Raindrops fall like knives, hitting the roof. It’s been coming down in sheets for days now, while Mom sobs and Dad tells her she didn’t need the job, anyway. It was just making her tired. Puddles in the yard separate me and my sister from the lake, and Dad says the last thing Mom needs is a muddy floor, so we don’t play in the puddles or go outside—and Dad says the lake’s no place to catch the lightning, when he sees us wrapping aluminum foil around a cardboard paper towel rod. We tell him we’ll be quiet. We’ll leave our shoes by the door, but he hands us sheets of paper, and we draw the rain for hours, coming down in slants, making boxes out of horizontal lines: Mom in the kitchen, Dad with us on the other side of the house in the living room, the lightning splitting the difference, making a box of us all. The rain slows down to something like pellets, and Mom is singing now, and the kitchen smells …

My toes may have been hurting already when I stepped out of the taxi, but I do not remember. All my attention was away from my flower-patterned shoes. I was focused on the composure of my back, the regality of my neck, on faking a calm breathing so the porters at the Plaza did not notice my reverence, my choking anxiety, the deep canyon of ecstasy parting the chambers of my heart. I pushed the revolving door with the talon of my hand wondering if, in a parallel curl of the infinite universe, Grace Kelly was doing the same. But I am sure that even in her most inelegant days, the laziest porter would have opened the lateral door for her and her halo of Chanel No 5. I stood stoically in the lobby, trying to guess the bar domains beyond the tall floral arrangement on the centered round table. I thanked my five-inch heels that allowed me to get a glance of the solemn stained-glass ceiling through hyacinths and oriental lilies without stretching my …

She saw him almost every night. Not just him, of course, she watched all of the cast. She also had to keep an eye on the audience and blink her torch at people talking or on their phone. Sometimes she had to tell someone to stop singing along. That was the worst. But she saw him, knew all his scenes, his lines, each turn, each smile. It was easy when the stage lights flooded his every movement and they were so big and exaggerated that even the people in the cheap seats could see them. The first couple of times, she hadn’t seen him at all. It had been seamless but after a few more times, she knew what to look for – the little head nod he gave himself before he walked through the audience to make his grand entrance, the beginning of an exhale as the curtain fell on the first act, that last smile after the cast all bowed. He was handsome as all leading men are but that wasn’t the reason …

There is a cat in the doorway. She stares at you. You stare back. Neither of you move. # She maintains eye contact with you and blinks slowly. Cats are said to be majestic beasts. Royalty, even. Goddess Freya led a chariot of cats into battle. Ship-cats brought good luck to a voyage. Your moms talked about a cat who would sleep at the foot of people’s beds before they died. Intelligent, graceful, light on their feet, fierce hunters. Just yesterday, you watched this cat walk into the leg of a dresser. Then again. Then a third time until she finally changed her trajectory a little to the left. Whoever said royalty had to be smart? # Her tail flicks against the ground. Throughout your whole life, tail wags meant friendship, but you learned fast that cat lingo is unnatural. Maybe she’s happy to see you and will let you pass. Or perhaps she’ll slap you in the face. Or hunt your long, fluffy tail. Her favorite game. Through the silence you can practically hear …