Nobody Like You

Good With Pussies

Lia

It never crossed my mind that Yeju would be good with cats, but of course she is—she's a cat herself. In fact, she's the cat who will push your things over the table while maintaining eye contact, and then snuggle up to you afterward. The most infuriating, yet lovable, kind of cat.

Right now, a cat with fur as dark as Yeju's hair is prancing in front of the woman. Both of them are concentrating hard on their task—the feline catching a stuffed toy and Yeju wiggling the toy away. They look like twins, different species but cut from the same cloth.

I snap a few photos of them on my phone.

"Yeju, look here and smile!"

She glances at me, an amused smile on her lips, before returning her attention back to the small creature.

Leaning back on the cushion, I sip my iced latte as I scroll through the photos I took. There were a bunch of selfies I took with Yeju while standing in line. The wait to get into this cat cafe was long but worth it. We have a table to ourselves for us to enjoy our drinks, although Yeju's iced mocha is pretty much neglected. Meanwhile, cats roam the cafe floors. The walls are lined with mini platforms for the animals to jump on, while various toys are scattered across the cafe for anybody to use.

I zoom into Yeju's face in one of our selfies. She's so pretty. Her puffy under-eye bags are adorable, and her pink lips curl in such a mischievous slant as if she is always ready to taunt. She's indeed the most infuriating yet lovable cat.

I zoom out on the photo, and I cannot help but smile. The two of us are so... cute together. Side by side, our cheeks smoosh against each other's, and the afternoon sun gives us both a warm glow.

As I scroll through more photos, I realize that whenever Yeju is not posing—not being told to smile at the camera—she looks strangely sad. Now that I think about it, she always looks rather sad. It's like she has a resting sad face. And there's a dullness in her eyes that does not quite fade away even when she smiles.

I wonder if she's upset about what we talked about back in the apartment. She brushed off the topic of her graduation plans way too quickly, even though we should discuss it. We are a couple, after all. Or does she not believe in our relationship? Does she not think it can last?

Does she not believe in me?

Lowering my phone, my gaze returns to Yeju. There are now two cats playing with her.

A familiar warmth flutters in my gut. Every day, Yeju surprises me. She's good with cats, she's great at cooking, she's strong—I figured that out when we went to the gym together—and she always listens when I tell her to clean up. She may groan, she may grumble, but she listens.

I told her to follow her graduation plans and apply for those jobs in Boston, but deep down, I know I want her to stay with me. To not move away. To not make our relationship a long-distance one. But do I deserve to demand that? No matter how much I like being with her, that shouldn't hinder her career...

My phone buzzes. It's a text message from Romeo.

Romeo: can you look into the family chat

This is new; I've never been directly texted by a family member before.

I send a quick reply.

Lia: Sure!

And for the first time in weeks, I check the muted family chat. There are hundreds of messages. I gloss over the random politics talk, a few chats about our relatives, and so, so many discussions about Romeo's college application—where he should apply to, what he should write about in his essay, how he can get his application fees waived.