Chips and Lilies

BY: ELLIE CAMERON

Valentine’s Day clichés slant in the vase, dead from last week. Ruby petals dot the countertop, wrinkled and silky, as Girlfriend smooths them through her fingertips. She sets the petals down and cups her hand against her cheek. The roses glint in her Claddagh ring’s silver like blood filling the heart she wears on her right hand, facing toward her. On the back of the couch, the cat sleeps under Rothko’s White Center. Her furry body is curled into a comma between the cushions, whiskers twitching with a dream. Keys click in the lock and the front door opens. A bouquet walks through first, followed by Boyfriend. Girlfriend turns to greet him.

“Hi, honey.” Boyfriend stoops to enter the doorway.

“Hey.”

“I stopped after work and got you—”

“Are those lilies?” Girlfriend stands up to inspect the flowers.

“Yeah.” Boyfriend’s voice drags with confusion. “Do you not like them?”

“Lilies are poisonous to cats. I’ve told you before.”

“I forgot.” He pauses. “I’ll put them up high, so Sweet Chili won’t go near them.”

Girlfriend does not respond. The will to articulate left her months ago.

Boyfriend empties the vase. Withered blooms and stems fuzzy with white mold cover coffee grounds at the top of the trash can. He rinses the vase with tap water, fills it halfway, and situates the lilies. He wishes Girlfriend would appreciate his gift.

Boyfriend and Girlfriend sit next to each other beside the sleeping cat. They watch a show, or maybe a movie. Words form between their teeth and dissolve back down their throats. Their hands almost touch.

Girlfriend is awoken by a noise at 3 a.m., her vision dim and dazed in the moonlight. She unsticks her sweat-steeped skin from Boyfriend’s limbs and slips out of bed. Boyfriend grinds his teeth and rolls over, asleep. Girlfriend steps out of the bedroom. Something warm and wet soaks through her sock. She stumbles to the light switch and flips it on. The bulb hums and glows. There is a small pile of vomit outside the bedroom door and another next to the couch. Sweet Chili lies on her side in the center of the room, saliva pooling in the corners of her mouth. A petal is missing from one of the lilies in the vase on the counter.

“Sweet Chili!” Girlfriend kneels beside the cat and lightly shakes her small body. Sweet Chili meows.

“Chili, come on girl. You’re okay.” Girlfriend scoops Sweet Chili up into her arms. She carries her into the bedroom, side-stepping the vomit.

“Charlie! Charlie, something’s wrong with Chili.” Girlfriend grabs a towel from the floor and swaddles Sweet Chili, holding her in one arm and hitting Boyfriend’s shoulder with the other.

“Charlie, wake up! We have to go to the hospital!”

Boyfriend’s eyes are wide and bloodshot. He tosses back the blankets. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Sweet Chili, I think she got into the lilies.”

“Shit, is she okay?”

“She threw up and she’s drooling a lot.” Girlfriend’s voice shakes with urgency.

“Is she breathing?”

“Yes, but we have to go. Now!”

Girlfriend hooks her finger into the vomit-soaked sock and throws it off across the room. Boyfriend scrambles out of bed, grabbing his car keys and following Girlfriend.

“Turn up there,” Girlfriend says, pointing.

Boyfriend jerks the wheel to the right. His car smells like cigarettes and weed. Girlfriend holds Sweet Chili tight to her chest.

“She’s never gotten into the flowers before,” Boyfriend says, staring out the foggy windshield. “I didn’t think this time would be any different.”

You never do.

Girlfriend strokes Sweet Chili’s head with her index finger. The cat meows softly and blinks slowly at Girlfriend. She says nothing.

Boyfriend feels the weight of Girlfriend’s silence, of her nothing. It sits heavy in his chest, crushing his lungs with guilt. He swallows his I love you and continues driving.

Boyfriend pulls the car up to the front of the animal hospital. “You go in, I’ll find a place to park.”

Girlfriend gets out and carries Sweet Chili into the building.

The woman at the front desk looks up as Girlfriend approaches. “How can I help you?”

“My cat, something’s wrong with her. I need help.”

“What is your pet’s name, ma’am?”

“Sweet Chili.”

“And your name?”

“Julia Marin.”

“Do you know what happened to her? Is she injured?”

“No, um, my boyfriend brought a bouquet of lilies home and I think she ate some of them.”

The woman begins typing on a computer. “What are Sweet Chili’s symptoms?”

“Vomiting, drooling—”

Boyfriend comes into the lobby.

“And she’s very lethargic,” Girlfriend continues.

“Have you given her any medications recently she could be reacting to?”

“We gave her flea medication yesterday,” Boyfriend interjects. “But it was the same brand we always give her.” He places his hand on Girlfriend’s shoulder and feels her stiffen into a statue under his touch. He feels foreign to her.

The woman finishes typing and hands Girlfriend a paper. “Fill this out and give it to the doctor. They should be with you soon.”

Girlfriend and Boyfriend sit beside each other in the waiting room. Abstract paintings hang from the walls, the splotches of colors dull and drab under the fluorescent bulbs. Boyfriend fills out the paper while Girlfriend comforts a nervous Sweet Chili, stroking her under the chin and wiping the drool from her face.

