I’ve never seen a nicer day. The sky is so blue it almost looks fake, with only the occasional fluffy white cloud floating by. The sun is bright but the breeze is cool, and somehow I convinced Katie to come back with me so I could go to my local animal shelter rather than hers.
I wanted to find a dog from my area. Some left-behind, kicked-when-he-was-already-down beast of a mutt. With friendly eyes and a wagging tail. I’ll know when I find the right one. It’ll be a dog that will snag my heart the moment I lay eyes on it.
Sort of how Katie snagged my heart. From the moment I saw her, I knew I had to take care of her. In some inherent way, I knew she belonged to me.
It just took me years to find her again.
Is it wrong of me to want her to forget the past and focus on who we are now? Probably. I know she’s still having a hard time processing that I’m Will. Though I don’t like thinking of myself with that name anymore. I’ve moved on. It was easier that way, leaving the old me behind and never looking back.
“The ocean looks beautiful,” she murmurs, her head turned toward her partially opened window, her hair flying everywhere. “The sun is so bright it’s making the water sparkle like diamonds.”
I try to keep my eyes on the road, but it’s hard. I’d rather stare at Katie, or look at the ocean to the west of the highway, just beyond the low rolling hills and the town spread out before it. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I force myself to face forward.
We’ve made small talk for most of the drive. Nothing too serious, nothing personal; it’s easier that way. But I want to talk about more. I want to talk about us. I just don’t know if I can.
I don’t even know if there really is an “us.”
We talk about our favorite breeds, Katie googling various types of dogs and flashing her phone at me when she finds one she likes. It feels good; it’s so normal, acting like this. Just another Saturday between two people who like each other. No pressure. No heaviness.
I need that right now. I think Katie does, too.
“You might not be able to take the dog home right away,” Katie says, her brows scrunched low as she reads something on her phone. “It might even take a few weeks.”
“That sucks.” I wanted to bring the dog home today. Go to a pet store and load up on treats, supplies, and a toy or two. I need the distraction. I need to focus on something else for a change.
“Or maybe you will.” Katie tucks her hair behind her ear, most of it flying around her face once again since she has her window cracked. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Within ten minutes of arriving in town I find the animal shelter. It’s busy, the parking lot full of cars, and we venture inside together, going to the front desk to say we want to look at the dogs.
The woman behind the counter smiles at the two of us and hands us a sheet of paper explaining the steps to adoption, along with an application.
Frowning, I meet the woman’s gaze. “Application?”
She nods, her smile never faltering. “We have to make sure you can provide the proper living situation for your future pet. For example, if you live in a tiny apartment, we wouldn’t recommend you adopting a German shepherd.”
“Makes sense,” I murmur as I look over the application. The woman hands me a pen and a clipboard, then waves her fingers toward the chairs lined up against the wall.
“Have a seat, fill out the application, and when you’re done, someone will show you to the back.”
Katie sits right next to me, her thigh pressing against mine as she reads over the adoption process instructions while I fill out the form. The questions are simple, asking about my living situation, if I work, if there are any other pets in the house, if there are any other people. I look like one lonely dude when I fill out all of my stats on the application.
A door creaks open and an older man and woman enter the lobby area, a small dog with wiry white hair dragging them by its leash. Clearly, they have no control over the animal, but they don’t seem to mind. The woman laughs as the man tries to calm the dog down by kneeling and speaking low. But the dog won’t have any of it, leaping up so its front paws are on the man’s knee. The dog licks the man’s cheek, making him laugh as well, and I can’t help but smile.
“You want a dog like that?” Katie murmurs as she leans in close.
So close, I can smell her. Feel her. I want to take her hand in mine. Pull her even closer and kiss her.
But I don’t. Instead, I just smile and stare into her pretty blue eyes. “I don’t know if I want one that hyper.”
She nudges my knee with her own. “Well, hurry up so we can go search for your future dog.”
I finish up the application and then we’re led to the area where the dogs are kept. It’s a cavernous room with row after row of dog runs, the fenced-off areas holding one, sometimes two dogs within. Katie keeps by my side as we slowly walk down the first aisle, scanning each dog carefully. Some are bold and come right up to us, barking playfully. Others cower in the back, too scared to approach. There are even a few that bark ferociously, looking ready to tear our heads off.
A little sigh escapes Katie when we finish walking down one aisle. “This is so depressing. All of these unwanted animals,” she murmurs.
Yeah. It is depressing. If I could take all of them home, I would. But that would be impossible.
