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I may as well tell you the story of how she saved my life.
Life began for me, at least the part I can confirm, in a New York City park restroom, where I was abandoned shortly after being born along with a note.
I am unable to take care of my child. Please find a good home for her.
My name comes from the two police officers who followed the sound of a crying baby and found me. Two cops whose last names were Madison and Shaw brought me to social services, where I began the journey of being shuttled between six foster homes over the next eighteen years.
Some good, some not.
A few of my foster parents were decent people who actually wanted children. Others simply wanted the financial stipend the state provided in return for taking care of me.
That I could live with. The bullying in school I could not.
Children can be cruel, and so the taunting about being “unwanted” began at an early age. By the time I was sixteen, I was bitter and angry at the world.
Until Rory came into my life.
The most popular girl in school, head cheerleader, prom queen, co-valedictorian, saw a tall redhead wearing a death stare on a daily basis who ate alone with her head down in the school cafeteria. When she heard another student taunt me about being a foster kid, she came over during lunch, slid her tray onto my table and sat across from me.
“Hi, I’m Rory.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You got a name?”
“Madison Shaw.”
“Ah. I was getting tired of referring to you as the angry redhead in my class who’s smarter than I am.”
“Doubtful. I’m a straight C student.”
“But you’re smart as hell. You’re never wrong when the teachers call on you. You come up with answers faster than I do. You figure out stuff in your head in math class before I can do it on paper.”
“Is there something you want?”
“Nope. You just look like you could use a friend. Though I could use the competition for valedictorian. I don’t wanna win because a smarter girl didn’t give her best effort.”
“Why do you care?”
“Like I said, I don’t want to win by default. Unless you think you can’t beat me.” She locked eyes with me as she threw down the gauntlet.
“I could beat you if I wanted to.”
“Prove it, Freckles. C’mon, let’s rock.”
“Why aren’t you sitting at the table with all the cool kids?”
“I am sitting at the table with the cool kids. To me, brains are the coolest thing on the planet. And I suspect there’s a decent human being behind that Great Wall of China you’ve put up.” She shot me a look that went right to my soul, one that told me she was sincere. I can’t explain it, but a wave of calm instantly washed over me.
And when the most popular girl in the school accepts you, the bullying stops. It’s like being a made man in the Mafia. I also discovered that Rory’s friends, who I assumed were the cool kids, were actually very normal as she had no tolerance for phonies. They accepted me with open arms as well.
We became inseparable, Rory taking me under her wing even though I towered over her. My grades shot up (we tied for the valedictorian thing) as she became the sister I’d never had. She set an example for me, using her popularity for good. Upon being crowned queen of the prom, she immediately took the thing off and placed it on the head of a girl in a wheelchair. She was the least pretentious person I’d ever met, when she could have easily been the queen bitch of the mean girls. A teenager with a forty year old brain, she taught me stuff about life that wasn’t in any book.
Most important, my anger and bitterness slowly dissipated, replaced by a passionate desire to succeed and be more successful than anyone else. I dreamed about future high school reunions when I could show up and brag about having the best career and a spectacular life. About being so rich I could write million dollar checks to charities. I ate dinner at her house most nights, her mother and father becoming the parents I desperately needed.
The day I turned eighteen in the middle of my senior year Rory handed me a small gift-wrapped box. “Happy birthday, Freckles.”
“Thank you. This is the only present I’ll get.”
“Well, then, I sure hope you like it.”
I tore open the box. I furrowed my brow as I saw a simple key inside. “Okay, this is one of your clever treasure hunts. I suppose I have to find the lock this fits.”
“It should be easy. The location is on the card in the box.”
I pulled it out and saw Rory’s address. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re moving in with us. I want you out of that foster home and so do my parents. This is not up for discussion. As of today, you are living with me. So after school we are going to your house, pack up everything you own and get you the hell outta there.”
