“What?” I asked.
“For someone who doesn’t have a dog, doesn’t even like dogs, thinks this dog is the ugliest thing they have ever seen, you sure care about him a lot.”
I threw my hands in the air. “Could people stop saying stuff like that to me! I think I would know if I cared about something.” I said it, even though at this stage I knew that was a blatant lie. I flopped down at the kitchen table again and held my head in my hands for a few seconds. And then I shrugged.
“Fine. I care, I guess,” I said into my hands, almost inaudibly. “I don’t want him to die. That would suck.”
I heard a small chuckle and looked up. Mark was turning the kettle on and pulling two cups out of the cupboard as if he knew his way about this kitchen.
“Why are you laughing?” I asked him.
“It’s just funny listening to you going around in these circles. When it’s so clear to everyone.”
“What’s clear?”
He looked over his shoulder at me as he dropped two tea bags into the cups. “You love that ugly, one-eyed, immobilizer-swallowing mutt out there.” His Australian accent suddenly sounded so strong. I’d almost forgotten it until now.
I held his gaze as he smiled at me, and then my face started contorting and my lips started to quiver and my eyes started to go all blurry and . . .
“I’m sorry.” He stepped forward, looking slightly panicked and concerned. “Did I say something upsetting?” A tear rolled out of my eye and waterfalled down my cheek. He looked around the kitchen and then grabbed a big roll of heavy-duty kitchen tissue and passed it to me.
“Thanks,” I managed. I tore a piece off and wiped my eyes and then didn’t care that I blew my nose and it sounded like an elephant trumpet. I paused for a moment and then the words came flying out of my mouth.
“I love him,” I moaned loudly. “Against my will though. Trust me, I don’t want to love him. He is not the dog I would choose to love. If I was going to choose to love a dog it would not look like that. It would be one of those teacup poodles that you can put into tiny things like shoes and handbags and take cute photos of; do you know how many likes teacup poodles get, or French bulldogs? I once saw this video of a French bulldog in a bowtie, it went viral. That’s the kind of dog I would love, not Cujo!” I slumped onto the table again, overcome by my very inconvenient feelings.
It occurred to me, right there and then, that Cujo was the first creature that I’d cared this much about in a very long time. I didn’t even care this much when @TheKyleWhite101 had gone in for his pec implants. He’d threatened me with death if I ever told anyone about them. He had a genetic deficiency, he called it. All the men in his family had small pecs, no matter how much they worked out, and he needed pecs for his personal brand. It had been a long surgery, but I’d mainly spent the time weighing in on some Twitter war that was happening. And when they’d finally wheeled him out of surgery all groggy from the anesthetic and moaning from the pain, in truth, I hadn’t really felt that much.
But now, I was feeling a lot. I didn’t want Cujo to be in pain, I hoped Samirah would give him painkillers. I hoped he would remember me. I hoped he would lick my hand and bark like he used to, because right now, he was the closest thing I had to a friend.
A real friend.
And maybe he’d been more of a friend to me in the last few days than some of my other online friends had been to me in years. Like Suzanne. When I needed her the most, she’d ghosted me. Same as my sister. But Cujo was still here, and I felt closer and more connected to him than I’d felt to anyone in a very, very long time.
“What’s going on?” Mark burst my bubble.
“Why?” I looked up at him.
“Looks like you are having some big aha moment there?” He poured the boiled water into the cups and then walked the tea over to the table and sat down across from me.
I shook my head. “Aha moment. I don’t think so.” I grabbed the tea and took a sip, and this time I kind of knew I was lying to myself again too.
Because I was having an aha moment. An aha moment about the kind of life I’d been living up until that point. The kind of relationships I’d had. And I didn’t much like it.
CHAPTER 25
I’m not sure how long Mark and I sat there in total silence sipping tea together. But it felt like forever. Time seemed to be dragging on in a way that was making it feel like it had stopped altogether. The silence between us was strange. Comfortable, but strange. It was as if we’d both decided not to speak to each other at all, even though no such agreement had been made. We had fallen into it naturally, for some reason. The only noise in the room, other than the occasional sipping of tea, was the snoring of dogs in the corner.
Finally, Samirah’s head came around the corner. I jumped out of my seat and raised my brows in question.
“He’s out,” she said with a smile.
“Is he . . .?” I let the question hang in the air and she gave me the biggest, warmest smile I’d ever seen.
“Absolutely fine.”
At those words I felt a sense of relief flood over me. I held my head in my hands for a moment or two, because it felt like it was spinning.
“And here.” She held her hand out.
