It's like this, cat

by Emily Neville

So Nina is her mother. I stick out my hand. “Uh—how do you do?”

“Hel-looo.” Her voice is low and musical. “I think there is coffee on the stove.”

“I thought I’d make cocoa for a change,” says Mary.

“All right.” Nina puts a cigarette in her mouth and offers one to me.

I say, “No, thank you.”

“Tell me....” She talks in this low, intense kind of voice. “Are you in school with Mary?”

So I tell her I live in Manhattan, and how I ran into Mary when I had Cat on the beach, because that makes it sound sort of respectable, not like a pickup. But she doesn’t seem to be interested in Cat and the beach.

“What do you read? In your school?” she asks, launching each question like a torpedo.

I remember Mary saying something about her mother and poetry, so I say, “Well, uh—last week we read ‘The Highwayman’ and ‘The Wreck of the Hesperus.’ They’re about—I mean, we were studying metaphors and similes. Looking at the ocean today, I sure can see what Longfellow meant about the icy....”

I thought I was doing pretty well, but she cut me off again.