5.
Water sprays all around me, clinging to my already drenched T-shirt and soaked sweats. Stick, the golden Labrador standing against the wall, has been dodging the showerhead every time I aim it in her direction.
Two days in a row I’ve come to Save a Paw to escape the house that’s entirely safe and somehow feels close to collapsing on me every moment I’m there. Here, despite the confined space and constant noise, I’m more comfortable than ever. Stick let me lather her with the anti-itch conditioner, was cute enough to press her nose over mine, and dropped a paw over my leg once I gave her a nice ten-minute massage to let the ingredients soak in, tricking me into thinking she was complacent. Now my mouth is full of shampoo, aloe, and a liberal helping of dog hair.
I place the showerhead beside me, cross my legs, and hold Stick’s wide-eyed gaze. “All right, sweetheart,” I tell her as firmly as I can, given that she’s just a cute bundle of gold fur and love. “This is for your own good. Do you think keeping that conditioner in is going to help you? Trust me, I’ve done it, and my hair fell out. It’s no leave-in. You will regret it and
need bangs.”
She whines, her head lowering.
“Look, the faster you let me rinse you off, the faster I can dry you.
Wouldn’t it be so nice to strut through the dog park with a fresh mane?
Don’t you want to be the envy of all the other dogs? It’s up to you.”
Stick sighs, and it’s not that I think she fully understands me, but at least I’ve bored her into a tentative submission. She stiffens when I bring the showerhead over but doesn’t jump around or run to the glass wall overlooking the reception area where Ted, my favorite staff member, gives me an encouraging thumbs-up.
We give it another go, and Stick heroically only fights me one more time before we finish off in the corner of the room, where I use the blower to dry both of us off. As a reward, I bring her to the back of the shelter to join the other dogs running around the spacious play area featuring fake grass and walls painted with sky and clouds, creating the illusion of being outside. Sometimes when I’m here, I turn on high-speed fans to make it feel windy.
My shoes squelch with every step I take to Ted, who has a head of hair not too far off from Stick’s, and brown eyes that are always warm and welcoming.
He salutes me as I approach him. “Thank you for your service.”
“At ease.” I play along, scanning the board behind him with heartfelt photos of Save a Paw’s furry residents pinned by colorful tacks, looking their absolute sweetest to encourage the people entering to adopt, volunteer, donate, or all three.
My gaze snags on a photo of Storm in the upper right corner, smiling under a pink raincoat. Grief pins another tack into my chest as I go around the desk and grab it.
Knowing the way Taina’s brain works, she probably opted to save more practical items during my eviction, like furniture, electronics, and cookware. The sentimental items would be last on her priority list, so I pocket the photo in case the boxes I still haven’t finished unpacking at her house don’t have a single framed photo within them.
When I turn, Ted’s insistent clicking on the desktop catches my attention. Before he can exit the screen, I recognize the format of a resume.
Unsurprising, since I’d only edited and reformatted fifty-seven of them over the past three months.
Guilt frames his widening eyes. “It’s just a backup plan. I know you’ll
take over this place soon.”
“You’ll leave if I don’t?”
“I like Joshua, I like you, but if you guys are gone, my dad’s been meaning for me to join his auto shop for a while now.” He shakes his head.
“But I know you’ll buy your share.”
I place a hand on his shoulder. “This is smart. Be smart.”
“I’m trying,” he says, his gaze averting to my wet shoes. “How is that going, by the way? Think you’ll be able to take over soon?”
I’m doing everything possible, but I’m barely above water. But I’ll manage. Of course I will.
The words are there, ready to reassure, but I think about the hopeful ping of each email notification I’ve received this past year, followed swiftly by the crushing words of rejection. It’s a painful and somewhat degrading process I wouldn’t want Ted or any of the staff here to go through.
I reach over and grab the desktop’s mouse. “Let me help you buff your CV.”
I can’t tell if Ted’s sigh is one of relief or disappointment.
Save a Paw is on the border between New York and Connecticut, so it takes me two hours to get to Taina’s place and, after pulling her Lexus into the drive-up garage, about five seconds to want to go all the way back.
