Rent-A-Catgirlfriend

He had no idea how they did it. It had to be the alcohol. Jace wasn't much of a drinker, but he knew the warmth. Cheap beers or some kind of sorority secret, there was no other explanation for how these girls could be out in crop tops and shorts in 30^o weather.

Unfortunately, Jace was far too sober for his outfit. It took pilfering his roommate's wardrobe, but he'd managed to throw something together. The short-sleeved black top was comfortable enough. Pairing it with a white zip-up hoodie was a smart choice. Not just for style, but for avoiding hypothermia too. He pulled it shut, wishing he could have worn his binder for another layer of insulation.

His least wise choice was probably the miniskirt. It was barely overqualified to be underwear, and the pink was on the border of pastel and gaudy. Maybe if he'd been thinking clearly, he'd have worn leggings. Although, if he'd really been thinking clearly, he wouldn't have ended up here at all. He thought back to that morning.

It hadn't been much warmer earlier in the day. Despite bundling up in as many layers as he owned, he barely made it within eyeshot of the cafe by the time his tail started aching from the cold. He tucked it under his coat. Not the most comfortable arrangement, but better than frostbite. The heated air of the cafe was a relief. He took off his jacket as he clocked in. The kitchen staff had already started trickling in, cleaning off counters and doing their best to look busy.

He knocked on the dressing room door. The maids had their own place. It wasn't particularly sublime (a few mirrors, three folding chairs, and a table that screamed bloody murder if you put more than a few tubes of lipstick on it), but it was privacy.

"Yeah?" a voice inside responded.

"Ok if I come in?"

"Yeah."

Jace peeked his head in.

Sohee, having already gotten into her maid uniform, had grabbed the good chair and started doing her makeup. "You're not Jamie," she said, idly swaying her tail.

"Congrats on remembering to put your contacts in."

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "I guess I'll settle for you." Sohee didn't hide her smirk.

He scoffed, setting his bag down. "Can you stay turned around?"

"Sure."

Thigh-high socks made it easy enough to skip shaving his legs. Unfortunately, the razor burns on his arms made up for it. The uniforms were frail, but at least they had built-in bras. Quickly throwing it on, he adjusted the apron and frills. Centering the keyhole on his cleavage, he let Sohee know she could turn around.

As he put on some accessories, he heard a mumble, "Dōmo arigatō gozaimasu."

"What?"

"No, not you, I—" she held up her phone. "I'm learning Japanese."

"I thought you were Korean?"

"Korean-Filipino, yeah. It's just that, like… you know how they like asking about your personal life?"

"Yeah." Jace laughed.

"They always go 'where are you from?'. If I tell them I'm Korean or Filipino they go 'oh, are there maid cafes there too?', and I'm like 'fuck if I know', so I've just started saying I'm Japanese because they know about those."

Jace chuckled. "That's insane."

"No, but I swear to god, I've gotten more tips since I started lying."

"'All Asians look the same', am I right?"

"You can't say that!" Sohee tried her hardest to keep a stern face, but the sides of her mouth still curved upwards.

They both sat in silence for a minute. Sohee clicked through her phone as Jace gave his hair another brush. Brunette, neck-length, bangs. It always framed his face in a way he hated. Made him look… unnatural. He had half a mind to give himself a buzz cut. Unfortunately, army chic didn't make as many tips.

Sohee revived the conversation. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you a question."

"What's up?"

"So, like, when we're out with customers, I've been calling you 'they'. Is that ok?"

"No, you have to call me he/him." Jace joked, deadpan.

Sohee let out a nervous "heh", unsure if she was even allowed to laugh.

Jace could keep up the first half of the catgirl facade with just the ears. The latter half required a little more delicacy. "Yeah, they/them is fine."

"Oh, good." She let out a sigh of relief.

He didn't see Sohee as much as he'd used to. She'd joined a few months after him, and they'd gotten close in the year since. Well, about as close as you can get with a colleague who you never see outside of work. The most friend-like thing they'd done was when she borrowed a few sets of pants from him when she was new (tails tended to limit the retail options).

Walking through the cold, he wished he'd worn a pair. Most buses didn't run this late, and those that did charged more than he'd budgeted for. An hour of walking and two miles later, he was finally within a block. He reached for his phone. The wind was adamant on ensuring his hair perfectly blocked his view, but the lock screen remained no match.

Despite the time, he barely managed to close his messages before getting a reply.

"Because you'll try to talk me out of it."

The icon that said she was typing flicked on and off for several minutes before finally sending.

Half of him wanted to tell her. For her to convince him of how obviously terrible an idea this was. The other half knew that he wouldn't listen even if she did. No one willing to work at the cafe would listen, he suspected.

