“Why the hell do you have three cats? Isn’t one enough?”
“Maybe I wanted to turn into a crazy old cat woman. I hit thirty this year, so I thought now would be the best time.”
It takes me a second to realize she’s fucking with me. I also realize I’m not going to get any more out of her. Maybe she does have cats. Maybe she doesn’t. If she had kids or some sort of significant other, I don’t think she’d be here. She wouldn’t see it as appropriate, and she would have either brought them all just to rub her domestic bliss in my face, or she would have sent me an email telling me to go eat poop by myself. Or a text. That’s more Zoe’s style.
At least, it used to be her style. I’m not sure what her style is anymore. We’re no longer kids. People grow up. People change. People can change a lot, even in a few years, and it’s been a few and a few more, and a few more years on top of that.
“How much are we talking?”
“Ten thousand. You can easily afford it.”
I snort because I thought she was going to come up with something quite a bit better than that. She could have asked for a million or a hundred thousand, making it worth her while even mentioning it, but no, she asks for something sustainable. The actual amount it would probably take to cover her rent and bills while she tries to find another position.
Zoe always knew who she was, even when she was ten years old. That was one of the things I admired most about her. She was never lost like I was though I hid it well. She never had to bother trying to hide it because she never felt like that. She was always confident and proud of who she was. She never felt empty, ever. She was the younger one, but I remember how much comfort I took in sharing a room with her. We had bunk beds because our house was really small, and I always slept better, knowing she was right there in the same room as me.
“It’s a deal.”
Fine. She tosses back her whisky again and doesn’t look at me. “You count.”
“Rock, paper, scissors.”
Our hands fly out at the exact same time, showing identical paper signs. Our fingertips almost brush, but she jerks her hand away just in time. My insides turn into a wild, twisted mess when I feel the heat of her hand. So. Close. To. Mine.
“Rock, paper, scissors,” I count again.
This time, Zoe outsmarts me. She was always way better at this game than I was. And no, there’s no way I want to let her win. She pulls paper again, and I choose rock, just because I thought she’d think that I was going for paper again and choose scissors. In this game, scissors beat paper, and paper beats rock.
Zoe lets out an exclamation of surprise, but her game face doesn’t crack. She’s concentrating hard. She really wants this, wants to get away from me. That’s why she showed up tonight. I’m not sure why she dislikes me so much. No, it might even border on hate. I’ve never done anything to her. Maybe I really am a shithead because I do think about the fact that maybe that’s exactly why she detests me, but I dismiss it just as quickly.
“Rock, paper, scissors,” I count again.
Zoe pulls out rock while I pull out scissors.
Damn it. Now I’m down two nothing. Shit is getting serious.
I count again, ready to face defeat. I’m already trying to force myself to think two steps ahead and come up with a game plan for when it happens, but it’s hard, given my head is starting to swim from the whisky. I don’t drink the hard stuff. Ever. I never had a taste for it, which is why there are currently thirty-seven unopened bottles in my wine cellar downstairs. Gifts from clients. All of them.
I have no choice but to count again. “Rock, paper, scissors.”
This time she chooses paper, and I choose scissors. I let out a grunt of triumph while Zoe’s nostrils flare in annoyance. She hates losing, especially to me. She might be the only person on earth who could rival me for a competitive streak.
I count again, and I go for paper since she probably thinks I’m going to choose scissors again. She goes for rock, so now we’re tied.
Zoe squirms nervously on the couch. She has that look of total concentration, which hasn’t changed over the years.
I count one last time, and when our hands make the signs, I can’t believe it. She chose scissors, and I chose rock. I actually won!
“You cheated!” Zoe yells. She leaps off the couch, her eyes blazing fire, one finger pointed roughly in my face. “You…you…”
That’s as far as she gets before the lights flicker once, twice, and plunge us into total darkness.
CHAPTER 6
Zoe
No one beats me at rock, paper, scissors. No. One. I am literally the rock, paper, scissors queen. And Raiden never beat me once. Okay, rarely. It’s only rarely, but now, when it really counted, this asshosoris rex just took me down.
It turns out divine retribution or karma or just bad universal energy or whatever it is out there is swift and just because the whole house plunges into immediate darkness.
I don’t know much about Raiden anymore, but I do know he has always had this irrational and crippling fear of the dark.
I can tell that, in about one point eight seconds flat, the asshosoris rex starts having a meltdown. He used to do this when we were kids, and I seriously thought he would have grown out of it as an adult, but