Boyfriend taps his pen against his cheek. “Does Chili have any allergies?”

“None that we know of,” Girlfriend answers.

As Boyfriend scribbles something down on the paper, a doctor comes into the waiting room.

“Is this Sweet Chili?” the doctor asks.

“Yes.” Girlfriend stands up.

Boyfriend finishes writing and hands the doctor the paper.

“Thank you.” The doctor scans the paper quickly before placing it in the pocket of her scrubs. “I’d like to take Sweet Chili to run some tests on her kidneys if that’s okay with you two.”

“Yes, of course,” Girlfriend hands Sweet Chili over to the doctor. “Are we allowed to come with?”

“We’d prefer if you waited out here.”

“Oh, yes, I understand.”

“Thank you. We’ll come get you when we know something more.” The doctor takes Sweet Chili, leaving the couple alone in the waiting room.

Girlfriend waits anxiously. She twists her ring around on her finger, watching how her reflection morphs in each shape—elongated in the band, stout in the heart, V-shaped in the hands.

Boyfriend stares at something on his phone. He rests his hand on Girlfriend’s bouncing knee.

“Chili will be okay,” Boyfriend says to Girlfriend, looking up at her. “I think we got her to the vet soon enough.”

“I hope so.” Girlfriend does not meet his gaze. “She’s my best friend.”

Boyfriend watches Girlfriend fiddle with her ring. He goes to speak but hesitates and swallows the words. He tries again.

“Are you mad at me?” Girlfriend spins her ring up and down her finger.

“I’m just tired.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Girlfriend looks into Boyfriend’s eyes. Her pupils dilate in the glare of the blue-white lights. The veins in her eyes scream with red.

“Fine. Yeah, I’m mad at you. Happy?” Boyfriend retreats under the intensity of Girlfriend’s stare. “No, I don’t want you to be mad.”

“Then what do you want?”

Boyfriend’s brown eyes soften. He watches his reflection in Girlfriend’s irises and hates the way he mutters, “I want you to love me again.”

Girlfriend does not melt like Boyfriend wishes she would. Ice stiffens her jaw and freezes the phrases that lodge on her tongue.

Boyfriend sighs. “Please, just tell me what’s wrong.”

The waiting room is quiet enough to hear the night. Music plays faintly from a stereo, a truck drives past. Cicadas call from untamed shrubbery. Someone laughs drunkenly at an unheard joke.

“Silence. That’s all we have left.”

Boyfriend smokes a cigarette outside the hospital, while Girlfriend waits inside, alone. She stares at the artwork on the wall, finding shapes and stories in the smears of paint. The piece in monochrome with speckles of pink has Sweet Chili’s markings.

Girlfriend and Boyfriend adopted Sweet Chili two years ago when everything was shiny and new. Each minute spent together dripped with white wine, sweet and intoxicating. A kitten was the perfect metaphor.

Boyfriend brought her home one night. A tiny thing with goopy eyes and filthy fur, Girlfriend fell in love instantly.

Girlfriend bathed the kitten her first night at home. She bundled the wet and angry clump of fur in a towel and sat next to Boyfriend on the couch, holding the kitten with all the love and tenderness of a newborn child.

“What should we name her?” Boyfriend asked through a mouthful of corn chips.

Girlfriend thought for a second. She stole a handful of chips from Boyfriend’s bag and broke a small piece off to offer to the cat, who ravenously devoured it and cried for more.

“Sweet Chili.” Girlfriend smiled deeply at Boyfriend, and he returned her smile with a kiss.

Simultaneously in their own thoughts, Boyfriend and Girlfriend return to this moment.

What happened? they ask.

The sun rises over Boyfriend’s car as the couple walks out of the hospital. Girlfriend carries the empty towel, patches of the fabric stiff with Sweet Chili’s dried saliva. Boyfriend opens the door for her.

“I can pick Chili up tomorrow after work,” Boyfriend says, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll get her. She’s probably so confused and scared right now.” Girlfriend watches Boyfriend turn his keys in the ignition and listens to the familiar sputter and grumble of the engine. “I don’t want her to have to wait any longer to come home.”

Boyfriend lights a cigarette and shifts into drive. Girlfriend rolls down her window.

“Sorry, I know you hate the smell. It’s been a long night.”

“Are you going into work today?”

“I’ll take a quick nap and go in late.” He pulls out of the parking lot and breaks at a stoplight. The red makes the charcoal circles under his eyes appear purple.

The car chases the sun down the highway, reaching for the mural in the sky. The sun climbs higher into the clouds, always evading the couple’s grasp, defying their embrace.

No one speaks for the rest of the ride home.

Boyfriend pulls into the parking lot outside the apartment, coming while most of the residents are going. Girlfriend and Boyfriend climb up the stairs to the apartment. Boyfriend takes off his shoes and heads toward the bedroom.

“Did you want to come to bed?” he calls to Girlfriend.

