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I give Benji a few pets to the head that we both know are more for my benefit than his own and settle into the cushy leather to scroll my phone.
I won’t do anything productive—even though I know I should—but distracting myself with social media seems like a good idea on a morning when my two main mental streams are being impulsively pervy toward my editor and turning myself in to prison for a motor vehicle accident that hasn’t happened yet.
I know. I’m not mentally well. But my whole career enables and encourages the rampant presence of voices in my head, so I’m not sure that expecting anything different is reasonable.
I move from TikTok to Facebook and scroll into the NYC Doggie group, looking once again for a lead on the border collie.
I don’t have much faith at this point, so my scroll is halfhearted at best, but when a new comment from someone makes it from my eyes to my brain, I gasp aloud.
Holy, holy shit!
I read the comment again, slowly this time, so I can confirm if I’m losing my mind or not.
Ella Rose: I found her! Her dad lives on the Upper East Side and takes her on walks in the park every Sunday because it’s the only day he has off from work. But today, he took a personal day, and he was there! I think I scared him when I went up to him, but once I explained the situation, he agreed to give me his number so you guys can get in contact! DM me, BrookieCookie, and I’ll send you the digits! Just remember that you HAVE to update us on what happens when your doggo sees her again!
It takes everything in me to keep my vitals in check so that Benji doesn’t know something is up, but I do it because I have to. I can’t get his hopes up before I know he’s going to see her again for sure, and I can’t do that until I’ve made actual contact with the owner.
I force air in through my nose and out through my mouth and faux casually click the commenter’s username to DM her.
From as far as I can see out of my periphery, Benji’s eyes are facing forward, and he’s none the wiser.
My fingers shake slightly as I type out a message in ninety percent capital letters and hit send. Since I don’t expect a response right away and I’m certainly not capable of handling any more emotional roller coasters before I go on TV this morning, I lock the screen of my phone and tuck it in my purse before sitting back into the seat.
Man, what a wild twenty-four hours this has been, I think with a shake of my head.
And while I’d love to just sit here and daydream about Benji seeing his border collie crush again—or your crush confessing his undying love for you and kissing you like his life depends on it—I know I have to focus.
Next stop, Good Day, San Antonio! with Debbie Digger.
Chase
My head pounds and my throat is scratchy as I sit up and automatically grab at my chest. It feels like I had reflux all night, and my eyes are sore from what must have been a gargantuan headache.
I don’t know much of what happened past the bench on the River Walk, but I imagine I had to at least walk under my own power because two miles is a long way for someone Brooke’s size to drag me.
Still, I don’t really remember anything.
Thankfully, for as much as my body is dragging, I do feel considerably better. Whatever knocked me on my ass appears to have made its exit, and I’m willing to wager that a shower would go a long way in these circumstances.
But first, I need to find a bottle of water because my mouth is drier than the pussy of a woman who’s been married to a narcissist for twenty-five years.
I shove to standing, and it’s only then that I realize I’m not on the couch—I’m in the bed. Brooke’s bed. In the back of the camper. God, now that I’m paying attention…it smells like her.
Fuck. Did she sleep on the couch last night? Or did she sleep with me?
I search my memories for clues and can vaguely recall her telling me goodnight and leaving the bedroom. Which is good. No matter how grand the idea might sound to the irrational side of me that really likes Brooke, there’s no way she should’ve been sleeping in the same bed with me in the condition I was in.
If anything, she should’ve donned a hazmat suit and turned this bedroom into an isolated infirmary.
I stumble out into the hallway and over to the refrigerator first, grabbing a bottle of water and swigging the whole thing down in six or seven gulps. My throat feels better instantly, and my eyes start to clear too.
