“It’s been good,” I reply. “We’ve had several, unfortunately. This time of year is always hard, with people dropping off puppies they got as gifts without realizing they actually have to take care of them. We have one, Silver, who’s about to have puppies, and she is just the sweetest thing. I wish so badly I could bring her home.” I’m wistful as I think about Silver, something about her calls to me. Her eyes hold so much, the deep gray still filled with hope, even after everything she’s been through. I’m in awe of how willingly she trusted me, especially knowing she’s faced so much abuse and suffering throughout her life.
It never gets easier taking in a dog like Silver. You almost can’t imagine giving them up again, but you knowyou have to because there are always more dogs to look after.
I wish my life wasn’t such a mess right now so I could bring one home. It’s always been my dream to have a lot of animals at home—Kane and a bunch of dogs were all I needed. But that’s why it’s called a dream.
I force myself out of that fairytale, focusing back on Grayson. He gives me a sad smile, like he knows exactly where my mind drifted.
“I would love to come by sometime,” Grayson says. “I’ve actually been thinking about maybe adopting a dog. I’ve always wanted one, and it might be nice to have something to come home to.” He scratches the back of his neck, a flush filling his cheeks as if he’s embarrassed.
“Of course!” I reply excitedly. “You should come by tomorrow. I would love to show you around. We have a lot of animals right now. We’re actually hosting a fundraiser in a month—Sharlene wants to go all out and do a fancy gala to try to bring in some extra funds. Dinner would be included in the ticket price, and we’re hoping to get some physical donations from local businesses so we can have an auction.”
A broad smile spreads across my face as I think of all the plans that have been slowly coming together. This gala is something we just came up with, and it’s given me something fun to work on at the end of each day. The amount of support we already have from the community is astounding.
“Well, sign me up for a plate, Ave. I would love to come,” Grayson replies.
Morgan walks back into the room, dramatically stomping her feet before stopping in front of me and bracing her hands on her hips. “Hey, what about me? I want to come too! Put my parents and me down, and I’ll make sure their calendars are free that night.” She squeezes innext to me on the couch, practically forcing me into both her and Marcus’s laps.
“Why wasn’t I invited?” Marcus pouts, getting up from the too-small sofa and moving to sit in the reading chair closer to the TV.
“It’s a gala, Marcus,” Morgan states, rolling her eyes. “You’d have to actually dress up and act like a man, which is impossible for you.”
“Oh, I can show you just how much of a man I am, since you’re still doubting me,” Marcus quips with a wink, hands moving to his belt as he stands again.
“Dear god, Marcus, do not drop your pants right now!” Morgan shouts as she rises from her seat. Her arms are crossed over her chest, fire burning in her gaze as she stares at Marcus. Grayson and I share a look, both of us fighting back a laugh.
Marcus mirrors Morgan, his laugh cocky as he adds, “You keep testing me, sweetheart. Part of me is starting to think you actually want to see what I’m working with.”
“Please,” Morgan scoffs. “As if I want to catch any diseases you’re carrying around. You should come with a warning label.” She retakes her seat, turning to face the TV. Her stare remains furious, but the red flush in her cheeks suggests she’s anything but.
“All right, children,” I start. “Please, Marcus, sit down. No one here wants to see your dick. Can we please just play the game? I want to see how many races I have to win before Marcus starts to cry.”
I lean down and grab the controller off the coffee table before I sit back on the couch and watch as we all play the game, letting the sounds of my friends bickering and bantering keep the sadness at bay for just a little bit longer.
“And how doesthat make you feel?” Susan asks from her warm brown chair, writing something down in her notebook after the joke I just made. I hope she plans on using it later—I’m pulling out all my best material today.
“You know, if you don’t start laughing at my jokes, I’m going to start taking it personally,” I deflect, laughing. It was silly of me to think I could just drop the Kane bomb and move on without her questioning it. I twirl my fingers in my lap, my palms beginning to sweat as the itch I felt in my spine when I first walked in here returns.
I glance around Susan’s office to the crisp beige walls, lightly decorated in a modern boho style, with warm browns and rustic orange accents. The carpet is plush under my feet, with a long coffee table separating me from Susan, where she sits in her preferred chair.
I grab the ruffled orange pillow from my side and place it on my lap, like a shield that can somehow block the emotions threatening to spill out of me.
When I look back up at Susan, her expression is unchanged as she waits for me to answer her question.
“Shitty, Susan. Really shitty,” I finally admit, clearing my throat to prevent the tears that threaten. “I just wanted someone to fight for me for once, and he didn’t.”
“Have you two talked since the breakup?”
“No, and he hasn’t tried,” I reply.
“Have you?”
“No,” I reply honestly, then add, “And why should I? Why does it have to be me? I asked him for weeks what was wrong, and he always said nothing. But Iknowhim. I spentfour years dealing with him pushing me away for days or weeks at a time, only to pull me close again right after. He’d insist everything was fine, that he didn’t want to talk, and I’d give him his space until he was ready, and he always came back. ButIneeded him. I was already worried about our future, and I needed his reassurance that everything would be okay. That it would work out. But he couldn’t give me that.”
The words spill out of me before I can stop them, and so do a few stray tears. I brush them away quickly as Susan summarizes, “So you ran away before he could hurt you.”
“Maybe,” I admit, picking at the strings on the pillow. I feel vulnerable under Susan’s watchful gaze, knowing she’s waiting for me to say more. “I just want someone who will fight forme. To show me I’m worth it. All my life, I feel like I’ve had to beg to be seen, to be loved. I’ve been surrounded by people that can’t bother to look away from themselves. And when I finally let myself be vulnerable with Kane, he shut me out.”
“Which made you feel neglected and reaffirmed your core belief that you aren’t good enough for anyone to stick around for,” Susan says in her therapist talk.
