“Murphy!!!”
Murphy hates the water but loves to dig at the beach. It’s the only place he ever digs. When you give him a haircut he’s suddenly so soft it feels like a secret. Like he’s been holding all that velvet sweetness right there, right under the surface. He loves sunbeams and gazing out the window. About once a year I cry about the fact that I’ll never know what he looked like as a puppy.
The obvious: he’s the longest relationship I’ve ever been in.
“Murphy!” I hear Hugo in the distance.
I keep echoing his calls.
But I can tell it’s useless. Murphy is light-years ahead of us now.
I’ve never even seen him run before. He was the perfect dog for me. He always kept my pace.
Hugo jogs back toward me, his arms at his sides, his palms hanging open, empty.
“I don’t know where he went,” he says, breathing heavily, his words spaced out and empty. “We should call—”
I keep screaming for him. I clap my hands. “Murphy! Murphy!”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Fuck, Daph, I’m so sorry.”
“Murphy!”
“Daphne, listen to me.”
“Murphy!”
“I wanted you to know. I—”
I can’t lose him. I can’t have him disappear from my life. This was my promise, the one living creature I’ve been able to show up for. I swore I’d keep him safe, I swore I’d never desert him, that I’d tend to him and look after him and in return that he could trust me, that he’d be wise to. He’s the only thing that’s ever really needed me. The only thing I’ve ever really done right.
“MURPHY!”
And that’s when I see his little body in the distance—just a tiny twirl of white and beige.
“Murphy!”
He runs back at a clip. I see him race into view, coming back to me fast, and I begin to cry. Big tears of relief and love and fury.
He trots up to me. As he gets closer I see that his leash is in his mouth. The first thing I’ve ever seen him carry there. When he reaches me, he looks up at me, his eyes big and open and wide. And then he drops the leash at my feet.
I’m back. I’m yours.
I bend down and gather him into my arms. I press my face into his fur. I smell the sweet softness of his coat, feel the pulse and rhythm of the blood through his body—this tiny creature. This life. This deep responsibility. “Murphy,” I whisper.
I pick up his leash. I wind it around my wrist. I’m still snuggling him close when I look up at Hugo, and on his face I see it—all the anguish I feel. Every impossible question.
“Why?” I ask him.
Hugo’s face is red. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry before.Not when I told him I was sick or when we broke up—and not any time since. But his eyes are betraying him now.
“Because,” he says. His voice falters. “I wanted you to know what it felt like.”
“To what?”
Hugo shakes his head. “To not have a limit.”
I stand. I hold Murphy close on the leash. “And you thought it was up to you to decide that? That you should give yourself that kind of power? Hugo, do you have any idea what you’ve done? I’m marrying him.”