Mathew’s Porsche is parked outside. Taina’s at Pilates, so I will be left alone with the man who has said only seven sentences to me since I moved in a week ago. It’s always the same: We’re so happy to take care of you.
Only when Taina is around.
I get out and shut the door so lightly that it doesn’t lock. Hopefully, Mathew’s had a full day of helping rich people to get richer and is napping on the edge of their cloud couch in loafers that he refuses to take off even when in the house.
Instead of going in the front door, I circle the country home that sits on five meticulously manicured acres. My feet sink into the soft grass as I move past the pristine landscaping Taina helped arrange, white and yellow flowers dotting the bushes, until I reach a single curved white door at the back.
Taina was right, I think, as I let myself in. Under different circumstances, being here could give me the illusion of having my own place.
It’s nothing I’d pick out on my own. A pale cushioned couch facing a curved flat screen. Sterling-silver cookware on the stainless steel stovetop in the wraparound kitchen overlooking the living room and the all-white bedding set in the corner. Neat. Tidy. Colorless.
Way nicer than my New York apartment.
If only there weren’t this chunk of unwelcomeness lodged behind my rib cage the moment I walk into the house. Even as I shove my shoes off at the door, then throw myself onto the couch and sink into its luxury, the feeling thickens until my chest pinches with the pain of it.
With all its faults, my apartment was my sanctuary. The insistent drip of the kitchen sink was a sound that became a song that lulled me into relaxation, away from whatever the day outside the crooked, double-locked doors weighed on me. A place similar to our childhood home; a place my heart put loose roots into.
The memory of the sound, the tap, tap, tap, plays in my head. It’s enough to lull my body into a state of comfort that brings my heavy eyes to
a close.
On the cusp of sleep, the door slams.
Mathew walks in, loafers on, to loom over me. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together in seven days. I knew the moment would come but foolishly prayed I could somehow avoid it if I worked around his long hours.
He doesn’t speak. He crosses his arms, the sleeves of his blazer tight against his biceps. It must be a power move he does to assert dominance over his clients.
A sliver of pettiness makes me want to remain silent, to see if I can get him to break first, but it’s hard to be petty when I’m living rent free in his house.
“Mathew,” I greet him. Not Matt. Mathew. No nicknames allowed. I learned that the very first time we met, and he shook my hand as if we’d just closed a multi-million-dollar deal.
“Have you been applying to jobs?” he asks, his tone clipped, final, as if he doesn’t want me to answer his question. His default tone when speaking to anyone other than Taina.
“I have been,” I respond, wanting to fold into myself. “Now and for months.”
He sucks his teeth. “That scene you pulled at work was foolish. Word gets around. Now what? There’s only so many jobs you qualify for.”
“And what jobs do I qualify for?”
“Jobs that won’t pay you enough to move out of here fast enough.”
“Fast enough? Don’t you want me gone yesterday?”
“If you know, you shouldn’t have moved in.”
“I’m not moving in.” My voice is a tiny thing now. “This is just until I find a new place.”
I hate feeling myself becoming smaller under his scrutiny. It feels like he’s shoved me in front of a studio audience ready to laugh at a moment’s notice, planted a spotlight over me, and is waiting for me to say something that’s as pathetic and stupid as he believes I am.
It’s humiliating, trying to reach for my pride and finding only shame in its place. There’s no place for it here, no shield I can grab to defend myself from his condescending glare. I have no place to go, no jobs lined up, and a maxed-out credit card. I can’t say anything for fear of pissing him off. I have to let him speak to me in whatever demeaning way he wants to.
It’s hard to believe that this is the man Taina would keep me up at night talking my ear off about, with tales of all the romance and charm he radiated. The way he speaks to me makes me think I’ve warped all those stories.
Surely he couldn’t be the man who made customized playlists and burned them onto CDs (Who even has CD players anymore?), or named a star after her, or brought flowers for her on every single date they had, or painted her nails?
Under his continuous glare, I add, “I’m trying my best.”
“Clearly, that’s not enough.”
Heat builds beneath my eyes from the growing embarrassment flooding through me. “What more can I do if my best isn’t enough?”
At the sound of my voice cracking, Mathew pinches the bridge of his nose with manicured fingers. The way he’s smoothed his ashy hair back allows me to see every line of disappointment and irritation framing his square face.
