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The receptionist brought Vegas out to us and I cried again when I saw him.
“Were you a good boy today? Were you?”
“He was great,” the receptionist said, handing us a printout. We’d also gotten updates on the app about his behavior, but this was nice to see his first day report card.
“Come on sweetheart, let’s go home,” I said, trying to lead the wiggly puppy through the door while Emma held it. I honestly wanted to pick him up and cuddle him the whole way, but he was off and running, pulling on the leash and then focusing on a spot on the sidewalk and refusing to move on until we coaxed him.
“I can’t wait until he’s really trained,” I said. It took so long to get him home that Emma did end up picking him up for the last little bit.
“Soon,” she said. “Soon he will be. We’re going to have to be diligent about it, though. Constant reinforcement and all that.” I’d done a little bit of research and I was all in on making sure that Vegas was a well-trained boy. It was bad dog parenting to not train your dog. Plus, puppies needed boundaries, just like children.
“How was your day?” I asked, after we walked through the door. She seemed tired and I wondered if she was sleeping well.
“Long,” she said, putting her bag down with a thump. “Would you mind making dinner tonight?” I almost fell over. Emma didn’t ask me to cook. I couldn’t remember any time she had asked me that.
“Yeah, of course,” I said, scrambling to the fridge to figure out what I could throw together that would be decent and that I wouldn’t mess up.
Pasta. I could do pasta. I found a box and a bottle of sauce and some defrosted chicken. I could do that. Probably.
“Is spaghetti chicken okay?” I asked her. Emma was on the couch cuddling with Vegas.
“Yeah, sounds good.” I found some frozen asparagus I thought would make a good side dish. It wasn’t up to Emma’s culinary standards, but I was going to do my best not to fuck it up too badly.
––––––––
EMMA JOINED ME IN THEkitchen fifteen minutes later as I drained the pasta and mixed it in with the chicken and sauce. I’d made a mess with the sauce splattering everywhere, but I hadn’t burned the chicken or the sauce, and everything was cooked through, so I thought I had done a good job.
Emma wearily got out the plates and used tongs to place the pasta on our plates, topping it with the chicken, and then putting the asparagus on the side of her plate. She grabbed a separate plate for my asparagus. I didn’t like my foods touching, especially if there was a sauce component.
“Thank you,” I said, when she handed me my plate.
“Do you want to eat on the couch? I feel like watching something.” Emma didn’t usually allow that, so I was really on high alert.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked, as we grabbed paper towels and drinks and brought everything to the couch.
“Yeah, just tired. I don’t know.”
“Maybe you’re coming down with something?” I asked, reaching out to feel her forehead. She flinched away from my touch.
“What the hell, Em?” She waved me off and picked up her plate.
“Sorry. I’m just . . . Sorry.” What was going on? I started to ask her, but she looked straight ahead and turned on the TV.
Emma and I had had our fights before as all best friends had. There had been times when we hadn’t spoken, but those were few and far between.
“Will you please talk to me? I can’t handle it when you shut me out,” I said. She closed her eyes and I thought she was going to cry.
“I’m sorry. I just need some space right now to think about a lot of things, okay? I just . . . I need some space.” I wasn’t going to lie, that hurt.
“Space from me?” I asked, my stomach knotting up with anxiety. Emma still wouldn’t look at me.
“I just need some space,” she said again, not answering my question, which was an answer in itself. I looked away from her and tried not to cry. I pulled Vegas onto my lap and let him gnaw on my fingers, even though it hurt like hell.
When had things gone so sideways? Everything had been fine this morning. Maybe she was getting tired of living with me. Maybe I was stressing her out. Maybe she was regretting the puppy. Maybe it was all of those things.
I shouldn’t have moved in here. I should have found some other crappy roommates and left her alone. There was that saying that you didn’t truly know someone until you lived with them. We’d been friends for so long, but had never lived together. I guess Emma didn’t like what she found when I moved in.
My head spun with all sorts of terrible things and I started to feel sick. I couldn’t imagine my life without Emma. She was everything to me.
