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Emma

“—and then the vet said Mr Puffs is not ready for that, and I—”

“That’s it” Kendall plunks down her glass of ice tea with such force the six-dollar liquid sloshes over the rilares at me over her half-eaten plate of buckwheat crepes

“What?” I blink at my best friend

“Do you realize you’ve been talking about Mr Puffs and Cottonball and Queen Elizabeth for the past half hour?” Kendall leans in, hazel eyes narrowed “It’s cat this, cat that, vet this”

“Oh” Flushing, I look at the clock on the wall of the brunch place Kendall dragged ot here—and I haven’t shut up during that time Embarrassed, I look back at Kendall “Sorry about that I didn’t mean to bore you”

“No, Eerated patience as she leans back, flipping her sleek dark hair over her shoulder “You didn’t bore ”

“What?”

“You, , are officially a cat lady”

My mouth falls open “What?”

“Yep A bona fide cat lady”

“I am not!”

“No?” She arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow “Let’s review the facts, then When was the last time you had your hair professionally styled?”

“U at the explosion of red curls on o?” It was, in fact, for Kendall’s twenty-fifth birthday party, whichother than a comb touched the frizzy mess

“Right” Kendall cuts into her crepe with the daintiness of Queen Elizabeth— her bite, she says, “And your last date hen?”

I have to really think about that one “Two o,” I say triumphantly when the recollection finally comes to me I cut off a piece of , “That’s not that long ago”

“No,” Kendall agrees “But I’ about a real date, not pity coffee with your sixty-year-old neighbor”