“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here. You’re the one who lost your job. Now I have to pick up the pieces.”
“I’m trying to pick up my own pieces.”
“I don’t mean yours.” He yanks his hands from his face. “I mean Taina’s. You know those nightmares she used to have? The ones of you and your family in the car, a crash, and then she crawls and crawls to find you?
They’re back. Every night, she screams awake or keeps herself up until she’s exhausted so she doesn’t even risk having them. Two years straight, she didn’t have a single one. Now they’re back.”
My vision grows spotty as panic slides down my throat.
Of course I know the nightmares. Before Mathew, I was the one who had to lull Taina back to sleep or spend hours consoling her, reassuring her I was fine, we were fine, and everything was fine.
I wasn’t in the car crash that killed my parents; neither was Taina. But since they died, like me but worse, Taina has had this paranoia that I would be next, a worry she’d deny during the day and cry about in the middle of the night. She told me how real the dreams felt, how she felt every piece of shattered glass sinking into her knees as she crawled from the flipped car, following a blood trail she knew was mine, screaming for me over and over, and I would never appear.
Stress made them come more frequently, or whenever I was going through something. A breakup, a divorce, a job loss. Anytime my life felt like it was scrambling, it was as if Taina synchronized with my emotions
and they became hers, but worse.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
“Of course you didn’t, because she’s my wife. I’m the one who has to deal with anything you throw her way. You couldn’t just keep your problems, your problems.” His voice tinges with disgust. “When I signed my marriage certificate, it only had Taina’s name attached. I didn’t sign up to become a caretaker too.”
I try to swallow, but there’s no moisture in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
He blows out a breath. “I’m sure you are, but that doesn’t mean anything to me. Already she’s talking about going away, taking you on a trip to get your mind off the consequences of your own goddamn actions.
It’s happening all over again. You take up all her time, use up my money, and I have to grin and bear it because Taina can’t handle seeing her older sister in trouble.”
He says the word older with a laugh, and it feels like a jab in my stomach.
“I won’t let her go on a trip,” I say, but the words come out fast and jumbled like the syllables are nervously tripping on themselves. “I’m going to get a job. I’m going to move out. I’ll find something to do for now, during the day, the night, whenever you want some alone time. I’ll be invisible.”
“You’d be invisible to me already if not for Taina,” he snaps, his patronizing control finally cracking. “I’m not dealing with this again. I won’t figure out how to fix the rift in my marriage. I’ll give you three months to get out—three months only. If you’re not out, you—” He shakes himself and takes a fortifying breath. “You and Taina can leave.”
I’ve always considered myself a brave person. Not that I’m not easily frightened of things, but because no matter how fearful I am, it never deters me from doing what I need to do. But now a knot of fear in my chest tangles itself into a bond so tight it feels like it’s a permanent addition to the organs that keep my body functioning.
I cannot ruin my sister’s marriage for a plethora of reasons, mainly because I love her more than anything in this world. Another reason is that Taina cannot be alone. She clings to people. Not in an overbearing way—in
a quiet, secretive way. Because she’s so wonderful, so giving and charming and funny, people don’t realize when she’s formed a permanent place by their side.
But she only does so when she’s fully in love.
Taina has had many boyfriends, many “almosts” and “could have beens,” but she’d told me she was in love with Mathew the first night she met him. She knew they were perfect for each other. She’s pretty sure our parents made a deal in heaven and sent Mathew to earth to take care of her.
I can’t be the cause of her divorce. I don’t want to even imagine how she’d react. But of course she’d resent me; she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. Right?
It’s one thing to feel not good enough for anyone else, but to know that my own sister might see me that way after ruining something she’s wanted for so long—fear burrows in my chest. That would kill me.
“I’ll be out in three months,” I tell him. “I swear.”
No matter what, I won’t set foot in this house again, even if I have nowhere to go.
He gives me one final look. “I hope so.” Then leaves.
At the sound of the door slamming shut, I press my palms into my eye sockets. I almost laugh. Whenever I think I’ve hit rock bottom, there’s another pitfall to tumble into.
