–Mom: Did I? Michelle said my calendar was empty, so I thought I didn’t have anything to do. But don’t worry, I won’t be alone. Paul and Georgia are coming with me!
She has to be kidding.Mom’s assistant Michelle is in her twenties, but a comatose donkey would be more organized. As much as I dislike Joey, I wish I could clone him and give him to Mom. He’d never let her forget an event.
–Mom: I’m so sorry. I’m sure the party is fabulous. I already feel incredibly blessed to have you in my life. You know that, don’t you?
It’d be more of a blessing if she’d justshown up. She loves to travel, and she likes to do what she wants, when she wants, but does she have to do ittoday? After promising me she’d attend?
On the other hand, why did I ever think she’d come? She keeps her word maybe half the time. Even my being valedictorian at Brown wasn’t enough. She swore she’d come to graduation, but ended up texting me the flight to the Bahamas she’d booked for me, saying it was more fun to celebrate that way.
And she threw a party so delightful, italmostsoothed the hurt she delivered by not showing up to see me get my diploma. She always knows just how to smile and what to say to make you feel special. It’s just…it’s always done onherschedule and whim.
–Mom: They’re boarding, so gotta go. But I’ll bring you presents from Madrid! I’m also going to hit other European cities, so if you want anything, let me know! Love you!
She sends me a selfie of her smiling as she’s walking down the skybridge. She’s even winking and blowing me a kiss. The personification ofjoie de vivre.
I let out a soft sigh. “I love you too, Mom. Happy birthday,” I murmur, then put away my phone.
I look at the setup, and another small sigh wells. I signal the staff. “Let’s start the champagne toast.”
At least all the balloons, teddy bears and flowers won’t be wasted. I’ve made arrangements to donate them to local pediatric oncology departments. This birthday celebration was wasted, but hopefully Molly likes what I planned for hers, even if it’s small and not particularly spectacular.
Chapter Four
Molly
Owen’s passed out on his belly next to me, his face pressed into the pillows. His brown hair is sticking up, making the back of his skull look like a hedgehog. He smells like stale booze. He didn’t come home until well after I’d gone to bed with my trusty Kindle. He probably spent Friday night out clubbing with his friends. He says it energizes him. But the truth of the matter is he’s going to spend all day today feeling miserable. I know from experience it’s best to stay away from him when he’s going to be crabby from a hangover. He makes the three-year-old boy I babysat in middle school look rational and calm by comparison.
I slip out of bed so he can get some extra snooze time and then shower, getting ready to go to Furry Haven. I volunteer once a month and love taking care of the animals at the shelter. It’s the best feeling when we get to match them with new owners, who—hopefully—will love them to pieces and give them all the adoration they deserve.
Because every one of those animals just wants someone to love them. And in return, they give their owners unconditional loyalty and love. You literally become the center of their universe.
I pick out an old pink T-shirt with a funny quote from one of my favorite rom-coms, denim shorts and flip-flops. I’m certain Brenda’s going to ask me to help wash the dogs.
I leave a short handwritten note for Owen to let him know I went to the shelter. Last month, he forgot that I had to go and acted like I’d abandoned him in his time of greatest need. His reaction was a little shocking—he’d never behaved like my volunteer work at the shelter bothered him until then. He even asked if I could quit. When I told him no, he gave me a look of absolute betrayal.
As I drive toward Furry Haven, a thought pops up.
Serial killers don’t like animals.
Actually,serial killerspracticeon animalswould be more correct. But Owen’s recent attitude toward my time at Furry Haven is another thing that’s bugging me. What kind of person gets jealous over some poor homeless animals? I wonder what he’d say if I asked him if we could adopt Cooper, an adorable golden retriever. Probably have a conniption fit.
Does Owen resent that I have outside interests?But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t. Seriously, who is Molly Greene if she doesn’t read, share her love of books on Instagram or volunteer? Without those things, I’d just be an accountant at a gym who’s in a relationship with Owen. But I’m more than that. My identity can’t just be my job or my boyfriend.
The uncomfortable knot in my belly grows bigger. I should force a talk with Owen, but he told me he has a deadline this coming Wednesday. Maybe after my birthday on Friday? I don’t want to have an uncomfortable conversation right before my birthday, and he did say he wanted to take me out…although he didn’t specify when or where.
So. Have the conversation next Saturday or Sunday. See if we can fix things. An open, honest discussion should help. It’s possible we aren’t communicating well about what we need from each other. Even in romance novels, couples go through crises—and make up. This is just a third-act breakup of sorts. A hiccup before the happy ending.
Furry Haven is in a pleasant part of the city, near a small park that’s perfect for walking dogs. It’s in a surprisingly compact square building, the white paint glaring in the California sun. The lot is mostly empty except for the cars that belong to the staff and volunteers. I don’t spot one that looks like it cost a kidney, so that means Nicholas isn’t here. He volunteers at the shelter too, but there are times he can’t come because he’s busy with work. His billion-dollar empire doesn’t run itself.
Brenda’s blue-green eyes light up when I walk in. “Oh thank God!” Her cropped copper hair glints under the fluorescent light as she opens her arms. A colorful Hawaiian shirt stretches over her chest, and she wraps me in a hug. “I was wondering when you’d come.”
“Why? Is Cooper being difficult?”
“Along with all the others. It’s like nobody wants to get washed today.”
I smile. “Do they ever?”
“No, but today’s extra bad.” She turns around, tugging me toward the washing area. She’s in denim shorts that show off well-muscled calves. She used to play soccer in high school and college.
