Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Once she peers in the crate, she says approvingly, “She looks a little chunkier.”
“She sure is,” I say, handing the kitty over.
“Aww, we’re going to have people lining up for you,” Nia coos, scratching Drama’s chin as she opens the crate.
The kitten happily accepts the adulation, purring louder as Nia cradles her.
But when I glance at the Falcon kids, my heart squeezes. Their frowns dig deeper into their cheeks. My chest aches for them. I’ve fostered before—many times. You grow attached, but you learn to let go so you can keep helping.
These kids though? It’s their first time. I kneel so I’m closer to eye level. “I know you’ll miss her,” I say gently, one hand on Parker’s arm, the other on Luna’s shoulder. “But she’s going to find an amazing family, and when she does, do you know what that means?”
Parker sniffs, valiantly fighting off tears. “What does it mean?”
“It means we can keep fostering. The more we foster, the more stray animals we can help find homes. Every time we open our home to another foster, we’re giving an animal a second chance.”
“It helps so much,” Nia adds with a sage nod. “We always need fosters. So, so badly.”
Luna octopuses her arms around me. “I want to keep saving lives.”
“Me too,” Parker says, his voice wobbly but determined.
I glance at Tyler, who’s standing as stoically as possible by the cat cages. His jaw is tight but his eyes are a little wet. He strides over to Drama, scoops her up, and presses a soft kiss to her tiny head.
It’s not really goodbye.
It’s the start of a new hello—with a new family, whoever they might be.
36
MEOWY FRIENDSMAS
Sabrina
Tiffany barely says hello when she arrives at the rink for her lesson on a Sunday afternoon. “I want to learn the bunny hop,” she declares as she hangs over the boards, waving her phone at me, cued up to YouTube. “Look!”
I know both how to do a bunny hop and teach it, but still, I skate over to her to watch the video she’s tracked down. A minute later, her mother catches up. She’s a few paces behind Tiffany since it’s hard to keep up with the busy girl.
“That’s an intermediate move but we can work toward that,” I tell my student. “How does that sound?”
Tiffany sighs, like she’s so put out, but then she nods excitedly. “Yes, please!” She peers at the video again. “Wait. Mom, that’s your account on my phone. Were you watching YouTube on my phone? Last time you watched all those Ukrainian TV shows.” Tiffany doesn’t sound accusatory so much as curious.
Her mom gives a small, proud shrug. “They remind me of home.”
And I think I know what’s going on here. “Ms. Kovalenko. Do you want to take a lesson someday?”
“Mom! Do it, do it, do it,” Tiffany encourages.
“Perhaps,” her mom says, and it feels like she’s one step closer than the last time she said maybe.
I seize the chance: “I’d love to put together some intro moves just for you. Think about it.”
“I am,” she says.
And I hold on to that bit of progress as I teach her daughter some backward wiggles, then spend the rest of the afternoon with other students.
That evening I’m exhausted from coaching all day, but it’s a good kind of exhausted. Mostly, I’m energized at the thought of seeing my friends tonight since it’s time for Friendsmas. Isla, Miss Christmas herself, is hosting at her house.
After I tug on a thrifted Christmas sweater—it has a gold sequined cat wearing a red scarf with actual jingle bells and the words Meowy Christmas under the animal—I head to her home.
The kids are with Elle, but I’ll pick them up bright and early tomorrow for the flight across the country.
No need for them to fly as unaccompanied minors since I’ll be with them now—Tyler worked with Elle to rebook all the tickets, and since he played in Montreal the other night, we’ll meet him in the city tomorrow. But I put the trip out of my mind as I knock on Isla’s door. She swings it open, and a sonic blast of Sia’s “Candy Cane Lane” hits me.
“And a Meowy Christmas to you too,” she sings, then hustles me inside. “Also, excellent work on the ugly sweater.”
“I take issue with the word ugly. I think this is quite fabulous,” I say, flicking a bell a few times, adding a little tinkling harmony to the soundtrack.
“Wear it in June, then,” Trevyn shouts from the living room as he scratches Barbara-dor behind her reindeer ears.
“Um, June is hot.”
“Not in San Francisco,” Leighton calls out as she sets a tray of mixed nuts on the table.
Maeve swoops in from the kitchen. “Did someone say mixed nuts?”
She grabs a couple and pops them in her mouth, and I set the gifts on the table, then hug everyone.