I became a member of her family, the first one that felt real. Her parents treated me like their own daughter, grounded me with values I desperately needed. We shared a three bedroom housing unit in college, as our friend Tish became our other roommate.
But the qualities Rory had drawn out of me had slowly disappeared in the world of television news, a superficial industry that asks you to check your soul at the door.
And often doesn’t give it back.
Thankfully, the kittens came into my life and reminded me where I came from.
I point to the kittens as she sits next to me. “So, you want one?”
“Sure, I could use a fur baby to keep me company. You’re really gonna take care of them for a few weeks?”
“Yeah, but I’ll need help when I get back to work next week. I was wondering … since you work at home if you could pop by during the day and feed them while I’m at work?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“You have to clean them too. Y’know, encourage them to go to the bathroom. It’s not exactly pleasant.”
“Yeah, I had a friend with an orphaned kitten when I was a kid. Again, not a problem.”
“The colorful one is really sweet.”
“Oh, you mean the tortoiseshell.”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“Yeah. You’ve also got a tabby, a tuxedo cat and a Russian blue.”
“That kitten is not blue, it’s gray.”
“That’s what the breed is called.”
“Oh. Well, anyway, I’ve got them covered all this week, so if you could start next Monday. It’s just for a while, then I can find homes for all four.”
“Something tells me you’ll be finding homes for three of them.”
“Rory, I can’t have a cat. I’m gone too much.”
“Cats are great pets for people like you. They’re independent, take care of themselves. Self-cleaning. A lot like you. Though right now you’re missing the self-cleaning part.” She starts to laugh.
“What?”
“You know, this is a good look for you.”
I point at my face. “Seriously? With hair that looks like I stuck my finger in a light socket, no makeup, clothes covered in formula and cat hair?”
Rory nods. “Yeah. The look of a girl who blew off a vacation in the Hamptons for a bunch of helpless kittens. You were the girl who never had a hair out of place, who wore hundred dollar jeans to a charity car wash, who put on makeup and heels to go to the grocery store. Today you look like the rest of us.”
“You don’t look sloppy and disheveled, Rory.”
“I didn’t mean that. While I have always loved you dearly since we met, your career has changed you … made you … well … obsessed with outward appearances and high maintenance. And Jeremy made you more superficial. You used to be this cute freckle faced redhead who was comfortable in old jeans and a sweatshirt and the network tried to turn you into a smoking hot babe with the hair and the ridiculous makeup and expensive clothes. And now I can see a little change.”
“I know, I look like a slob.”
“Not in your clothes, in your eyes. There’s a little something I haven’t seen in a while that you always had before your job. What you did last night for those kittens … well, that’s the real you. I mean, think about it. You get stuck with a litter of orphans, you’re up all night, you break up with your boyfriend … and you’re not remotely upset.”
I cock my head at the kittens. “I guess I’d forgotten where I came from, and they reminded me.”
“Well, good. Tell you what, we’ll do our usual Sunday brunch here today. I’ll call the girls. They don’t even know you’re in town.”
I start to get up. “Okay. I’ll go get cleaned up.”
Rory grabs my hand and stops me. “No. I want them to see this.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_344b5dc7-fb06-5d37-8dff-0b788166f50f)
“Put. The cameras. Down.”
The other two members of my tight circle of friends, Tish and A.J., lower their cell phones as Rory laughs. “Aw, c’mon,” says Tish. “One for the scrapbook.”
I put my hand in front of my face. “Yeah, right. You’d post it on social media and my boss would have a fit when it went viral.”
Tish raises her hands, then slowly spreads them apart as she looks up at the ceiling. “I can see it now. Network info-babe revealed as frumpy cat lady. Film at eleven.”
“Very funny. And I know A.J. would use it to blackmail me at some point in the future.”
A.J. twirls a lock of her raven hair. “Well, I am Sicilian. But seriously, when will we ever have a chance to see you in this condition again?”
Rory nods. “Really. It’s like spotting a unicorn.”
