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“This is so good,” Claire tells me for the third time. She toes the fur on Sully’s belly where he’s waiting patiently by her side, hoping for some scraps. “How old is Sully?”
I lift a shoulder. “Not sure, but the vet thinks around four or five.”
She washes down her bite with a gulp of wine, dragging her tongue over her bottom lip to catch that drop of red that clings there. “You didn’t get him when he was a puppy?”
I shake my head. “My sister showed up at my doorstep one day begging me to take him.”
“He was Harper’s dog?” Claire asks, surprising me by remembering my sister’s name.
“Nope.” Chuckling, I think about how Sully and I came to be. I have my crazy sister to thank for my burly, lazy, best bud.
“When Harper was eight, she came home with four kittens, two tucked under each armpit. She walked right by my parents in the kitchen, singing a song, and took them straight to her bedroom as if she didn’t have four animals in her arms that didn’t belong to us. She found them in a box by a dumpster in an alleyway. What an eight-year-old girl was doing in an alleyway by herself is beyond me, but she heard the cats crying and refused to leave them. My dad was allergic and told her they had to go. She cried for hours until he gave in, saying we could keep them only until we found them homes. We found homes for three, but she refused to let the last one go.” I smile to myself, thinking about the fluffy black-and-white cat with piercing green eyes. “We had Clyde for thirteen years.”
“I thought your dad was allergic?”
“He was, but the rest of the family ganged up on him.”
Claire bounces in her spot with an airy giggle. “So how did Sully come to be?”
“Well, that started Harper on a whole new path. We always joked that she was like a Disney princess. She’s just always had a way with animals. They flock to her. Everywhere she went, she had her eyes peeled for animals in need, and our home became a sort of sanctuary until my parents could get them vetted and into new homes. Of course, like Clyde, a few of them wound up finding their home with us.
“Two years ago, right after I moved in, Harp showed up at my door, soaked to the bone, with the shaggiest looking dog at her side. Between the two of them, you’d never seen such sad, huge brown eyes. My parents had two dogs and a cat that they hadn’t been able to get rid of, as well as an entire litter of kittens Harper was caring for. There was no room for Sully. She’d seen his picture on Facebook at a high-kill shelter. They’d given him a week to find a new home. She drove seven hours to get him.”
Claire’s eyes widen. “She went to get him without asking first if you’d even take him? What if you said no?”
I roll my eyes. “Harper knew I’d never say no to her, especially with him at my door.” To say that my sister hasn’t taken advantage of my love for her, and animals, a few times in my life would be a blatant lie. I’ve housed my fair share of stray kittens for her over the years when my parents’ place has been jammed. “I took one look at those big brown eyes and sank to my knees. The rest is history.”
I glance up to find Claire resting her chin in her palm, her green eyes smiling across the table at me. “You’re a big softie, aren’t you?”
I throw her a wink. “Don’t tell anyone.” Stretching back in my chair, I lace my fingers behind my head, watching as her eyes drift over my bare abdomen. “What about you? Any pets growing up? I know your dad has his dog Turkey now.”
She flashes me that toothy, dimple-popping grin, head bobbing happily. “Cats and dogs. I love them both. I always wanted a bunny, too.” Her nose scrunches with the memory she replays to me. “My dad said if I could catch one of the ones that were always running through our backyard, I could keep it. I once spent an entire summer trying to catch one, getting up at the crack of dawn, setting booby traps.”
I cough a laugh into my fist. “Booby traps?”
Her smile splits her face in two. “Yeah, those wild bunnies are fast as hell. Chasing them around was exhausting.”
Dipping my head, I let out a long, hearty laugh, imagining a young Claire running in circles, screaming after a tiny, scared animal. I also know what she means about the chase being exhausting; I’ve been trying to catch her for nearly three weeks now.
She reaches across the table and swats at me. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m just picturing it, that’s all. You and your potty mouth, yelling at the bunny.”
“My dad has a video. Maybe I’ll show it to you one day.” She makes a face, seeming to rethink that last statement. “Or maybe I won’t. It’ll just fuel your fire. The camera is shaking so badly because my dad is howling with laughter. You can hear my mom slapping him over and over again, telling him to stop, but she’s laughing, too.” She gets this faraway look in her eyes, like she’s reliving the moment. “And then Casey sprays me with the hose.”
“Alright, I need to see this video.”
“Nope. Not gonna happen. Changed my mind.” She taps my nose—I find it oddly endearing for some reason—and stands, grabbing our plates.
I follow her to the kitchen, trying to tug the dishes from her grasp. She throws her elbow up, nearly hammering me in the throat.
“You don’t need to do that, Claire. I can clean up.”
“You cooked; I’ll clean.” She bumps my hip with hers and shoves her way in front of the sink. “It’s called compromise.”
“Compromise? You? Claire Thompson?” I wrap my hand around her forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Oh, shut up.” She slams her ass backwards and jams an elbow into my ribs.
