. To keep talking. But Gram just stares at me for a second, smiling softly until her mouth goes slack.

“I love you,” she says finally. It’s so quiet, it’s barely there at all.

“I love you more,” I return, a stillness coming over me—a thick crushing pressure that’s about to destroy me. Because as we stare at each other, I watch the life fade from my grandmother’s eyes. And then she exhales one more time, long and deep . . . letting go.

FIVE

My grandmother is dead.

I stumble from the hospice, my body on autopilot—empty and numb at the same time. The conversation I just had with Teddy is on repeat, cruelly infecting me with regret and shame. I get in my car and start driving, words in my head swirling in dark, black spirals.

The room is bare—Gram is gone, a single rose on her pillow instead. My brother’s bloodshot eyes find me. He’s destroyed.

“Did she wake up?” I ask him, scared of the answer. If she didn’t wake, it means that she never got the chance to say good-bye. And if she did, I wasn’t there. What did she think?

“Caroline,” my brother says, looking away. Caroline. The use of my full name breaks me.

“Did she ask for me, Teddy?” My voice is high and frantic. My brother’s eyes glass over and he nods before wiping hard at his face.

“It’s not your fault,” he says quietly.

It’s not your fault.

It’s not your fault.

It’s like an echo in my brain as I push harder on the accelerator, fleeing the family I can’t face. I’ve just lost the most important person in the world, and I wasn’t there. I stare at the road ahead, thinking that my sister was right: There’s no one left to pick up my pieces.

I drive aimlessly, looking for a distraction. The radio blasts music, but the words are only screeches of noise. I don’t realize where I am until I see the rows of cars outside the party house. I try Simone’s phone, but it goes to voice mail. Then I try again. Voice mail again. I can’t help it, but I resent her for it. I slam my phone down on the seat and search for her car among the others.

I didn’t get to say good-bye.

I want to replay the entire night, make a different choice. But I know there aren’t any second chances. I screwed up. I ruined everything.

Simone’s car is nowhere to be found and I feel the panic start to seep in, threatening me as it waits to take me over completely. I drive by the party once again, debating going inside—even though the thought of it turns my stomach. I see an open space right in front and go to swing in, but I have to brake fast before I nearly crush a guy sitting on the curb, hidden from view. He looks up, shielding his eyes from my headlights. It’s the blond guy from earlier, and he stands so I can pull into the space.

Once parked, I click off my lights and roll down the passenger window. “What are you doing?” I call to him. “I could have run over your foot or something.” He ducks down, looking in before smiling.

“You came back for me.” He grins, but when I don’t smile, his expression falters. “I got ditched,” he says. “My friend was parked here, but he left with some girl. I thought maybe he’d remember he brought me and swing back through. Guess not.”

I don’t care, I think. I don’t care about anything. I glance past the guy to the party house, people still on the lawn holding hands or holding cups as I sit in my car, wishing I never came here tonight.

“So . . .” the guy says. “Are you getting out?” He’s standing there in his white thermal shirt, his pulled-from-the-floor jeans. Everything about him looks easy and carefree. I can’t even imagine what that’s like anymore.

“I don’t think so,” I say quietly. He takes a step closer, resting his elbow on the top of the car as he stares in, getting a closer look at me. Then his mouth falls open.

“Oh my God,” he says. “Are you okay?”

I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and see that my mascara has run. I swipe under my eyes and then wipe the inky black on Simone’s skirt. When I’m done I turn to the guy, thinking he’s the only person who even cares how I am right now. “What’s your name?” I ask.

He seems caught off guard. “It’s Christopher . . . uh, Chris.”

“The answer is no, Christopher,” I tell him with a pathetic shrug. “I’m not okay. Not at all.”

He looks me over, confused, concerned. Rather than press me further about my disheveled state, he nods toward the house. “We should skip the party, then,” he says. “It’s lame anyway. Maybe we can go grab a coffee? I know a place still open.”

I lean my head back against the seat, utterly lost. I can’t go sit in a well-lit café talking to a stranger when I’m not even sure where I’ll sleep tonight. “I can’t,” I tell him. “I have to go.”

“Again?” he asks quickly. “Is it me? I can certainly tone it down.”

“It’s not you.” I debate telling him the rest and then opt not to. “And I’m sorry that . . .” I’m sorry for so many things that I can’t even finish the sentence. I switch the car into gear, but I haven’t even eased off the brake before Christopher is talking fast.

“Listen,” he says. “Is there any chance you could give me a ride to my friend’s house? He’s not coming back, and to be honest, the only reason I didn’t call a cab in the first place was because I was hoping I’d bump into you again.” He smiles sheepishly, maybe embarrassed for having admitted it. “And look,” he says softer. “We did. It’s kind of like fate, right?

I look doubtfully at Christopher, not sure if I should give him a lift. I’m eventually going to have to answer to my family; I’m just not brave enough yet. But I’m not brave enough to be alone either. So after a quick nod, I unlock the car door for him to get in.

The starless sky is unsettling as I drive through the darkened neighborhood toward the freeway. The houses pass in blurs of porch lights, and I’ve nearly forgotten where we’re headed when Christopher starts playing with the air vents.

“Christopher . . .” I start.

“It’s just Chris,” he interrupts. “Only my nana and my family physician call me Christopher anymore. Maybe a professor or two. I’m a freshman at Clinton State, in case you’re curious.”