Noah’s eyes widen comically, as if he’d completely forgotten about them. “Shit,” he yelps, grabbing the soap. “Why did you let me distract you?”
“Me?” I laugh, quickly lathering my hair. “Pretty sure you’re the one who dropped to your knees.”
“Details,” Noah dismisses, but he’s smiling as he reaches for the shower gel. “Worth it, though.”
II. Noah
Pumpkin is having the time of her life.
Her stubby legs are a blur as she races between my parents and Maya, her curly tail wagging so hard her entire back end wobbles. She’s wearing the ridiculous bow-tie collar Maya brought her—bright blue with tiny birthday cakes all over it—and carrying the squeaky toy shaped like a champagne bottle that Mom insisted was “perfect for the celebration.” Every few seconds, she lets out a joyful bark that makes Dad laugh that deep belly laugh I haven’t heard in ages.
“I think she remembers us from Christmas,” Mom says, reaching down to scratch behind Pumpkin’s pointy ears.
Pumpkin immediately abandons her toy to lean into the touch, her eyes closing in pure bliss.
“Of course she remembers you,” I say, smiling at the scene from my spot on the couch. “You FaceTime her more than you FaceTime me.”
Mom doesn’t even try to deny it. “Well, she’s always happy to see me. You sometimes look annoyed when I call.”
“That’s because you always call when I’m in the middle of something,” I protest, but there’s no heat behind it.
Which is generous, honestly, because the last time she called four times in a row, Connor had his tongue in my ass. I made him stop because four missed calls from Mom usually mean blood, fire, or someone being rushed to the hospital.
She wanted to know whether she should bring her homemade pickles for my birthday.
So yes, sometimes I look annoyed when she calls. But looking at her now, crouched beside Pumpkin with that helpless little smile on her face, it’s hard to hold on to any of that irritation.
The truth is, watching my family with Pumpkin makes my heart feel too big for my chest. When Connor and I first adopted her, I worried they might see her as just a dog rather than the furry family member she immediately became to us. But from the moment they met her, they were gone.
Dad gets down on the rug—his expensive slacks probably getting covered in dog hair—and starts playing tug-of-war with Pumpkin and her new rope toy. Maya instantly decides to document the whole thing on her phone, narrating like she’s filming a nature documentary.
“Here we see the distinguished real estate mogul in his natural habitat, dominated by a cute loaf of bread with ears three sizes too big for her body.”
Pumpkin growls playfully, her entire body wiggling as she tugs on the rope. Dad makes a show of struggling, then dramatically falls onto his side, letting Pumpkin win. She immediately prances over to him with the rope, dropping it in front of him for another round.
“Insatiable beast,” Dad says fondly, sitting back up to continue the game.
I glance over at the pile of wrapped gifts on the coffee table—supposedly for my birthday, but I’ve already noticed that at least half of them have gift tags reading “For Pumpkin” in my family’s various handwriting. The dog has more presents than I do on my own birthday, and I can’t even pretend to be mad about it.
“We’ve created a monster,” I tell Connor, who’s just walked in from the kitchen with fresh drinks for everyone. “They love Pumpkin more than me now.”
Connor chuckles and hands me a glass of wine.
“Can you blame them?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “She’s objectively adorable.”
“Traitor,” I mutter, but I’m smiling too much for it to have any bite.
Mom joins us on the couch, accepting her wine from Connor with a warm smile. “You boys have done such a wonderful job with her,” she says, watching as Pumpkin abandons the rope to investigate the rattling sound coming from inside the gift Maya is now dangling just out of reach. “She’s so happy here.”
“We’re happy too,” Connor says simply, and the certainty in his voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
It’s true. These past eighteen months have been… God, I don’t even have words for what they’ve been. Moving in together, adopting Pumpkin, building this life—it’s better than anything I ever imagined for myself. Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night and look at Connor sleeping beside me, overwhelmed by how lucky I am.
How completely, stupidly lucky.
Maya finally relents and gives Pumpkin her gift—a plush doctor toy that looks suspiciously like a mini version of Connor, complete with a tiny stethoscope around its neck. Pumpkin immediately grabs it and begins shaking it violently, making Mom laugh so hard she nearly snorts wine up her nose.
“Well, that’s disturbingly accurate,” Connor says dryly, watching as Pumpkin throws his fabric doppelgänger into the air, catches it, then shakes it again.
