The Birth of Kitty: A Lies, Cleavage and Quantum Theory Free Scene

Jennifer was fun and shared Megan’s dating philosophy: find the man, get the meal, keep the freedom.

They had a standing Monday lunch date since high school because starting the week with cocktails and gossip was a sacred ritual.

They dressed up, or down, depending on your definition of coverage—and claimed a prime table on a busy Toronto patio.

The patio was a heat trap of perfume, sunscreen, and car exhaust. Umbrellas flapped like half-hearted fans, and the air between tables shimmered with laughter and the clink of glass. Megan tilted her face toward the sun, letting the warmth hit her collarbones, another natural highlighter she didn’t have to pay for.

They ordered cocktails that matched their outfits and let nature take its predictable course.

Two drinks in, courtesy of the men now hovering, Steve-Something and John-Whatever, Megan’s phone chimed. The tone she’d set for Luke’s texts—a sound she’d chosen on purpose.

Heat rushed up her neck, and Jennifer noticed instantly.

“You look interested, Meggie.” Jennifer only used that nickname when she wanted to irritate her. “Do tell—hot guy?”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Obviously. But this guy”—she gestured toward John, or maybe Steve—“is buying our attention. I’d hate to be rude.”

She smiled, and whichever one he was smiled back. Didn’t matter.

“I’m sure they won’t mind,” Jennifer said, snatching Megan’s unlocked phone. “Ooh—HL? Is that short for Hot Lover?”

“Jennifer, give it back.” Megan lunged, but Jennifer danced out of reach, laughing.

“Let me just—”

Ping.

Megan froze. “What did you do?”

Her voice dropped, low, sharp, edged with something real. Something Jennifer had never heard from her.

“Relax,” Jennifer said, startled. “I just sent him a quick pic. You look hot. I thought it’d be funny.”

Another ping. Jennifer glanced down, frowning. “He’s typing back… asking who your hot friend is.”

The laughter between them died, like someone had hit mute. Jennifer didn’t understand why Megan suddenly looked caught in a lie she hadn’t meant to tell.

Megan snatched the phone back and typed fast.

Megan: That’s my sister. Just having lunch. Talk later.

Phone off.

She glared at Jennifer, but the twist in her stomach wasn’t just annoyance. Her little safe world—her private, clever corner of the internet—had just been breached.