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My mom rolls her eyes but concedes the point. “Fine. We’re discussing Pumpkin.”
“No, actually, we’renotdiscussing her. Because this is not a democracy. My life is a dictatorship. I am the supreme leader. What I say goes, and I say that Pumpkin is a permanent fixture. She’s not going anywhere.” Gone is the joking atmosphere of moments before. I cross my arms and glare at both of them.
“But honey, she’s a”—Mom lowers her voice to a whisper—“pit bull.”
Silence descends on the kitchen after her quiet warning.
The tension is broken by a loud incessant squeaking. The three of us glance over to the corner of the kitchen where I’ve placed one of the multitudes of dog beds I purchased. Pumpkin lays sprawled on the thing, her namesake toy clutched in her mouth. She wags her tail and flexes her jaw, simply reveling in the high-pitched noise it emits.
“Really, Mom. I never would’ve thought you’d be prejudice.”
She sputters at my accusation. “I—well I—that’s just…” Her words trail off as she watches my dog.
“Pit bulls can be rough, Paige. We’re just worried you’ve signed up for more than you can handle.” My Dad’s comment is gentle and stabs me straight in the gut.
This is exactly why I didn’t want to move home. Not because I don’t love my parents, or because I have any doubt that they love me. I just didn’t want to stay under their roof for any length of time because I knew sooner or later, they’d get around to pointing out how helpless I am. Immature. Little better than a child.
But then again, why wouldn’t the two of them doubt my ability to take care of a dog? I haven’t even proven I can take care of myself.
Still, whether my parents believe it or not, I’m sure I can get this right. Pumpkin is meant to be mine, and I’m meant to be hers. We’ll figure out things together.
With a fortifying breath, I square my shoulders and face the pair of them.
“I know pit bulls have a bad reputation, but if you do any kind of thorough research, you’ll see that they can be very sweet dogs. And I’m taking precautions. Hence the obedience training today.” I move to crouch next to Pumpkin, scratching her exposed belly. “Trust me. I can do this. We’ll be fine.”
My mom still looks worried, but my dad gives me a resigned smile and wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders.
“All right, Paige. We’ll leave you to it. Call us if you need anything.”
When the front door closes behind them a pressure eases off my shoulders. Then a twinge of guilt pinches under my ribcage. Plenty of people in the world would kill for a set of loving parents like mine. They aren’t bad people; exactly the opposite. But I can’t seem to go a day without getting into some type of snit with them. Especially my mom.
Living together is not working out. I should’ve stuck to eighteen-year-old me’s declaration that I’d never live under their roof again. Of course, eighteen-year-old me was madly in love with a faithful Martin. At least, I thought he was faithful. Who knows how long he’s been running around with other girls behind my back?
“Nope. Not dwelling on that.” I stand up abruptly and walk towards the back door, snatching up a pair of sunglasses on my way. “Come on, Pumpkin. I need some air.”
My faithful companion scrambles from her bed in an awkward mess of limbs before loping after me.
When I pull open the glass doors leading to the backyard, hot heavy air practically smacks me in the face. Early October in New Orleans is a hell of a lot different than in New York City. In the northeast the leaves are probably already changing color, while here all the vegetation is a continuous thick mass of green. Like a never-ending mossy cushion.
Pumpkin shoves past me to barrel around the perimeter of the yard. Luckily, Mom and Dad already had an eight-foot privacy fence, so my pup had immediate access to space to run. But I read online that even dogs with yards benefit from daily walks, so Pumpkin and I have made a few passes through the neighborhood.
Maybe Dash will be able to help figure out how to keep her from wrenching my arm from my socket at every passing squirrel.
While my dog sniffs and pees on each corner of my parents’ property, I jog over to the gate to make sure that even though it’s latched, it’s unlocked.
After typing out a quick text, I set my phone on the patio table and step back onto the grass, reaching for two squeaky tennis balls.
“Hey, Pumpkin!” I squeak one of the toys. “Wanna play—“
My words are cut off by her attack.
DASH
Paige:Come around back when you get here. Fence is unlocked.
I stare down at her text for a moment before glancing back up at the house I’m parked in front of. If I had any hope that Paige might be in my league, those dreams are thoroughly dead now.
She lives in a fucking mansion.
