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I’ve got to get to that wedding.

9Eloise

My legs are wooden beneath me as I stumble down the block toward the safety of my home.

I can’t do this. I can’t. He was … and I just … the Wheel spins frantically, tears pricking my eyes. When I reach the corner, my phone starts to buzz in my pocket, startling me so badly that I shriek and cause an elderly woman walking her cat in a stroller to give me a serious side-eye.

For a wild, panicked second, I fear it’s going to be Agustín, calling to ask what in the hell is wrong with me. But then I see it’s the number for Safe Haven Animal Shelter.

“Hello?” I say.

“Eloise, hi, it’s Alexis at Safe Haven. How are you?”

Currently having a panic attack on 85th and Central Park West.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I lie.

“I’m so sorry for calling so late on a Sunday. And I know it’s only been a few months since you lost Walton,” she begins. My throat tightens automatically at his name. “But I have a dog who really needs a home, and I think you’re the only option. He’s a twelve-year-old chihuahua—we’ve named him Picante because he’s, um, spicy.”

That’s code for aggressive.

“He was found as a stray in New Jersey,” she continues. “He’s very reactive with humans, but he’s fine with other dogs. But no one will take him. We adopted him out this week, and he was just returned because the adopter couldn’t handle him.” It breaks my heart when dogs get returned. Of course, it’s better for a dog to be in the right home, but still. “If he doesn’t get adopted within the next couple days, I don’t think we’ll be able to keep him here. We’re over capacity as it is.”

Adding another dog to the Pack only months before I have to leave for the wedding isn’t ideal. But if I don’t take him, he could be sent to shelter after shelter. Or, more likely, he could be euthanized.

“Of course I’ll take him,” I say to Alexis.

“Oh thank god,” she says, and I can hear the emotion in her voice. Alexis is a real advocate for senior dogs—it’s one of the reasons we get along so well. “When can you pick him up?”

“I’ll come right now,” I say, my voice taking on a note of determination.

“You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

I crack a small smile. I don’t feel very amazing right now. I feel overwhelmed and sweaty.

“Thanks, Alexis. See you soon.”

I get off the 6 train and emerge out into Lower Manhattan, trucks trundling down Canal, the streets lined with vendors selling knockoffs, the sounds of Mandarin mixing with English as the neighborhood blends toward Chinatown. I walk the block and a half to Safe Haven, on Centre Street.

The familiar smell of dog and cleaning solution greets me as I walk inside. I managed to shove Agustín Martinez and his hot chocolate smile into a box in the furthest recesses of my brain on the ride here. My stomach is still a little wriggly but it’s not like I’ll ever see or speak to him again. I will just squash all of these feelings and focus on what’s important—a new Pack member.

Alexis is waiting behind the reception desk with a carrier.

“Eloise,” she says with relief, smiling broadly. “Thank you so much. Picante here is going to be such a great addition to the Pack, I know it. He just needs stability and love.”

From inside the carrier, I hear a tiny growl. I lean down and look through the thin bars. A small creature is huddled in the very back of the carrier.

“The vet has checked him out,” she says. “Except for a slight heart murmur, he’s fine. He really enjoys the company of other dogs. Like I said, it’s just humans he doesn’t seem to tolerate.”

Same, little man. Same.

I sign the paperwork and pay the adoption fee. Then I call an Uber—no way I’m going to stress this little guy out on the subway. As the car trundles up toward my apartment, I talk to Picante in a calming tone, his little squeaks and yelps breaking my heart.

Hector looks up from his crossword as I enter the lobby.

“Evening.” His eyes light on the carrier. “A new dog?”

I only nod and scurry past him to the elevator. When I reach my apartment, I walk into the living room, where Hazel is snoozing on her back in the giant dog bed, her stumpy little legs splayed up in the air. I bought that bed for the Colonel, but once Hazel saw it, she immediately claimed it as her own. The Colonel is curled up on the couch and Charleston is on the floor, licking the rug. All three lift their heads at my arrival.