The next aisle over, I come to a stop about halfway down. The dog is medium-sized, with black and brown longish fur, a white spot on the chest. I kneel down, keeping my distance but still wanting to get close. The dog sticks its nose against the fencing and I reach out with tentative fingers, letting it smell me first.
“Her name is Molly,” Katie reads from the sign that’s posted. “They estimate her age at around a year.”
“She’s sweet.” Molly licks my fingers, then sits on her haunches and pants at me. Her warm brown eyes are expressive and I feel like she’s talking to me.
Take me home with you, she says.
“I think I want her,” I say as I rise to my full height, spotting one of the shelter employees and waving him over.
“They don’t know exactly what type of dog she is,” Katie says. She’s still squinting at the information sign as the employee unlocks the gate and allows me inside the dog run.
Molly hops around my feet when I enter, offering a little bark in greeting. I pet her head, scratch behind her ears, and feel her warm, solid weight press against my legs. Kneeling once more, I hold her face and stare into her eyes as the employee reassures me that she’s gentle and friendly.
Yeah. She’s definitely friendly. Her tongue lolls out the right side of her mouth as she pants at me and I scrub her beneath the chin, drifting my fingers down to scratch along the white scruff of fur at the center of her chest.
“She’d be great with kids,” the employee continues, and I glance up at him.
“I don’t have kids.”
“Oh. Well. Someday, when you have them. I bet she’d be great with them.” The guy, who appears around my age, maybe a little older, seems embarrassed.
“Can I come in and pet her?” Katie asks, standing at the partially cracked-open gate.
“Sure,” the employee encourages, and Katie does, shutting the gate behind her before she comes over to where I am, and kneels beside me.
Molly turns her attention to Katie, coming at her with enthusiasm. Katie pets her, running her hand over the length of her back just before Molly sneaks a lick on her face.
“Oh God,” Katie laughs, holding Molly away from her face. “That was gross.”
“It just means she likes you,” I tell her.
She smiles, her gaze still on Molly as the dog comes back my way and practically tries to climb into my lap. “I think she likes you more.”
I pet the dog, my hands lingering, feeling her size. She’s not too big, but I wouldn’t consider her a little dog. She’s solid, but trim, and kinda wiggly. Her tail won’t stop whipping around, like her excitement level is at warp speed, and she continually nuzzles my hands, forcing me to keep petting her. “What do you think?” I ask Katie.
Her eyes widen the slightest bit, as if she’s shocked that I want her opinion. “I think she’s sweet. She has a good disposition.”
Molly looks up at me with those deep brown eyes and I’m a goner. “I always wanted a dog,” I admit, my voice low, only for Katie.
“You never had one?” she asks just as quietly.
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t let me have any pets.”
The sadness on her face makes me feel bad, like maybe I shouldn’t have made that confession. I even feel a little angry. I don’t want her pity, and I can tell in this moment that she feels sorry for me. Hell, I’m feeling sorry for me. I didn’t have what anyone would consider a normal childhood. I’d watch shows on TV about a mom and dad, brothers and sisters and maybe an annoying grandma who’s hanging around, putting her nose in their business. Plus there was always the rowdy dog that won’t stop chasing the cat or whatever, and I remember eating it up. That shit was just pure fantasy for me.
I couldn’t imagine a life like that. I had the furthest thing from it. A mom who ditched me, a fucked-up dad who was hardly ever around—and when he was, I didn’t want to be around him—and a shitty, dark, and decrepit house. I found a kitten once. Out in the backyard, wandering aimlessly through the overgrown grass and weeds, meowing nonstop. It was soft and cute and cuddly, and I wanted to keep it. I brought the gray kitten into the house, tried to give it some milk, but my father found me in the kitchen, yelling and carrying on about how that kitten caused too much fucking racket.
Direct quote.
He snatched that poor yowling thing right out of my hands, threw open the front door, and tossed it outside. Reared his arm back, the kitten clutched like a ball in his hand, and then threw it with all his might. I heard the kitten make this weird screaming noise as it hit the sidewalk and I started to cry. I was eight.
I never tried to bring an animal into our house again.
Taking a deep breath, I glance over my shoulder at the shelter employee. “I’ll take her.”
He nods and smiles. “She’s had most of her shots, so she can go home with you today if you wish. Unless you need a few days to prepare for her arrival—get your place pet ready.”
“I can take her home now,” I say, looking back down at Molly’s face. I swear she’s smiling at me. I can feel Katie watching me, too, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Whether she regrets coming with me today and helping me pick out my dog. “I can’t leave without her,” I say to Molly.
But I’m saying it to Katie, too.