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Chapter Ten
PAIGE
“Please, if you just met her. She’s so sweet. Not a mean bone in her body.”
“I’m sorry ma’am. It’s our policy.”
“But policies can be changed! I swear, she’s better behaved than most dogs you’d meet. Breed doesn’t factor into that, it’s all about how the dog is treated. Mean people make mean dogs. And I’m really nice!” A fact that should be clear from the way I restrained myself from snapping at yet another person calling me ma’am.
“We are not changing our policy. But, if you would like to find another home for the dog and move into our apartment complex without a pit bull, we would be happy to review your application.”
“Find another home? You want me to give up Pumpkin?”
“Pumpkins are allowed on our property. Many tenants have placed them out for Halloween.”
“I’m not talking about gourds! I’m talking about my life partner!”
“We are an inclusive property. We do not discriminate against any sexual orientations.”
I scoff. “Of course not. Just adorable dogs who want to live a happy life free from abuse. Never mind. This was a waste of my time.”
I hang up my phone, pressing on the screen with an angry flourish. I miss the days of my childhood when we had a landline, when I could slam down the receiver dramatically to emphasize my anger. Now it’s just smartphones with sensitive screens.
A loud incessant squeaking has me peering down at my innocent puppy. She’s sprawled on her dog bed while I sit at the kitchen island, my laptop in front of me. Today, she’s chosen a fuzzy pink pig toy to chew on, having finally ripped the fluff and squeaker out of her favorite pumpkin toy. I was worried she’d come to regret the destruction, but apparently, my dog has a fickle nature.
Staring down at Pumpkin as she calmly enjoys her new life of luxury, I can’t help comparing her to the wounded animal I originally found. Other than some pink scars, there’s no trace of the wounds she was covered in. The consistent diet of quality dog food has filled her out and helped bring a beautiful shine to her coat.
I did this. She’s healthy because of me, and a balloon of pride and affection inflates underneath my ribcage.
How could that woman think for even a moment I’d chose to give up my dog just so I could live in her stupid apartment complex?
“If they don’t want us, then we don’t want them.”
Pumpkin ignores me, too focused on her pig to pay me any mind.
I return to my apartment search without much enthusiasm, scrolling through the list of properties, but not getting any sense of excitement as I read about way too many that have breed restrictions.
But dog prejudices aren’t the only problem.
Living under my parents’ roof began to chafe almost immediately, so it makes sense I would be searching for a place to move into. However, while I do have a comfortable number in my savings account, that’ll run out fast without a regular means of income. The solution seems pretty obvious: find a new job. But that’s not as easy as it sounds. Mainly because I haven’t decided where I want to work. New Orleans? Or some other random part of the country?
When I was a senior in high school everything seemed so clear cut. Martin wanted to go to New York, I wanted to leave NOLA far behind and be with the boy I loved, so NYC sounded great to me. And I adored living in New York. The food, the culture, the massive number of bookshops. The only downside was having to put Penelope away in storage. Owning a car in that city was not a practical choice. Sometimes, on weekends, I’d break her out and escape the city, giving her engine a chance to show off.
Still, New York had felt like a place I could spend the rest of my life.
Then Martin’s dad pulled some strings and got his son a great residency back here in Louisiana when he graduated med school. The idea of returning to my hometown was not appealing, but I figured that people make sacrifices for their partners. I also reasoned I would have a greater sense of freedom than when I was younger, because I’m a grown woman and I would be living in my own place.
Look how well that worked out.
And now nothing is tying me here. I could search for a job in New York if I wanted.
But, do I want that?
Getting fired from my job feels like more than just a loss of employment. It’s almost as if the city itself rejected me.
So maybe not New York.
But where then?
