Operation Kitten Drop

The next morning, I was woken up by a squeaky meow and the distinct feeling of being watched.

Lucy — sat on my chest like some furry, judgmental deity, blinking slowly as if to say: Well? Where’s breakfast, human?

“Okay, okay,” I groaned, rubbing my eyes. “Big day today. Moving into your new penthouse.”

The kittens — tiny, clumsy jellybeans with legs — were curled up in the old laundry basket I’d lined with towels. One of them tried to climb out, failed, and squeaked indignantly.

I smiled.

I’d never considered myself a “cat person” before, but it was hard not to feel something when five miniature creatures thought your shoe was a playground.

After packing food, litter, a toy mouse, and a rolled-up blanket that probably still smelled like me, I loaded everything into a cardboard box and gently placed the basket on top. The whole setup looked like I was transporting royalty — and in a way, I was.

Right as I was about to leave, my phone buzzed.

Serena: Send me a text when you're outside. Top floor, apartment 5A. There's an elevator, but it hates people, so maybe take the stairs. Bring treats — for me, not the cats.

Me: Noted. Arriving with feline VIPs.

By the time I got to her building, I was slightly sweaty and the box was making weird creaking sounds. One kitten — the bold one I secretly named Trouble — had managed to poke its head out of the laundry basket and was staring at me with what felt like mild contempt.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered. “You try carrying five of you up four flights of stairs while balancing a cardboard box, a laundry basket, and my rapidly dying will to live.”

I texted her once I reached the landing, then nudged the door with my knee.

A moment later, Serena opened it, barefoot and dressed in oversized lounge pants and a loose hoodie. Her hair was tied up messily, and she held a mug that said “Don’t Talk To Me Before Coffee. Or After. Just Don’t.”

She looked like a sleepy goddess.

“Delivery service?” she asked, grinning.

“With a side of chaos,” I said, holding up the box like a sacrificial offering.

She stepped aside to let me in. Her apartment was cozy — warm lighting, scattered plants, and a sofa that looked like it had stories. A fluffy rug covered the floor, and there were books stacked in aesthetically disorganized piles.

I placed the box down gently in the middle of the room.

Serena knelt beside it and peeked inside. Her face softened.

“Oh my god. Look at them.”

Lucy lifted her head and meowed politely.

“She’s saying hi,” I said.

“No,” Serena whispered. “She’s saying, ‘This woman has way better vibes than our last caretaker, whoever he was.’”

The kittens began to stir, mewling softly, tiny paws batting at the air. Serena reached in and picked up one with orange-and-white fur, cradling it like it was the most fragile thing in the universe.

“Okay,” she said, in baby voice. “You win. They are the cutest ever.”

“I thought you’d like them,” I said, scratching the back of my neck.

She looked up at me. “I might like you, too. Jury’s still out.”

I laughed, but my heart skipped again — the same skip it did every time I got too close to thinking this might be more than friendship.

This might be a good time to remind myself that I have a girlfriend.

“I’ll go grab the litter and food,” I said quickly, heading back out.

“You’re not escaping that easily, Max,” she called after me. “I still owe you a mystery favor.”

And just like that, the anxiety crept back in.

Oh no.

When I got back down to the street, my legs felt like overcooked noodles and my conscience wasn’t doing much better.

Oh, right. I should explain this.

The favour Serena asked was to get a coffee with me.

Weird, right?

I thought so too.

But hey, it was harmless. Serena lived across from a café, and the kittens seemed perfectly content exploring their new domain without human supervision.

She smiled at me as we sat at a table, which of course I replied in kind with a crooked smile of my own.

Have you ever felt it? That vibe when you're next to someone stunning and the air between you feels… charged?

Yeah. That was happening.

And for the first time in my life, I was in the middle of it — the weird electric rom-com moment.

And I liked it.

Which was a problem, considering I was still very much in a relationship with Lily.

As if she could read my mind, I got a voice note.

Lily:
“Hey babe! I’m back from my parents’ early. Can you pick me up from the airport later?”

Lily, who made grocery lists in color-coded highlighters. Lily, who would absolutely kill me — and maybe resurrect me just to kill me again — if she knew how Serena made my heart act like it was in a slow-motion movie montage.

But it wasn’t like that.

Lily and I have been dating for seven months. I should’ve felt grounded. But here I was, sweating bullets trying hard to not smile too much.

This wasn’t cheating. Not technically. But it was getting close enough that the line was starting to blur.

The waiter came over. Serena ordered some fancy cappuccino thing with oat milk and cinnamon dust. I got the same, even though I usually drink gas station coffee, it just flows well with my taste buds but Serena was paying, so I pretended to have standards.

That voice note was making me a bit anxious. I stared at the foam like it held answers.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. Cool, cool.”

I sipped the drink.

Ugh, why did I order this? It tastes like …ugh. Actually doesn’t matter. A quick drink then I’ll go home to prepare before Lily arrives.

There was a short silence, like Serena was thinking about something. She is usually so talkative, I hope everything is okay. I also don’t like to pry on other people’s lives that much.

She grinned. “So. About that favor?”

“I thought this was the favor?”

She gave me a look. “Who asks for coffee as a favor? If I wanted to take you on a date, Max, I’d just do it — like ripping off a Band-Aid. But what I’m about to ask you is worse than us going on a date.”

I’m trying so hard not to take that personally but she’s pushing it. I’m a joy to be around, ask any..body.

She leaned in, her voice low and playful. “I need a plus-one for my sister’s wedding.”

I blinked. “You want me to…wait, aren’t weddings full of family drama, champagne, and bad dancing? Shouldn’t you ask your boyfriend to these kind of fun times.”

“I could,” she said. “But we broke up. Actually, I kind of dumped him.”

It didn’t hit me immediately but after a few seconds, my brain processed the information and a feeling of pure joy. I’m not even kidding, my brain threw a confetti party. A literal mental parade.

“Poor Dave,” I said, maintaining a solemn face while internally salsa dancing on his emotional grave.

I’m struggling so much not to laugh out loud. Haha hahahaha ha ha ha ha fucking DAVE! I don’t even care what happens the rest of the day, seriously I’m happy.

“I’m so sorry to hear,” I said solemnly.

NOT. Fucking DAVE! Whooooo. I know I’m being such a jerk right now but I don’t even care.

“It’s fine. I actually considered taking Stephen as my plus one, even thought about calling Dave like in one of those fake couple scenarios, but after our talk on the roof…I figured it should be you.”

I stared.

She sipped her coffee and flicked her hair with both her hands,

“I have a girlfriend,” I said slowly.

(Pause for effect.)
She rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard a thud.

But then she smiled. The kind of smile I make after finishing a One Piece arc.

It was so confusing and throwing me off. To all ladies out there: Please, for me, just say what you mean.

“Max. I’m not trying to get in your pants. It’s just one weekend. Look, I had already RSVPed a plus one and I know it’s a bit cliché but there’s no way I’m showing up alone to my younger sister’s wedding. Besides I thought if I was getting a fake boyfriend, I might as well get one who knows everything about me. And …. You can eat all the cake you want and room service. If you think about it I’m helping you here.”

I chuckled. “Helping me, huh? Okay, I guess it could be fun.”

Don’t do it. don’t do it!

“Which sister is getting married again?”

“Seline,” she answered.

Fuck, I did it. No turning back now.

“So, the wedding is in about three months. I’ll text you the dress code and whatnot after everything is finalized.”

"Great, looking forward to it."