I did the sad eyes again just as yet another sneeze hit and Nash moved over to the dumpster, climbed up it in a side to side motion while gripping the busted up back gate in one hand.
"I swear to God, if this cat fucking scratches me … "
But the poor cat didn't do anything but stare right at Nash with a thick, raised tuft of hair standing on end straight down his back. From this angle I realized the cat's hair wasn't gray like I initially thought. The baby was white, completely white by the look of him, but he was so filthy with greasy streaks of grease or mud or something smeared all over its coat that he had looked gray from a distance.
"Easy," Nash said to him, leaning close with a hand outstretched. He teetered close to the edge of the dumpster, bobbing a little on his feet and I actually got scared, imagining a scenario of Nash falling and breaking bones and how it would be entirely my fault.
"Be careful, Nash!" I blurted out, which was stupid, because it caused him to jerk, which in turn caused the cat to growl, a low, warning hiss that got louder and more threatening the closer Nash got. "Nash? Make sure you don't … "
"Will you hush, woman? You're gonna spook him!"
Turns out, the scrawny cat didn't want rescuing. Nash caught him by the scruff of his neck and the stupid animal hissed twice and scratched at him. When Nash let go, the "baby" leap-frogged from the limb without any assistance and down back onto the alley where he turned and for good measure hissed once again at both of us before darting.
"Unbelievable," Nash said under his breath, navigating away from the tree and gate, then stepping gingerly on the dumpster before he jumped onto the pavement. "Happy?"
"I … " I started to say, but a sudden sneezing fit came over me and Nash pulled me away from the nasty dumpster, and guided me back toward the alley. "Damn cat" I muttered, suddenly sad and soaking and in danger of breaking down into a crying jag. Nash must have heard the hitch in my voice because he tried to pull up my thin jacket over my head, but made a piss poor job of it. We headed back towards the front of the building, but when we got to the boxes I had dropped, I stopped, bending to try and scoop up some of the cupcake mush.
"No matter how good they might have been, you're not gonna save them, either."
"They were good. These were my first attempt at Irish car bombs." I sneezed again and Nash wiped the mash of cake from my hand.
"Come on, before you get pneumonia." I listened, following him down the alley without a backward glance at the cupcakes or the echo of the renegade cat. "That happens and I'll be pissed about you not baking for me."
Willow
"When do you think Mickey will be back?"
"It's bingo night, remember? He doesn't ever call it early on bingo night unless he wins and he never wins."
I liked Nash's place almost as much as my own, and that was saying something because I had totally fallen in love with my apartment. I still couldn't believe my luck when one of my Mom's old university buddies needed someone to take up the place when he decided to retire to New Hampshire. Rent control in Brooklyn? Hell, yes. I was never going to leave, unless forced to. I suspected Nash wouldn't either and with how clean and comfortable he had made his place, I couldn't blame him.
I had no idea who some of the posters on the walls were, except Gaiman, of course. Everyone knows Gaiman, and I guess I knew Einstein and Dizzy, too. I didn't mind that many of the other faces were unknown to me. It was like walking into some post-modern techie world that itched to be explored.
There were framed posters of musicians and writers, scientists; beautiful men whose faces told stories, said things with one look. They contrasted against the utilitarian feel of the rest of his place-the clean, mint scent that wafted from his kitchen and the books organized on black metal shelves by color and size. There was very little in the way of personal items, only a few pictures of Nash and a girl who looked so much like him that she had to be his twin. They couldn't be more than eight in the picture, but there was a smile on his face, honest and open, his hazel-glinted eyes sparkling when he smiled at her. No photos of parents or friends. I couldn't help but wonder why only his sister warranted a frame on the center console of his entertainment center, but I didn't feel like I could ask. Not yet.
The last time I'd been here there'd been little time for exploration. Nash had been sleep-deprived and worn out. My focus had been on centering him and getting him to sleep.