Sunday, March 1st
Who: May Paik, Noah Browning What: Sunday Brunch When: Sunday, of course Where: Their apartment Rating: PG-13 Status: Incomplete
It was a lot later than he'd intended. Noah tucked the newspapers under his left arm, hunched hs shoulder a little to keep the strap of the duffle in place and glanced at the watch on his right wrist. Almost ten in the morning. He hadn't meant to be this late, but he'd forgotten just how much Spatula hated the cat carrier. Earlier in the morning, Spatula had watched Noah get the carrier out of the closet, and Noah swore he'd seen Oh my god, NONONONO cross the cat's face, and then the fight had been on. Spatula was normally the picture of docility (a.k.a. laziness), but bring out the carrier, and he turned into a crazed thing. Under the sleeves of his henley, both Noah's forearms bore long scratches from the battle with a twenty pound cat. The next time he got a cat--if he ever did--he'd be sure and choose one smaller than a Maine Coon.
In the carrier at his feet, Spatula meowed piteously. He hadn't stopped since Noah, tired and sweaty but triumphant, had forced him into it. "Shush, you're better off than I am, you wretched creature," Noah said. In spite of everything, his tone was affectionate. Though Spatula had been Julia's cat, they'd finally gotten used to one another, and Noah liked having Spatula draped over him like a fur blanket as much as Spatula liked ear skritches. "You'll have a kitten to play with. Play with, not eat for lunch. Remember he's not a snack."
He hoped May hadn't eaten breakfast. He'd left a note on the fridge saying that he was going out for breakfast things and to bring back Spatula, and that he'd like to have breakfast with her. Most of his communication with May was through notes: I'm leaving early for the lab. I'll be late at the lab. I'll be at the U library doing research. I have a damn pointless faculty meeting this evening. I'll be at the old apartment, packing. He'd always made sure to leave his cell number on the notes in case she needed to reach him for whatever reason (he wasn't sure what reason that would be, but figured leaving his number wasn't a bad idea), but she had made as much effort to call him as he had her, which had been none at all.
With writing the paper and packing on top of his normal workload, he really had been busy, but he'd realized that he'd been using that as an excuse to avoid the whole situation with May. It hadn't been a pleasant realization; he'd never been one to avoid an issue before, and he didn't like that he was doing it now. They'd had such a poor beginning and he'd been so busy and avoidant that he wasn't certain they could mend things, but he had to try. He was stuck with her and she with him, and the least they could do was to try and behave decently toward one another. And decently meant spending time together, actually learning about one another and trying to get along. She didn't want to sleep with him, didn't want to have children with him--neither of which particularly disturbed him--but that didn't mean they couldn't be friendly.
He'd just shifted the backpack and the duffle and picked up the cat carrier--he needed a damn pack mule, honestly--when the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. His keys jingled brightly in his hand as he walked down the hall to her--their--apartment. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, squared his shoulders, unlocked the door and stepped through trying not to bump Spatula's carrier against the door frame.