If Antoine hadn’t been such an ass, Maria never would have taken up with Pablo, who was the real trouble now. He left fur everywhere. Like pine needles. Made messes too. Pointy tacks of litter under foot, barfed-up things. He shredded sofa arms with his shiny razor claws. But all that could be managed, even cheered for its reassuring dullness. The problem haunting Maria now was delicate. Violent. How to explain? Words died on the tongue, though vampiric (or was it vampirish?) came often to mind.
It began with Antoine. The handsomeness of him, that was Maria’s upending. She’d had other boyfriends but none so fetching, and she always wondered if exceptional good looks might compensate for the burden imposed by a boyfriend’s shortcomings. Boyfriends grew tiresome, and she found herself hard-pressed to justify their continued presence in her life. She had had so many disappointing boyfriends that she’d nearly denounced the whole class of them. In the end, she amended her decision to allow for one exception: if a gloriously handsome man came along and happened to find her as attractive as she found him, she’d give it another go. Anyway, who was she kidding? Boyfriends couldn’t be sworn off. The world was built for twos.
