Danny returned to the garage feeling vaguely transformed and vaguely itchy—possibly from Sabine's vegan eucalyptus sheets, or possibly from the creeping realization that he had no idea what he was doing with his life.
He flopped onto his bed, kicked off his shoes, and opened his phone.
Twelve missed texts. Four voicemails. Three unread emails with subject lines like "FW: We Need to Talk (Mom)" and "Where Are You? Call Me Now – Elena."
He groaned.
His sister had found him.
Elena Ruiz did not do voicemail. If she was leaving voice memos, something was on fire. Possibly literally.
Danny called her back.
"You better not be dead," she said by way of greeting.
"Not yet. But thanks for the concern."
"You didn't answer my texts."
"I was off the grid. Sort of."
"What does that mean?"
"I was cat-sitting for a woman who bathes in moonlight and pays in smoothies."
Silence.
"You need to get your life together."
"There it is," Danny said. "Right on cue."
"I'm coming over."
"No you're not."
"I'm literally in your driveway."
He looked out the window.
There she was. Leaning against her hybrid SUV in a crisp pantsuit, sunglasses on, holding a reusable coffee cup and radiating competence.
Minutes later, Elena stood in the garage like it offended her on a spiritual level.
"This is where you live?"
"It's cozy," Danny said.
"It's humid."
"Adds character."
She ignored that. "You haven't filed taxes in two years. You're thirty-four. You have no health insurance. And your credit score is an insult to numbers."
Danny opened the mini fridge and handed her a ginger soda. "Why are you here?"
"I'm worried."
He sat across from her. "No, you're annoyed. There's a difference."
She exhaled. "Mom wants to stage an intervention."
"For what? Not owning a Dyson?"
"For... wasting your talent."
Danny looked away.
Elena softened, just a little. "You were the golden one, you know? The creative. The dreamer. I was the spreadsheet freak."
"You still are."
"True. But at least I'm not stuck."
Ouch.
He shrugged. "I'm writing again. Kind of."
"Really?"
"Yeah. A screenplay. About my life. But with more cats and fewer bills."
"That's... honestly better than I expected."
Danny smiled, despite himself.
Then her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, then at him.
"Okay. Why are you all over TikTok?"
"What?"
"Mrs. Beverly posted a duet with you doing cat yoga."
He grabbed his phone. Opened TikTok.
Top of the feed:
> @GrannyGrindset + @DannyRuizOfficial
Caption: "Cat empathy runs in the family 💅 #BlessedAndStressed #KeepAustinWeird"
The video: Danny in the background of a Meowga session, accidentally doing downward dog while sneezing on a Himalayan cat.
450,000 likes. 3,100 comments.
Danny stared.
"I didn't post that."
"No," Elena said. "But you're trending. You, the yoga cats, and Mrs. Beverly's spicy takes on ghost hunting."
He opened the comments:
> "This guy looks like he's been through it. Protect him."
"I'd watch a whole show about his sad cat adventures."
"Is he single?"
"This is peak Austin energy and I'm here for it."
Elena raised an eyebrow. "You've got a brand now. Accidentally."
Danny sat back, stunned. "What does that even mean?"
"It means... maybe people are paying attention. Maybe you should give them something worth watching."
That night, after she left, Danny stood outside under the porch light and watched the bats fly overhead in crooked patterns. He thought about how stuck he'd felt just a few weeks ago.
He still had no plan.
But maybe he had a spark.
Maybe that was enough.
He opened his laptop.
> INT. CAT CAFE – NIGHT
A man tries to outrun his own mediocrity and trips over a litter box.
He smiled.
Still got it.