I start to dish out some food onto my plate. “Oh, leave me alone. Can we just eat?”
Tish brushes her shoulder length blonde hair behind her ears. “Okay girls, we’ve tortured her enough.”
I smile at her, our college roommate who is the smartest of our group and was top of her class in law school. She also has the coolest office I’ve ever seen, as she rents space in the Empire State Building. Alas, her courtroom shark persona and seriously high IQ are often intimidating to men. Tish is another of those girls who would be really pretty if she tried, with huge blue eyes she hides behind thick horn-rimmed glasses and a good five-foot-eight body she keeps under wraps. But she’s all business and doesn’t spend much time on appearances, relying on very conservative outfits and hairstyles for the courtroom. She only seems to let that hair down around us. When I need someone for pure logic, she’s my first call. She’s also an incredibly loyal friend and would drop whatever she was doing if any of us needed help.
She reaches for the pitcher of mimosas and starts to pour everyone a glass. “We do have another topic to discuss besides kittens and Madison’s current aversion to soap.”
I glare at her. “Bite me.”
A.J. furrows her brow. “What topic is that?”
Tish locks eyes with me. “The little matter of Jeremy getting his exit visa. Which deserves a celebration, in my opinion.” She holds up her glass. “Cheers!”
I roll my eyes. “I know, I know, you all didn’t like him.”
A.J. pops an olive in her mouth. “I wouldn’t say that. I hated the sonofabitch and wanted to kick his ass.”
“Fine, he’s gone. Just be happy I didn’t walk down the aisle with him.”
Rory takes a bite of chicken. “You never would have exchanged vows. There would have been a chorus when the priest did that speak now or forever hold your peace thing.”
“Right,” says Tish. “You would have had to take a number.”
A.J. shakes her head. “It wouldn’t have gone that far. I would have had him whacked.” It should be noted that while A.J. does not have family in the Mob (at least I don’t think so), she is fond of using Sicilian stereotypes.
A.J. runs her family’s delicatessen here on Staten Island, which is appropriate since she is obsessed with food. Though amazingly while working in a place where she’s surrounded by stuff loaded with calories, the petite woman never seems to gain an ounce. I met her as a customer and we immediately hit it off as I pointed at her nameplate and asked her what A.J. stood for. She refused to tell me so I asked her brother who also works there. Get this: Antoinette Josephine. Yikes. (You can see why she goes by A.J. as a spunky attitude doesn’t go with a name like Antoinette or her Noo Yawk accent.) She of course threatened to have me whacked should I ever speak her real name in her presence. A.J. is a spunky little thing with zero tolerance for bull, both from her dates and customers. But if you want someone in a foxhole who will take no prisoners, she’s your girl. Behind those dark eyes lies the soul of a gunslinger. But the heart is pure gold.
I take a sip of my mimosa as I consider her offer to wish Jeremy into the cornfield. “Very funny. But there’s nothing to discuss.”
“Sure there is,” says Rory. “We’ve got that bridesmaids dress from hell wedding next weekend and now you need a plus one. Either that or spend the day dancing with the usher you’re paired with.”
The image makes me cringe. “Oh, crap. I forgot all about that. I’m not hanging out with the groom’s fifteen year old nephew.”
Tish smiles at me. “Hence, we must find you a plus one. Lest you do the Bunny Hop with a pubescent kid’s hands on your ass.”
I exhale in disgust. “Well, this will certainly be a quick rebound. I’m not wild about a blind date to a wedding, but considering the alternative I have no choice. So, who’ve you guys got?”
A.J. perks up. “My cousin Joey—”
“No!” Everyone shouts in unison.
Tish shakes her head. “Once and for all, please stop trying to fix up that particular relative. He’s un-fix-up-able. We can do better.”
A.J. folds her arms. “Fine, Miss legal eagle. Who are you bringin’ to the table?”
“There’s a guy who just rented the office next to mine. He seems nice.”
“What’s his name?”