He remembered Gwen knocking on the dressing room door. It wasn't all that long ago that she'd worn the frilly apron he and Sohee had donned. Beauty waned with age, however. He remembered signing the goodbye card when she turned 28. This place had its own gravity, though. She'd traded her tail in for a blazer, and her ears in for a shiny "manager" name tag.

"You two know how Fridays go, keep bouncing between your guests and manage your time. Jamie will be tagging in for Jace at 2. It'll be her third week, so give her a little bit more room, alright?"

Sohee nodded.

"The special is a matcha tiramisu. Matcha sales have been down, so we're trying to offload it."

"Are you going to bring back the 'one free dessert per shift' thing?" Jace asked.

"Well…" Gwen gestured vaguely, "it was a choice the owner made, so I can't really change it. I can ask if he's willing to go back, but I can't make any promises."

Jace exchanged a quick glance with Sohee. It seemed she also understood that the cinnamon rolls were now permanently full price.

"Oh, and check your email. We sent out an employee survey. Make sure to fill it out."

The maids nodded as they made their way out of the dressing room. They were both leaving as different people from those who came in. Sohee had become Sophie. Any ambiguity as to her heritage was quashed in the instant she passed the door frame.

Jace, too, took on a persona. Passing the threshold, he was transformed into Emily. It was not the worst name she had worn, but when your competition is the spectre of a past life, victory is not an accomplishment.

Emily and Sophie took their positions. Sophie, ever the diligent one, began her industrious sweeping. The broom swept up very little, of course. True cleaning occurred at the end of the day. What use would a maid be if she sullied her apron before even a single guest arrived? Still, to stand idly speaks poorly of a professional.

At the front counter, Emily smiled at passersby on the street. Most continued on without an acknowledgement. Some took a moment to look, and perhaps point her out to a friend. It would be a half hour before their first patron arrived. A regular. She could tell from the comforted look in his eyes as he entered.

"Welcome home, Master. Are you here to see Sophie?" Emily greeted.

"Yeah," the man looked beyond Emily, "Hi Sophie!"

"Ohayō gozaimasu, Master-nya!" Sophie directed the man to a table.

Most of the cafe's guests were regulars. Jamie had been working Fridays since she'd started, but she didn't have many regulars yet, so most of the traffic was directed to Sophie.

While new faces were seldom, a pair happened to come in that morning. They were always harder than regulars. Sometimes, you had couples wanting to try cat-shaped treats with little else. Other times, you had those that would become new regulars. It was hard to tell, though a tip over 30% was a good sign of the latter.

A few tedious hours passed by. Emily had spent most of it wiping tables and giving Sophie a hand when she needed it. She always hated when it was slow. $2.13 an hour probably made up the bulk of her income so far. Drumming her fingers against the front counter, she wiggled her ears around to pass the time.

The door chimed. It was one of her own regulars.

His greeting stumbled out, "Hi Emi-chan."

"Welcome home, Master Dawson!"

"It's good to be home and, uh, see you. Heh." He smiled, voice shaking as he tried to hold eye contact. "I didn't know you worked today."

She shook her head, "Nyooo, I'm not working. I'm here because I get to have fun!" She pulled her arms up and posed her hands like paws, giving him a wink.

He laughed, "Yeah, I guess so."

They chatted for a while at his table before Emily got him his usual Sprite. He waffled between the mini pancakes and French toast, eventually opting for the latter. It was slow enough that Emily could sit across from him and listen intently as he went on (or at least the give image of doing so).

"And in her ultimate, she gets wings, like her sister."

"Ooo." She nodded, having already forgotten the name of the game. "What color?"

"Well, they're usually white, like angel wings, but some of her skins make them look different."

She giggled. "Those sound so pretty."

"Yeah," he said, going in for another bite. A bit of the syrup got on his beard.

Emily stood up. "Here, let me help." She came and sat by his side and dabbed his face with a napkin.

She watched his mind racing to find the words. "Oh, uhm, thanks." He was barely coherent enough to smile.

She picked up the fork he'd set down and held it up to him. He bit down and chewed, cherishing it like manna from the heavens. Regulars were always easy to please.

Jamie arrived a half hour before Emily finished with Dawson. Eventually, the time came for him to depart.

"Thanks Emily, uh, Emi-chan!" He waved.

"Thank you for coming, Master Dawson! Come home again soon!" She waved back.

She cleaned off Dawson's table and headed into the dressing room. As soon as the door shut behind her, he let out a breath. He never figured out why people preferred "Emi-chan" to "Emily". Made him sound like he was 12.

Maybe it was better not to think about it. He walked into the alley by the apartment complex, hoping to hide from the howling evening wind. While he was successful, the fragrant aroma of refuse fermenting into sewage was not quite the comfort he had expected. He stood around awkwardly, hands in his jacket pockets. According to his phone, he was a few minutes early. Good, a moment to breathe. Or panic. It could go either way.