“No, thanks, I’m still pretty wired,” Girlfriend responds from the kitchen. She grabs paper towels and disinfectant and begins cleaning the piles of vomit out of the living room carpet. She scrubs, she soaks, she rinses, she scrubs more, until only a light brown oval stain remains.

When she is finished cleaning, Girlfriend does not go to bed with Boyfriend. She sits on the couch, below where Sweet Chili usually sleeps, and flips on the TV. The screen plays a movie, a movie she knows she has seen, but can’t recall the ending. She watches and does not comprehend.

Girlfriend wakes up on the couch. The sun is at its peak, pushing through the curtains in bold, citrine rays. She sits up and stretches the stiffness out of her limbs. Boyfriend’s boots are gone from beside the door, along with his keys and wallet; he left without waking her. On the kitchen counter sits the lilies, poised and unassuming, missing only a singular petal. Girlfriend throws them in the garbage. The dashboard clock reads 2:30 p.m. when Girlfriend arrives back at the animal hospital. She parks her car and carries an empty kennel into the building, now much busier than before.

A different woman sits behind the desk. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“I’m here to pick up my cat, Sweet Chili,” Girlfriend responds.

The new woman types on the same computer. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re here. You may have a seat in the waiting room.”

Girlfriend sits down across from the same abstract paintings as the night before. She stares into the art, losing herself in thought. Girlfriend had gotten the Rothko for Boyfriend’s apartment over a year ago. He didn’t understand why she loved abstract artwork so much.

“Wow. Behold, blocks of color,” Boyfriend said. “Even I could do that.”

“But you didn’t. And it’s more than just color, it’s a rebellion from traditional definitions of what art is, what art is supposed to be,” Girlfriend argued. “I think it’s beautiful.”

Boyfriend rolled his eyes and smiled. “Sure, whatever, as long as it makes you happy.”

He kissed her cheek and left Girlfriend to admire at the painting, alone. For the f irst time, she doubted if she and Boyfriend would last.

“Julia?” The doctor appears in the waiting room.

“Um, yes,” Girlfriend responds, her thoughts coming out of the painting.

“Sweet Chili is ready to go. If you could just come with me and bring her kennel, we’ll get you on your way.”

Girlfriend follows the doctor into a white-walled room. Sweet Chili is laying patiently in a cage on top of a metal table. She stirs when Girlfriend enters the room.

The doctor takes the kennel from Girlfriend. “So, Sweet Chili is expected to make a full recovery. She might be lethargic for a day or two while the drugs we gave her wear off, but other than that she should have no long-term side effects or complications.”

“Thank god,” Girlfriend says. “I was so worried.”

The doctor lifts a limp Sweet Chili out of the cage and places her into Girlfriend’s kennel. “She gave us quite a scare, too, but she’s just fine now.”

“Thank you so much for your help.” Girlfriend takes the kennel, holding it tight in her arms.

“Of course. I hope you learned your lesson about lilies, though.”

“Yes, I know,” Girlfriend nods. “My boyfriend brought them home and—well I guess it doesn’t really matter.” T

he doctor gives Girlfriend a polite smile. “Just be more careful next time.”

The empty vase throws sunlight against the bare apartment walls, jeweled and amber in the dimmed room. The Rothko is in Julia’s car. He lays across the back seat, leaning against a box of clothes. His yellows and pinks paint a miniature version of himself in the rearview mirror. He shudders as Julia closes the trunk. Sweet Chili is in her kennel in the passenger seat, napping contently. Julia strokes her forehead through the crosshatched door. She purrs softly in her sleep.

Charlie watches Julia from his apartment window. Her brown hair glows golden in the setting sun as she closes the passenger side car door. She looks up toward the window, hand shielding her eyes from the sun.

Charlie waves and Julia doesn’t, unable to see him in the sun’s glare. She climbs into her car. Charlie turns from the window and sinks his weight into the couch. He rests his head in his hands, feeling the roughness of his unshaven face. He knew this day would come; he had known it for a while.

Just not yet. Please, not yet.

He sighs, looking up. His eyes find the stain on the carpet.

Julia wraps her fingers around the steering wheel. The heart in her Claddagh ring points towards the world, flashing orange in the evening as she turns the key in the ignition.

“Julia!”

Julia turns her head to see Charlie running toward her. She rolls her window down and turns off the engine. “Charlie? What do you want?”

Charlie reaches her car, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. “I’m not coming back, you know,” Julia begins, “So if that’s what you want, I’m sorry but—”

“The Rothko,” Charlie pants.

“What?”

“Can I have it?”

Julia opens her mouth to argue. She hesitates, presses her lips together, and nods. “I’ll get it from the back.” She climbs out from her seat and opens the trunk.

Charlie takes the painting from Julia. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Charlie steps back as Julia climbs back into her car, restarting the engine. The two linger in each other’s gaze for a moment. Julia shifts her car into drive.

Julia steers her car out of the parking lot. The roads weave familiar patterns, through familiar places, with familiar people she’s never had a chance to forget. Each square of the sidewalk knows the tread of her sneakers, each tree and bush knows the spirals in her fingertips. Her mouth curls involuntarily into a wistful smile as Charlie and the Rothko retreat into the sunset.