A drunk driver hit me on my bike, shattering my right knee, my right arm, and giving me a hell of a concussion. I was only eight, and while I didn’t remember most of it, I realized from then on I would never let myself get to that point.
Being tipsy was the closest I had ever been and would ever be.
“You kissed that man on the cheek, and it was glorious!” She smiled so large she looked wild and a little terrifying. Esme loved teasing me but never in front of others. Only when it was us.
“It was the margarita. Stronger than I thought.” My face burned, and I quickly downed the rest of her brunch. “Plus, that guy was hot and very kind. He slid me his business card.”
“And you never called? Ivy, Ivy, Ivy.” She clicked her tongue, something her abuela also did. “When a man with thick glasses who looks like him slips you his number, youcall him.I don’t make the rules.”
“I’m eternally grateful for that.”
I cleaned my plate, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher before adjusting my hair. Today was a bright yellow scrunchie, a cropped shirt and high-waisted white cutoff jorts. Yes—jean shorts were jorts, and I refused to hear anything different.
One could even call jeansjants –jean pants,but that would take it too far.
“You said you’re heading to the shelter today instead of your Mondays?”
“Yes. With football running my life, I need to switch days. I’ll grab some coffee after for you.”
“You’re an angel. I have a FaceTime set up with Enrique, something about planning an anniversary present for our parents. It’s in a month, but he’s honestly super thoughtful.” She adjusted her dark curly hair into a messy bun. She was effortlessly gorgeous, inside and out, and I was glad she was in my close, small circle.
“Let me know how I can help.”
I waved before departing toward the local animal shelter. I’d found Miss Paige’s place freshmen year—I mean, I had searched for a shelter where I could work through my time in college, and hers was the first one I visited. She ran an amazing place, and I fell in love. Volunteering with animals brought me joy, loving on them until they found their forever home. It was the same feeling I had when working with athletes, where I wasn’ton the team,but I was as close as I could be.
Most of my favorite memories growing up were at the humane society. It started as a project in middle school with Callum. We were caught cheating, and instead of punishing us at school, they made us do community service, and it changed my life.
For the record, I asked hima question in algebra. Most assumed he’d been the one to cheat, but the guy was wicked smart despite his goofy personality. Eighty percent of the time I had been coming to Miss Paige’s shelter, I never thought of Callum and all the hours we spent together with animals, laughing and being our full selves.
But now… after seeing him almost every single day the last couple of weeks, memories assaulted me. The time he surprised me for my birthday by having every dog wear a bow and naming one of the puppies after me. (Ivy the black lab was thriving with her family, by the way). Or the time we cleaned the whole place after a football game where he wanted to hang with me instead of the team. It had made me feel worthy and special to have his attention.
I wasn’t a fool. Callum was always going somewhere with his talent on and off the field, but I never expected to be cut out that way…the things he said that night.Or to have memories that brought me joy and sorrow. Feelings were complicated, and I was grateful for the cats and dogs to give all my love to.
The drive only took ten minutes, and I preferred silence as I drove. The used Chevy I’d bought myself last year smelled like sunscreen and leather—the smells of my life around athletes, and it felt like home. The same comforting feeling wrapped itself around my soul as I pushed open the faded yellow door. A bell tingled, and before I even glanced at Miss Paige, I sang, “Hello, hello, hello!”
The smell of cleaner, pee, and pet food clung in the air, and I took a deep breath, my stomach bubbling with anticipationof seeing my kittens. Fact: kittens were like sponges the first twelve weeks of their life. They needed to interact with humans and watch how their mom cleaned and ate for them to pick up everything. The kittens had been born six weeks ago, and I wanted them to be ready for adoption. We hadn’t quite named them yet, but I wanted to so badly.
No one sat at the entry desk, but that happened sometimes. I ignored the hairs on my neck standing on end as I pushed through toward the room with the animals when goose bumps exploded on my skin.
Callum was here.
With another girl.
He’d brought someone else to an animal shelter, a place we shared as former best friends. I hated how my eyes prickled from betrayal while my pulse raced with questions I wanted to shoot rapid-fire at him.Was this his first time here? Why now? Who was she?
Did he … love her? Why did that hurt? I wanted him happy, didn’t I?
“Ivy! My dear!” Miss Paige walked in with her usual outfit: overalls covered in dirt, some bright-colored tank top, tied boots, and a bandana in her hair. She could be forty, or sixty, I never really knew. Her dark skin was flawless, and she had no wrinkles despite how much she grinned.
My reflex was to smile, because I was so tuned to being happy near her, and to the outsider, I looked normal. My insides though. Phew. They were a clinical mess. Stomach clenching, guts bubbling, sweat forming under my outfit. The worst part was—I moved on from this part of my life. My friendship with Callum was over. It ended in July, three summers ago.
“Miss Paige, you look wonderful as usual.” I leaned into her hug, grunting when she squeezed a little too hard.
“And you are just a doll. I love the yellow on you.” She held my chin and grinned. “You look well, a little startled, a little tired, but well.”
My skin flushed, my gaze refusing to move away from her face to see Callum’s. He probably thought me weak or pathetic now. He had always been cooler than me, way more popular and on trend. I was just me. Not an athlete. Never on the team. A loner. The girl reading a book or listening to a podcast over partying.
Callum used to look at me with so much love and support I felt like I could fly. Being in a shelter, with him and another girl? I couldn’t glance at him and see anything else. It would hurt too much and rip open the wound I thought had healed.
