The emails to Ben go on like this, every few days, for several weeks, and it’s impossible to read them all, not just because they’re long but because they’re giving me a horrible twist in my gut. Within the emails are references to texts and phone calls she made to him. When I ask Ben how often, he doesn’t answer. And then I see one of his last emails to her: Find someone else to talk to, he told her. Shortly after that email, You have to leave me alone. And then I think of her last email to him: You don’t have to worry about me anymore.

I have to stop. Ben is now looking at me with an expression I don’t like. I prefer the cocky strutting asshole from a few nights ago. Because I want to hate Ben McCallister. I don’t want him looking at me with soft eyes. I don’t want him looking vulnerable, almost needy, like he wants reassurance. And I certainly don’t want him doing something generous, like offering to take the kittens off my hands, which is what he does.

I just stare at him. Like, Who are you?

“I’ll leave them with my mom next time I go to Bend. It’s pretty much a zoo at her place anyway, so she won’t give a shit about two more strays.”

“What about until then?” I ask.

“I share a house in Seattle. It’s got a backyard, and my housemates are all vegans, big into animal rights, so they can’t say no or they’ll risk looking like hypocrites.”

“Why would you do that?” I ask. I don’t know why I’m challenging him. I need to find a home for the cats; Ben’s the only taker. I should shut up.

“I thought I just explained why,” he says. The growl back in his voice is a relief.

But by the way he’s looking at everything in the room but me, I think he knows that he didn’t really explain why. And by the way I’m looking at everything in the room but him, I know that I don’t really need him to.

x x x

The next morning, Ben comes by the house for the cats as I’m finishing taping up the last of the boxes. I put Pete and Repeat into their carrier, collect all their toys, and hand them over.

“Where are you headed?” he asks me.

“UPS depot and bus station.”

“I can give you a lift.”

“That’s okay. I’ll call a cab.”

One of the cats yowls from the carrier. “Don’t be stupid,” Ben says. “You’ll have to pay for two cabs.”

I’m half afraid Ben will rescind his offer to take the cats, and that’s why he’s offering the ride, but he’s already loading the duffel bags into the trunk and putting the cats in the back. The car is filthy, full of empty Red Bull cans, smelling of cigarettes. There’s a beaded cardigan balled up in the backseat.

The mysterious roommate Harry Kang helps us haul the boxes to the car, and though we have not exchanged two words during my entire stay, he grasps my hand and says, “Please tell Meg’s family that my family has been praying for them every day.” He looks at me a moment longer. “I’m going to tell them to pray for you, too.” And though people have been saying this crap to me all the time since Meg died, Harry’s unexpected words bring a lump to my throat.

Pete and Repeat yowl all the way to the UPS place, and Ben waits with them in the car while I ship the boxes. Then Ben drives me to the bus station in time for the one p.m. bus. I’ll be home for dinner. Not that there’ll be dinner.

The cats continue to screech the whole time, and by the time we get to the bus station, it smells like one of them has peed. By this point I’m convinced he’s going to say he changed his mind, that the offer to take them was basically his revenge for my T-shirt email.

But he doesn’t. When I open the door in front of the bus station, he says, “Take care, Cody,” in a quiet voice.

I suddenly wish I were taking the cats. The thought of returning home alone makes me desolate. As much as I want to put miles between me and Ben McCallister, now that I’m doing just that, I understand what a relief it’s been to share this weight with someone.

“Yeah. You too,” I tell him. “Have a good life.”

It’s not what I meant to say. It sounds too flippant. But maybe it’s the most you can hope for someone.

10

The bus breaks down with a flat tire in the mountains, so I miss my connection in Ellensburg and it’s after midnight when I get home. I sleep until eight, go clean the Thomas house, and then that night, I lug the two bags over to the Garcias.

I ring the bell, which is something I rarely ever did before, and Scottie answers. When he opens the door, I ask how it’s going but I don’t need to ask, because I smell butter.

“Cupcakes,” he says.

“Delicious,” I say, attempting some cheer.

Scottie shakes his head. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’d like some broccoli right about now.”

Joe and Sue hesitate when they see me, as if it’s not Meg’s clothes and books I’ve brought back, but Meg herself. Then they come forward and are thanking me and Sue is crying silently, and it’s just too much to bear. I know they love me. Sue has long said she loves me like a daughter, but it’s different now that she doesn’t actually have a daughter.

I turn to Scottie. If this is hard on me, it’s worse for him. So, as if I’m Santa unpacking gifts, I say: “Shall we see what we’ve got?”

Except no one wants to see it. So I pull out her laptop, which I’ve kept separate in my backpack. I hold it out to Joe and Sue. They look at each other; then they shake their heads. “We discussed it,” Joe says, “and we want you to have it.”

“Me?” I know how expensive this computer was. “No. I can’t.”

“Please, we want you to,” Sue says.

“What about Scottie?”

“Scottie is ten,” Joe says. “We have the family computer. He has plenty of time to have his own laptop.”

Sue’s face falters, as if she no longer trusts the promise of time. But she pulls it together and says: “And you’ll need it for when you go away to college.”

I nod, and we all pretend like this is going to happen.

“It’s too much,” I say.

“Cody, take it,” Joe says almost harshly. I understand then that giving me the computer is not really a gift. But maybe my taking it is.

x x x

When it’s time to leave, Sue packs up a dozen cupcakes to take home. They’re frosted pink and gold, colors that tell a story of sweetness and joy. Even food lies.