“Shit.” Rip was on a roll today! “Ben, get your damn cat out of the pantry and clean up his poop!”
“Stu’s Viera’s cat!” Ben argued as he came over toward us, and then he started gagging. “I can’t!”
And just like that, the peaceful house exploded as Viera ran down the stairs with a princess dress on and my makeup all over her face.
Mainly red lipstick.
“It looks like she murdered someone,” Rip said under his breath.
“It’s terrifying,” I agreed. “Why don’t you go take care of Carrie, and I’ll take care of this and the poop.”
Words I never thought I would ever utter, but here we were!
Rip’s attention jerked to me. “You aren’t going to fight for makeup removal duty?”
I just shrugged. “You were in chaos all day. I’ll deal with the poop, you deal with our future murderer.”
His lips twitched.
Our eyes locked for one small moment.
And then the moment was broken by the cat making this screaming noise as Ben picked him up by his front legs.
“Honey, honey, no, no, we don’t hold Stu that way, it makes the kitty sad.”
“No, he likes it!” Ben argued, and then he sprinted away. “Look, he’s meowing!”
“Godspeed.” Rip put a hand on my shoulder.
I gaped. “Did you just crack a joke?”
“Never.” He winked.
Actually winked.
I tried not to let air get caught in my throat, just like I tried not to read into any of it, which was basically impossible. But before I could say anything, he was carrying Viera upstairs. And while I wrangled a cat, cleaned up poop, and helped Ben put away groceries, my heart held out a little bit more hope that maybe…
Maybe we were going to be OK.