It used to be that, despite accumulating my fair share of misfortunes, I’d always thought I had a weird, pitiful sort of luck. I lost my parents, but Taina was supposed to be in the car with them the day they died—she got sick and stayed home with me—so I got to keep my sister. Whenever I thought I wouldn’t make rent while getting Taina through school, some good Samaritan left me a large enough tip to cover expenses. When I ran out of food stamps, the local shelter would host a food drive where I could pack up two weeks’ worth of groceries.
No matter how bad things got, somehow, barely hanging on, I could pull through.
This time, it looks like my luck has finally dried up. What else am I supposed to do? I’ve already applied to jobs I’m overqualified for and underqualified for, and the money I have saved up was meant to buy my share to save the dog shelter.
Since I got Storm, it’s been my dream. I’ve just had too many responsibilities to really work toward it.
Do I have to give it up?
Should I give it up? I haven’t saved enough yet, anyway. I could use that money to move out and cover rent for a couple of months as I continue to get rejection after rejection, before I get evicted again.
Why can’t I be lucky? Not pitiful lucky, actually lucky, with my own happily ever after?
I bury my face in the cushion and scream.
The muffled noise tears my throat as I release it, trying to let go of this choking bundle of emotions lodged within it. I only stop when I feel my phone vibrating in my back pocket.
I snatch it from my jeans to answer on the fifth ring. “Hello?”
“Lucinda?”
I sit up so fast that the room spins. “Hello?” I say again, checking the screen, but I don’t have the number saved as a contact. “Who is this?” But my subconscious recognizes the voice now that time has passed and I’m completely sober.
“Ah,” he says into the speaker. “You didn’t save my number.
Understandable since we were supposed to be perfect strangers, but I saved yours, sorry.” When I don’t say anything, he adds, “It’s Anders.”
“I know,” I say, then slap my forehead. “I mean, hi. Well. Why are you calling me?”
I haven’t thought too much about him because I’ve been preoccupied with my glaring unemployment, eviction, and the brother-in-law who hates me. The last time I saw him was when I ruined the wrong wedding.
His first love’s wedding.
Oh shit. I hadn’t thought of that detail in particular. Is he happy with me? Angry that I wrecked the special moment between two people he still weirdly cares about? Confused by me? All of the above?
His answering chuckle, even muffled by a phone speaker, sends a quick zing of awareness down my spine. “How are you? When I tried looking for you after the almost-wedding, I heard you already left.”
How are you? This was not the first question I thought he’d ask me— not that I thought he’d ask me anything. I never thought we’d have another interaction in my life.
I’ve already trauma dumped on him once and don’t think it’s why he’s calling me now, so I go with, “I’m fine.”
“You live in New York, right? That’s what you told me,” he says, and he means You may or may not have given me the wrong name, and you wrecked a wedding, and you have a track record of being a complete weirdo, so I’m not sure if you were telling the truth about your place of residence.
But I don’t feel like admitting that I now live with my little sister, so I tell him, “Yes.”
“Perfect. I’m in the city for work this week, our offices are based here,
and I was hoping we could grab coffee.”
“Why?”
I don’t mean to sound so short, but I’m too confused about him reaching out and on the tail end of misery from speaking with Mathew to think of anything other than single-word responses.
He only chuckles again. “I’d like to see you. Talk. And, honestly, I have something to ask.”
“You can ask me now,” I point out, trying not to sound like I was screaming into the couch cushion only moments ago.
“I’d rather do it in person.”
Curiosity tickles my spine straight. Though I only remember bits and pieces of our night together, the small bundles of memories among the black spots are all pleasant. He was charming and never creepy, comforting but not too soft.
And, of course, whenever our hands brushed or our shoulders knocked into each other as we stumbled around the hotel in search of snacks, an arrow of heat shot between my legs.
My fingers dance along my lap. I could say no, but there’s no real reason to, just like there’s no reason to say yes. But an excuse to get out of the house seems more appealing than flinching at the creak of every footstep I hear whenever Mathew walks along the kitchen floor above.
It’ll take me another two hours to get back into the city, but at least the drive will help me clear my head. Or, if I want to drink, I can take the train.
“Make it dinner tonight, and I’ll say yes.”
“Dinner,” he repeats without hesitation, “tonight, so say yes.”
“Yes.”
