Chaos on CatNet by Naomi Kritzer

Author:Naomi Kritzer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

27

• Steph •

“What should I call you?” I ask my grandmother.

“You called me Mimi, when you were little,” she says.

My grandmother is seated on the couch. I sit down on the chair opposite her, too tense to settle back. Apricot rubs up against my ankle, and I lean down to scratch her head. My mother stands in the doorway, hands clasped, clearly trying not to fidget.

“Do you remember me?” she asks.

“No,” I say, and then add apologetically, “I really don’t remember much from before we started running.” How do you even have a conversation like this? Usually when I’m meeting a new person, they don’t bring any expectation that I’m going to know who they are. Mom said she grew roses competitively, but I have no idea how to turn that into a conversational topic.

“I thought you were coming later this week,” I say.

“That was my plan, but Dan—that’s my husband, your mother’s stepfather—saw how wound up I was, waiting, and suggested I just rebook my ticket and go right away. I couldn’t get over the fear that if I waited, you’d disappear again like you did that time in Oklahoma.”

“I mailed that postcard on my way out of town,” Mom says. “I didn’t disappear; I told you I wouldn’t be there.”

“Can’t blame a mother for trying. Imagine how you’d feel if your daughter up and disappeared.”

“Sounds stressful,” Mom says dryly, and shoots a sideways glance at me. “Are you going to take off your coat, Mom?”

“It’s freezing here,” my grandmother says. “Even indoors. I don’t know how you live like this!”

I hand her a throw blanket, and my grandmother—Mimi, I say silently to myself—shrugs out of her coat and delicately unfolds the throw blanket across her lap. “Have you considered moving home to Houston?” she asks.

My mother starts to say something noncommittal and then catches my eye and says, “No. I like Minnesota. We’re going to stay here.”

My grandmother launches into a digression about things that Houston has that Minneapolis doesn’t, and I excuse myself to the bathroom as my mother points out that “flooding” and “enormous flying cockroaches” and “alligators” should all be on the list. While on the toilet, I text CheshireCat and ask, Is this actually my grandmother? She’s not some imposter sent by my father?

CheshireCat earnestly reassures me that this appears to genuinely be Rose Packet, who, according to public records databases, is the mother of Laura Packet, and her email and social media are filled with nothing but genuine and sincere joy at reestablishing contact with us. Sometimes they aren’t entirely clear on what a human will consider to be good news. It’s not that I’m not happy to have an extended family, as it turns out. It’s just that I’m pretty sure she’s going to get more annoying over time, not less.

I check my other apps, trying to procrastinate on going back out and making conversation. The Mischief Elves have sent me a Gold-Plated Invitation—that’s what it’s called in the app, and it

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