A roving band of frat boys let out a cheer up the street. Jace had intentionally avoided affiliating with those types. It wasn't just that they thought with their dicks, it was that they'd lost the ability to think with anything else.

Back when Jace was young and stupid (less than two years ago), he'd join his roommate and her friends when they went drinking. The consequence of having better ears was that he got to hear all the weird comments guys wearing Greek made about him. Sometimes, they'd get brave and opt to say them to his face. It was just them being playful, so there was no reason to get upset. They were just making an observation. A compliment, even. He should really thank them for it.

On occasion, he'd get a napkin with a sloppily written series of digits on it. Though his days in bars had dwindled, napkins continued to slide to him. Cafe policy was to politely decline, but no one did that. Everyone pocketed them, saying they'd think about it, before throwing them away when out of sight.

He ran on autopilot at work, barely thinking about anything that went on. In his thoughtless drifting, he'd forgotten to discard Dawson's number before changing. Having recognized his folly, he promptly threw it out. When he got home. Definitely when he got home.

Of course, once he got home, he had to take a moment to rest. There was no rush. He could get to it whenever. He could doomscroll. He could shower. He could eat minute noodles that were somehow overcooked. He could even check his bank account.

Never had much in way of savings. Most of it was from working odd jobs through high school. The pay here was good by waiter standards, but that didn't mean it was enough. He started unloading pallets and stocking shelves on the side after rent went up again this year. Still, the graph slowly sagged further and further down. He had six months. Maybe eight if he cut down on food.

He should really throw out that note.

Even with the alley shielding him from the wind, he was getting antsy. He could only put it off for so long.

He loitered for a minute before being let in.

"Hi." Dawson paused for a moment. "I like your hair." he said, smiling bashfully.

Jace eyed him up and down, hugging himself. "Thanks."

Jace was unsuccessful in suppressing the adrenaline that pumped with every step up the cramped stairwell. He wasn't going to make it out of here alive. He was going to end up mangled, chained to pipes under a sink. All he could do was hope that it was in the bathroom so he wouldn't die with shit on his roommate's skirt. If he ever tried to cry or scream, it would be a hole puncher to the ear.

There was a light sagging from his jacket pocket. The slightest bit of forethought he'd managed to conjure. In his last-minute anxieties, he'd found a smashed bottle in the alley and taken one of the shards. In case he needed it. Maybe he did. He imagined catching Dawson off-guard and sinking it into his eye. Cracking open the outer shell to let the gooey center pour out. He could feel the guttural scream that would come out when he twisted it in deeper, grating off layers of his optic nerve until it started inventing new colors.

The panic attack continued until they'd ascended the three floors.

"Sorry for the mess," Dawson said, opening his door.

It wasn't what he'd expected. Well, he didn't know what to expect, but it wasn't this. It was a cramped studio apartment. Kitchen, bed, TV, dresser, and barely enough room to walk between it all. A few pizza boxes just barely sticking out of the garbage, half-full laundry basket, and an anime sticker on the fridge. All of it was weirdly… normal.

"So, uhm, yeah…" Dawson gestured around, keeping his eyes down. They both stood there for a moment in silence, not making eye contact. "I'm supposed to, to pay you before, right?"

"Yeah."

"How much does one hour cost? Er, two hours. Or I guess I could double the one hour one. Sorry…"

"Uh…" He hadn't thought about it. How hadn't he? That was the whole point of this. What was a normal amount? Was he supposed to just make something up? "120. For two, I mean." Enough to avoid being in the red this month.

Dawson made a look Jace couldn't read. Was he too high? Too low? "Oh, that's, yeah, uhm, how, how do you want it?"

"What?"

"Like, PayPal, Venmo…"

Oh, right. "Cash?" He didn't intend for it to sound like a question.

"I don't, I don't have… there's an ATM around the corner. I think."

"Ok."

"O-ok. Did you want to stay here?"

Absolutely not. "I guess."

"Ok, uh, be right back."

As the door shut behind him, Jace let out a breath. What the fuck was going on? Dawson is never this nervous. He was hardly finishing sentences. It was throwing Jace off.

Or was it the other way around. Even standing there alone, his shoulders were tense and his tail was stiff. Something in him missed the uniform. The cafe was a shield, a place where no one could hurt him. Without it, he was like a cat fighting a bath. It was for his own good, but nothing could assure him he wouldn't end up being drowned.

Eventually, Dawson came back. "Here."

Jace wasn't sure he'd ever seen this much cash in person. He pried off his phone case and stuck the bills underneath before setting a timer.

"So now we can hang out, right?"

