“And how long since the first one…?” Ziggy prompts.
“About nine months. My brother.”
“And the last?”
“Jessica’s owner. Two months ago.”
“Are you okay? Do you have enough friends right now?”
No, I’m not fucking okay. But I’m trying to be. “I’m looking forward to Europe.”
She’s still watching me.
Fuck. “If you don’t want to live in a death house or a death neighborhood?—”
“I’m not that kind of superstitious.”
“The neighborhood is mostly older people who’ve been retired for a long time, so it’s not like this is weird. Except for Caden. He was just—shitty genes. All around.” Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up. “It’s not cursed. Even if you’re not superstitious, it can be a lot. And if you change your mind, I have a backup kennel for Jessica and it’s not a big deal if the house is empty for a few weeks. I know most of the contractors pretty well. They can handle things.”
“Jessica doesn’t look like the type who’d enjoy the kennel.”
“It’s doggy daycare with friends during the day and fancy bedrooms at night.” And Ziggy is absolutely correct that Jessica would hate it.
I left her there for our last two away matches and when I picked her up, she took a shit under my bed every night for a week.
Both times.
Back-to-back.
I took her to the vet to make sure she hadn’t eaten anything wrong, and all the vet said wassometimes dogs act out when their situation changes.
“If you’re still up for house-sitting and dog-sitting, I’m sure she’d be happy to have you,” I add.
“I think we’ll get along fabulously, don’t you, Jessica?” Ziggy says to my dog.
Jessica pants happily in the sunshine.
Ziggy smiles at her.
There I go again, thinking of Ziggy inside the house. Hand on her lower back while she stirs something on the stove. Laughing at something on social media. Crawling intobed with me with a smile. Pretty wife growing a baby. Happy dog who doesn’t snort in my face or fart at me at every opportunity. Laughter and smiles and hope and peace and happiness.
New life.
The aching, desperatewantin my gut hits me like a sucker punch.
Not my life.
It’s not in the cards.
Never know who’ll get sick. Who’ll get hurt. Who’ll leave you next.
One of my teammates asked me the other day if I’m running away.
I lied and said no.
“My plane takes off on Friday,” I tell Ziggy. “I’ll get you a key so you can move in at your convenience after that.”
She blinks at me. “Okay.”
