Catnip

04 | In Which Caleb Christens a Princess

(Plus, the knowledge that this ordeal will end with Daniel humiliating himself and pissing off Britt makes it all worth it. Always a bright side to things.)

"I'm not talking about the kitty," Mom says and leans down to stroke said animal, like she doesn't get enough attention as it is. "I'm talking about your sister. She's just so moody these days. You think there's something wrong with her?"

"What, you mean she wasn't always this way?"

"Caleb!"

He holds his hands up in surrender, only because it's Mom. (Which is not to say he has a soft spot for the woman. Hell no.) "All right, all right! She can be decent too . . . occasionally."

"Occasionally?"

"Uh, yeah. You're talking about the girl who used to rip off her Barbie's heads." And his for that matter, not like it bothered him or anything. (What kind of loser cries over his dolls being slaughtered by his possibly-sociopathic kid sister? Not him, that's for sure!)

"I'm worried about her," Mom says. He holds back a snort. "No, Cal, I mean it. It's so hard to help her when she won't ever talk to me. I don't think either of you realise how difficult your antisocial attitudes make things in this house."

"I'm not antisocial."

Mom raises her eyebrow. "I thought you never lied?"

Okay, forget what he said before: he really hates her.

"I just wish you would talk about your problems, honey. You know I'll always listen to you."

"You're my mom, not my therapist."

She sighs. "You could at least try to be a little more open."

Open? Him? He shudders.

"Or, failing that, you could help me out with your sister," Mom adds, glancing at him hopefully. He wants to laugh the idea off but there's a sparkle in her eyes, one he can't ignore without guilt hitting him with the force of a ten-tonne wrecking ball. "Do something fun with her, make her smile. There's a better chance in her talking to you than me."

"Are you serious? I'm number one on her hit-list."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"What? It's true. Remember that time she threatened me with the blowtorch she found in Uncle Marco's shed? I bet she'd have been happy to watch my skin sizzle away –"

"No gruesome images, please, Cal." Mom holds her hand out. "We've had enough of those today."

He doesn't reply, caught up in thoughts of burnt skin and ash, hot ash, volcanic ash, and his fifth grade science project, when he'd not only pulled out the baking powder and soda but also spent weeks researching facts on volcanic eruptions and their positive and catastrophic effects on–

It hits him, the missing piece they've been searching for all week long, a name so perfect that only he could come up with it. Cinder.

No one can argue with that.

            ~    ~    ~

"You named your cat after a Disney princess."

"What?" Caleb stares at Marnie, open-mouthed.

"Cinder. As in Cinderella," she says, lips curving upwards.

"No. Cinder as in volcanic fragment, as in the colour of your couch."

"That's stupid as fuck."

"How's it stupid? It matches her–"