Emily nodded. She'd only agreed to spend some time with him, and nothing further. He was the type that was too anxious to pick up girls, rather than too weird. On one hand, she was glad that she wasn't committing a misdemeanor (the fines would bury her in debt, and the prison time would cost her both jobs). On the other, it was hard not to wonder what a few more 20s could do.

They both stared at each other, waiting for the other to inevitably say "What now?"

Emily broke the stand-off. "Do you want some Sprite?" He always ordered it at the cafe.

"I guess."

She walked over to the kitchen. "Where do you keep it?"

"Oh, I, uh, don't have any."

Then why did he say he wanted some? "That's fine." This was so much easier when they could start with food. Gave something familiar to start from. It was easier to fake attentiveness than to actually listen. "What's that anime you always talk about?"

"Which one?"

"The one about the princess and the robots."

"Hime Rei?"

"Yeah!" She said, 80% sure that she'd never heard that name before. "I've been meaning to watch it. Do you want to watch it together?"

For a moment, he smiled for the first time since he first saw her. Just for a moment. "Sure."

He sat on the bed and dusted off a spot for Emily to sit. They sat in silence as he charted the maze of menus until finding the show.

As the intro played, Dawson leaned over to her, "The guy who made this made 'Bitter Almonds and Sour Grapes' too."

"Ooh." She didn't keep up with anime (it reminded her too much of work), but she'd still heard that name before. Whether that was a good or bad thing… who knew.

The show was surprisingly banal. She'd expected some kind of action-packed robot invasion where a princess had to use her magic boobs as a bludgeon. It was actually kind of normal. Despite how little she cared for the medium, it was hard to not get at least a little engrossed in it. Dawson chimed in every few minutes with some comment, and Emily would act interested. Sometime, she wouldn't even have to act. It was a stable rhythm.

"This next episode is mostly filler, but you have to watch it to get the story."

"Oh, thanks for the heads-up." She leaned her head on his shoulder, letting her tail slowly caress his back.

"No— no problem."

In some weird way, she kind of felt bad for him. His apartment was normal, his shows were normal, even the way he talked to her was mostly normal. Nothing about him really stood out. Maybe he was anxious, but who wasn't these days? Still, despite it all, he was so far from any idea of intimacy that even this felt adventurous. It was sad. Maybe in another world, she would have sympathized with him. But not in this one.

He'd paused the show and started rambling about the politics of "New Ushihara" when Emily's phone went off. His smile dropped as he heard the chime. "Has it already been two hours?"

She stopped the ringing. "I guess so."

"I can get more cash, if you want."

She thought about it for a moment. Really thought about it. "It's late, I think it'd be better to go to bed."

He lowered his head. "Oh, ok."

"Listen," she took his hand. "I had fun. Let's do this again sometime." She smiled softly.

Raising his head, he looked into her eyes. She couldn't remember a time when he'd held it for longer than a few seconds. She was about to get up when he spoke again. "Do you think I, I could… I mean, you don't have to say yes, but I'm just wondering if you would be ok with, uh, if I…"

30 possibilities ran through her head. None of them were good.

"If I touched your, uhm, your boobs."

Number 19. She couldn't say yes. She couldn't. She wasn't some toy, some thing to buy. Every word she'd spoken here, it had all been her selling out her personality, her mind. Her body was off limits. "It'll cost extra," she didn't say.

"How much?"

It was a stupid question. No amount of money would convince her. It was beyond anything she would do. "50 bucks."

"Is it ok if I pay after? We can walk to the ATM together." The shakiness in his voice was still there, but there was now a subtle determination that peeked through.

Even if she were open to the possibility, accepting that kind of offer was asking to be ripped off. Anyone could tell that this was a trap. "Sure."

---

She threw away the glass and quickly changed back into her own clothes. Neglecting the messages and missed calls, she took off her phone case and counted. 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, 12, 14, 16, 17. She counted again. 170 dollars. It was more than she'd ever made in a shift, and she was only out for four hours.

She went to the bathroom and rinsed her face. Her face. Her. She rinsed it again. Her. Again. The same. She stared at the reflection. It was a new feeling.

Nope was dead. She'd died a long time ago. The whole reason for moving out was to avoid the spectres of her that lingered. Jace was supposed to take her place. He was supposed to be the light. He was supposed to live.

What the reflection cast back was neither of the two. The image cast back was not real. A facade, an illusion. Something conjured in the moment to perform a trick, and nothing more. Yet, the mirage's reach grew further and further. At what point does a show stop being a show?

They said that opening the box was supposed to show you the truth. Real or fake. Good or bad. Dead or alive. She kept closing and reopening it. Washing and looking. No matter how many times she did it, the answer always came back the same. The cat she knew was no longer in the box.

There was only Emily.