Life Reconstructed: Chapter Eight
An hour and a half later, Cat was surprised to note the time. More than that, she was surprised that she was still there, sitting on the edge of a thinly-padded seat of Julie’s Café, playing cards fanned out across her fingers, in front of her eyes, her left leg bop-bop-bopping impatiently while Erna considered her hand.
“Good God, while I’m young here,” Mary finally barked across at her partner. Not for the first time that afternoon, Cat found herself genuinely thankful that she’d been partnered with Birdie (for obvious reasons, or so Mary muttered, when the teams were picked; that way, if Cat stunk it’d be Birdie’s problem since she was the one who invited her.)
Only Cat hadn’t stunk.
Much as Mary had predicted, she’d picked up on the strategy of the game rather quickly. But that wasn’t the biggest surprise. At least, not for the girl easily forty years younger than the rest of her companions…. Cat was having fun. She was having a great time, actually.
Erna slapped a card down on the discard pile, giving Mary a long, dark scrutiny as she did so—her nose lifted upward a little. “Too late for that, my dear.”
Harriet snorted.
Birdie elbowed Cat.
“Careful,” Mary said, but she wasn’t wagging her finger at Erna. Her milky eyes were glaring straight across the table at a slightly surprised Cat. “You won’t always have that ass.”
“Mary!”
“What? I saw her when she walked to the bathroom. She’s got a nice tush.”
“Oh God.” This came from Erna.
“You know it’s true,” Mary said, still talking to Cat.
Flushing, her bottom wiggling uncomfortably on her chair, Cat shrugged. “I…uh, I don’t know. I’ve never really thought—”
“Oh, enough of that.” Mary snapped her hand in midair, the action quick, sharp, like a whip. “Of course you have. You’ve looked over your shoulder in the mirror. You’ve studied it. Don’t lie to an old woman.”
“What does your being old have to do with it?”
“And don’t be impertinent, either!”
Cat smiled. She couldn’t help it. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Speaking of that, why are you here, with us old cows anyway?” Mary gave Erna a quick glance. “Especially with an ass like that.”
“Speak for yourself,” Harriet growled. “I’m no barn animal.”
“I don’t know, Har. We’ve all seen you eat…”
“Oh hush!”
Cat giggled at their antics. In the ninety minutes she’d spent with them, this style of conversation had become anything but unusual. It worked only because, through the biting sarcasm, there was open affection—and everyone clearly felt it.
“Get ya another refill?”
At the introduction of a new voice to their laughter, Cat looked up. Standing just to the left of her seat was their server, an older woman in her mid-forties with too much eye-liner on and a brown smudge on her otherwise white apron. Looking down at her coffee cup, Cat was surprised to see she was, indeed, empty.
“Not for me,” Erna said, covering the top of her mug with on fragile, almost crookedly-shaped hand.
“Me neither.”
“I think we’re good here, Marnie. Thank you.”
Mary looked up at the wall-clock that Cat had been deliberately avoiding all evening. “Shoot. Is it almost eight?” She shook her head. “Somebody better win this hand already. I’ve got to get home.”
Erna nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
Cat smiled tightly. Staring down at her hand, she waited for Mary to finish her turn. She waited for someone to go out…
It was almost eight-thirty by the time Cat let herself into her apartment that evening. Dropping her purse limply down beside her front door, Cat kicked her shoes off as she walked down the long, narrow hallway toward her bedroom door. She hadn’t bothered to order dinner at Julie’s when she and Birdie arrived—after all, she hadn’t planned to stay. And then, in the heat of learning the game, she’d forgotten. With a weary glance, for a split second she paused with her hand curled around the doorknob to her bedroom, her eyes taking in the kitchen. She could probably scrimmage up something edible…
Only, she wasn’t very hungry. With a twist of her wrist, Cat felt her door fall open. Walking forward, she found her lips splitting into an unexpected smile as she remembered Mary’s final whoop, resound whooping when she and Eleanor had gone out, winning the last game.
“Mary’s always a bit of a poor sport.”
“Spoken like a loser,” Mary had retorted.
“Hey, at least this time she didn’t stick her tongue out at you.” This cheerful piece of advice had come for Harriet.
All the while, unable to help herself, Cat had giggled. Then she’d laughed.
“They can call me a poor sport if they want,” Mary had told her, bending down conspiratorially. Then, loud enough to be heard, she’d hitched her thumb over one shoulder. “When you’ve got that as a partner…well, you take whatever success you can—ow! Hey now…”
“Oh, I’ll give you something to hey now! about,” Eleanor had muttered, dropping the fingers which had just flicked Mary behind her ear back down to her side.
Shuffling fully into her dark bedroom, Cat laughed softly to herself. Flicking on her bedside lamp, she swapped her slacks for fleece, her button-down tunic for a cotton t-shirt. Yawning, she shuffled into her bathroom, which had two convenient access doors—one leading from her livingroom and one directly from her bedroom. The yellow glare of her cheap light fixtures blazed into the hollows of her cheeks, washing out her already pale complexion.
If someone would have told her three days ago that she’d find herself playing Canasta on a Monday night with a group of woman older probably than Cat’s own grandmother she’d have told them…well, she’d have been so shocked by the absurdity of it all she’d probably have been stunned silent.
And if that wasn’t outrageous enough as it was, Cat hadn’t wanted the evening to end, either.
“Thank you so much for letting me join you ladies,” she’d told them as they stacked up the cards into a neat pile at the end of the evening. Pushing her chair back, she made to stand up.
“It was a pleasure, my dear.”
“You have a natural talent for it.”
“It’s always lovely to introduce new players to the game.”
“At least you didn’t make a complete ass out of yourself.”
Smiling, with a half-wave that made her feel more self-conscious—why was saying goodbye always such a protracted affair? Cat swing her purse over her shoulder. “Have a good night, ladies.”
“You too.”
“See you soon.”
“Anytime you want to play, you know where to find us!”
On those words, Cat had walked up to the antiqued cash register at Julie’s Café to pay for the cups of coffee she’d consumed.
Smiling in her dinky vanity mirror, Cat rubbed lotion on her arms and neck before reaching for her toothbrush. Her movements were robotic, soothing as only things of routine can become. Within minutes she’d returned to her bedroom. Pulling back her quilted covers, Cat clambered into her bed. Settling against her pillows, she reached over to shut off the lights.
What happened next was the damnedest thing.
In the midst of the silver light managing to slink through the thick curtains over her windows, through the wisps of sound as late-night travelers trekked down her side-street, Cat felt the soft, wet moisture of tears fall onto her cheeks.
Sniffing with something of snort, she turned on her side. Curling her legs up close to her chest, she felt something explode inside her stomach. Her shoulders quaked, the breath burning, rending as she sobbed.
It was silly, really.
She’d had a lovely night. A great night.
With someone else’s friends.
