He’d screwed up this first meeting and didn’t have the heart to tell Maisy how badly. Tabby had been tattooing in silence for almost three hours, and surely she was going to call time soon, leaving his house and resenting himmorethan she had when she first arrived.
As the needle burned its way across his shoulder cuff, another text from Maisy arrived.
DOGGY SAYS HELLO!
She’d sent a picture of Mopsy curled up on her silk couch, gnawing contentedly on a pig’s ear. He’d told her not to let her onto the furniture, much less feed her there, but Maisy spoiled her like a grandchild.
“Dahling, she’s me!” she exclaimed when he’d dropped the cocker spaniel at her South Yarra mansion.
“You’re not a dog,” Toby had said, handing over the cooler bag of snacks and morphine injections.
But Maisy had just laughed. “I’m an aging blonde bitch with fantastic hair who’s utterly dependent on prescription medication! This old girl and I will be best friends in no time!”
Mopsy did look happy on the silk couch. And her long golden ears did resemble Maisy’s waist-length extensions.
“I try to source hair as ethically as I can, dahling,” she’d once sighed over a mimosa. “But there’s probably a hoard of little Polish girls who want to murder me. And who can blame them?”
“What are you smiling about?”
He was so shocked Tabby had spoken, he didn’t know how to respond. “I, uh…”
The tattoo gun clicked off, and Tabby met his gaze for the first time in what felt like eons. Illuminated by lamplight, she was so beautiful it stung. He remembered the afternoons they’d walked the puppies down to the corner store to eat coconut and white chocolate Magnums and laugh until his sides hurt. Yet here she was, so unimpressed it was like he hadn’t changed at all. She seemed to resent everything about his new life. Like he’d done it to spite her, yet it was so evident that he didn’t understand how she couldn’t see it. This house, this life he’d made, was all for her. Every last piece.
I’ve been in love with you forever, Tabs. Isn’t it obvious? Can’t you tell?
“Seriously,” she said. “What are you giggling about?”
He could make something up, but what would be the point? “A picture of Mopsy. She’s with a friend of mine.”
“So, sheisstill alive?”
“Yeah.” He showed Tabby Maisy’s photo. “I know she’s not holding up a copy of today’s newspaper, but you can check the timestamp if you want.”
Tabby stared at the photo, her expression unreadable. “What happened to her front paws?”
Guilt swamped him, all flailing arms and dripping legs. On bad days Mopsy’s confused expression made him bawl like a fucking baby.
But I love you, Toby…her brown eyes seemed to say.I try to be a good girl. Why are you hurting me? Are you mad at me? Do you not think I’m good?
He blinked hard, forcing back tears. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Mopsy for this exact reason. Weeping in front of Tabby would be beyond embarrassing—and a massive throwback to his simp days—but again, what was he supposed to do? Lie?
“She needs four knee reconstructions. The first two are done, but she has to heal a bit more before they can do her back legs.”
“Right. And she’s not here because…?”
“She needs pain medication every few hours. Injections. I knew we’d probably be busy, so I asked a friend to watch her for the night.”
He’d been worried that Maisy would refuse to stick needles in his dog, but again, it wasn’t a problem. “I used to do my own Botox, honey,” Maisy said.“You couldn’t ask for a better nurse.”
“Why wouldn’t you just tell me that when I asked where Mopsy was?”
“Because it sucks, Tabs. And it’s hard to talk about.”
Her mouth twitched down at the corners. “I… I get that.”
“You don’t. It’s because my parents bred her too much. It fucked up all her joints. When the vet first scanned her. The way her bones looked…” His voice cracked, and suddenly, he longed for the grounding pain of the tattoo needle. “Can you turn the machine back on? Keep going?”
“Dude, if you need a break...?”
