“You got a dog,” I say, like I’m still trying to catch up.
“I got you a dog,” she corrects.
The puppy squirms again and Talia lowers it carefully into my arms.
The weight is small and warm and alive.
It immediately presses its nose into my chest like it belongs there.
My throat tightens again.
I look down at it.
“Thank you,” I say, quiet.
She steps closer and kisses my cheek. “Happy birthday again.”
The puppy chooses that moment to lick my chin.
I flinch and then I laugh, startled by the sound.
Talia laughs too, eyes shining.
We spend the next hour on the floor like idiots, watching the puppy explore the kitchen.
It sniffs everything. Trips over its own paws. Attacks the fringe of the rug like it’s a mortal enemy. Follows Talia like she’s the sun.
And when it waddles toward me and flops onto my foot like it’s exhausted by existing, something in me goes soft.
We make coffee again and start googling things we probably should already know.
How often do puppies need to pee? What can they eat? How do you stop them from chewing literally everything?
Talia has already bought the essentials. A bed. A collar. Food.
Right now, the puppy is asleep in my lap, his little belly rising and falling, and I can’t imagine putting him down.
“Name,” Talia says suddenly, sitting cross-legged across from me. “We need a name.”
“We do,” I agree, scratching him gently behind the ears. “Wait. Is it a boy or a girl?”
The puppy makes a tiny, content sound, and something in my chest does something stupid.
Talia watches me with a soft smile. “It’s a boy.”
I look down at the sleeping furball again.
“What about Hudson?” I suggest.
Talia’s “No” comes instantly.
“Okay,” I say. “Then how about Lucky?”
She tilts her head, considering. “I like Lucky… but he doesn’t feel like a Lucky.”
I glance at her. “Fine.”
I think for a moment. The puppy yawns, revealing tiny teeth, then stretches.
