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“Name one.”
“I want a dog.”
His eyebrows rose. “You want a dog? Not a cat?”
I nodded in acknowledgement. “I know, I always have the cats with me. I have more in common with them, for sure, but I would love to one day have a dog.”
I carried our mugs into the sitting room and set his on the coffee table. I curled up on one end of the couch with my legs tucked underneath me, hoping he’d settle in. He chose the opposite corner, leaning back with his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, taking his mug to rest on his thigh. I was never gladder I’d gotten such a large, comfortable couch. He looked good in my living room.
I took a mental snapshot.
“Did you have pets as a kid?” He asked.
“I had a little dog.” I stopped. I was starting to feel guilty about pressuring him to stay. “I’m sorry, Barrett, I kind of forced this visit on you. You should go. I know it’s getting late, and the weather is probably going to get worse, and I could have just carried the stuff myself. It’s not like I’m not capable…”
He cut me off abruptly, leaning towards me as he spoke. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be and there is nothing else I’d rather be doing than sitting here talking to you.”
“Even if it’s just talking?”
He nodded and sat back. “I want to know you. Tell me about your little dog.”
I relaxed, consciously pushing my shoulders back down and taking a deep breath.
“I named him Cocoa. He was a mutt. I don’t even know how many breeds were in him. He was small, scraggly, and I loved him so much. My dad got him from a shelter for me after Mara moved out to go to school. I was lonely without her. I must have been six or seven.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. I didn’t think it was possible to ever truly get over the loss of a dog.
“What happened to him?”
“He got sick. The vet bill was getting too high. I offered to pay with my babysitting money, but my dad wouldn’t let me. He said they would figure it out and I was not to worry about it, that my babysitting money was for me. We didn’t have pet insurance back then, we were very middle class, and the truth is, my parents could not afford the vet bills.
A few days later, I came home from school, and he was gone. My mother had taken the day off work, and she’d taken him to be put down without telling either of us.”
“That’s brutal.” The anger in his words was palpable.
“It really was. It was the only time I’d ever seen my father angry with her.” I mused. “That made me feel like my pain was valid, for him to be angry with her on my behalf. It underlined for me that it was a truly horrible thing to do.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.”
“I’m sorry.”
I swallowed, nodded. “Me too.”
He placed his empty mug on the coffee table and settled back against the couch, one long arm stretched across the back towards me, the other cocked on the arm of the couch.
“Have you always had a difficult relationship with your mother?”
“Things were normal when I was a kid. I mean, she was controlling, she had a temper, but I wasn’t singled out. After Cocoa died, I grieved. My dad got mad at her and she kind of turned on me.
My sadness offended her. She would get angry when I was sad and told me I was selfish to want to see him suffer with his illness. She said she did what needed to be done and shouldn’t be punished for it. Technically, she was right, but her methods were all wrong.
At the same time, I went through this awkward, gangly, pimply stage. She was always on me to wash my face, which I did so much I gave myself eczema. My pimples offended her. She couldn’t stand to look at me. How I ate was wrong, how I walked was wrong, how I dressed was wrong, everything that she could see me as or be, was wrong.” I paused. “This is too much to put on you.”
“Tell me the rest.”
I’d tell him more, but he couldn’t have the rest. I couldn’t give him that.
