Aika - Discarded Cat Owner

Caleb learned the chorus in one night.

Not only that, he improved it. He added a twist that lifted the melody even higher, in a way that made my chest feel tight and light at the same time.

Of course he did. Of course Mr. Perfect Voice knew exactly how to shape the song. Didn’t he even think of asking me “oh when you wrote this about the song, what do you mean by that?” But oh no, he got it all right away. Life is just unfair like that. He’s God’s chosen one, afterall. 

I tried not to listen as he and the trainees gathered in the café during the afternoon lull. The church-sponsored café meant church boys were always around, so I was used to it. But today they were singing. Singing my corrected chorus very well.

‘Harmonize on that part!’ one trainee said.

‘Caleb, do the higher line!’

‘Your voice suits the lift!’

Oh they sound so good, I wish I can join.

I nearly dropped the tray I was carrying. I ducked behind the espresso machine and peeked through the steam like a criminal. They were all sitting around a table, lyric sheets scattered, humming and adjusting beats. A small friendly choir workshop. And at it’s center, Caleb.

His eyes were bright. Jawline obnoxiously sharp, as usual. Curly hair that looks like bed hair, but also probably also styled like that. Voice like the smoothest honey melting into warm bread.

He sang the chorus again. My chorus. Well, technically his. But improved by me. Inspired by me. Touched by me. 

I hate him. No, I hated that I was impressed.

‘You’re scowling at the coffee machine,’ Miho-san whispered beside me, making me squeal a little.

‘I’m not scowling,’ I lied.

‘You look like the coffee machine stole your cats.’

‘I—! Uh… Well…’ With no words to defend myself with, I scurried off to the back. 

Don’t care. Don’t get involved. Don’t be proud of him. Don’t be happy he used your suggestion. 

The chorus swelled. Without permission, my heart joined singing with them. NO. Absolutely not. 

I retreated to the back and slapped some cold water into my face. Lock in Aika. Stay low.

*****

The next day, when the café was less busy, I slipped out the back to take the trash. The cats were waiting for me. Except, they weren’t. They were waiting for him. All lined up neatly by the back door, tails curled, staring at me with utter disinterest. 

“We don’t need you. Where is the handsome one? Bring him at once”, was the only thing I could hear from their eyes.

‘You traitors,’ I spat. ‘I fed you every day. I even gave you good-brand food last week! And this is who you love now? A tall singing church boy?’

A gray tabby meowed unapologetically. 

I knelt and squinted at them. ‘What does he have that I don’t?’

The cats looked startled. Then one pawed at my chest, as if trying to tell me to stop breathing. Or talking.

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ I continued. ‘Warm heart, stable income, probably knows how to do house chores, whatever.’

I scooped the nearest cat into my arms and hissed, ‘He is not your mother. I am your mother.’

That cat bit my sleeve. Unbelievable.

Just as I stood up to scold all of them thoroughly, one by one, I heard footsteps behind me. I jumped so suddenly I almost threw the cat across the parking lot.

‘Sorry!’ Caleb held up his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

I pressed a hand to my racing heart. ‘Since wh— what are you doing here?’

His cheeks flushed slightly. He looked like he was out for a jog. He wasn’t wearing the clerical loose shirt today. Just a simple white tee and a gray hoodie pushed up to his elbows, exposing this forearms. 

And he works out too? Why did men have forearms? Who invented that? Didn’t he know it’s unholy for men to wear grey sweatpants?

‘I, um… wanted to thank you.’

‘For what?’ I spat. Instantly suspicious, defensive, and still jealous over the cats.

He offered the folded scrap of paper. My note.

Oh…

‘I almost showed your suggestion to the others,’ he said softly. ‘Because it really helped. But I thought maybe you wouldn’t want that.’

My throat tightened. He made the right choice. I’d have hated that.

‘It’s your melody,’ he added gently. ‘I want to thank the person who made the song complete.’

I should have said “you’re welcome”, or “don’t mention it”, or at least a small, “please leave”.

But instead, I blurted, ‘I didn’t do anything.’

He smiled at me, seeing through my lie.

‘You don’t have to be shy about it. You’re clearly musically trained.’

I stiffened. This was a part of me I do not want remembered. Not yet though. Maybe later.

His eyes softened with a quiet understanding. He sensed he’d stepped near a wound without meaning to.

‘Anyway,’ he continued gently, ‘I just wanted to say thank you. Really.’

His voice was soft enough to melt the spine of anyone with a functioning nervous system.

Not me though. No. I had transcended that.

He smiled with a small head tilt, waiting for my reaction.

Okay… maybe not. 

Sensing that I was starting to blush, I panicked. ‘I need to, um… inside… work! Things...’

And I ran. Not walked. Not excused myself politely. I escaped like a feral woodland creature who had just been caught peeing on church grounds. I nearly tripped on the step. The cats watched my escape like a soap opera.

I burst through the back door, slammed it shut, leaned my whole weight on it, and whispered to myself, ‘No. No. No.’

Slowly and surely, something started to grow and glow inside my heart.