I followed that up with this ancient fucking ‘can you hear me now’ meme.
Then I got in the Jag, cranked it up, and headed towards another hotel to make another mistake. In my defense though, I was pretty sure this mistake was going to feel and taste delicious.
16
TESSA
2 DAYS AGO...
I’d almost,almost, asked Lily to go with me when I left Seattle Saints’ Shelter on a mission to use my voucher and spend some of my cash on Josie. I was lucky that both the diner and the pet store I had in mind were both on Eighth; I didn’t think I had it in me today to walk a thousand miles, despite feeling more rested than I had in forever.
The day was overcast, clouds intermittently blocking the sun, and I felt a little cool as a light breeze blew against me, cutting right through the summer weight suit. If I ever did see Beta Love or any of those other Cupid Company yahoos, I’d tell them that they seriously needed to reevaluate the kind of clothing they provide people with at the end. If other Omegas that answered their ad were like me, living in a bad situation with few resources, something heavier weight and durable made the best sense.
A few blocks from the shelter, I let Josie free. She’d been in the bag so much lately that she’d protested a little this morning when I’d had to squirrel her away inside again. We strolled, pausing once for her to use a tiny patch of grass that sported a single, forlorn dandelion, and I had to fight the urge to dart down alleys behind particularly good restaurants in hopes a dumpster would offer a passable meal. I was full without beingqueasy from questionable food; it was a feeling nearly as foreign as stretching my legs out against a real bed.
By the time we reached our destination, the day had warmed a bit, and I felt more comfortable. Picking up Josie and cradling her under my arm instead of forcing her back into the bag, I went to the pet store first. I almost changed my mind when I saw the fancy window displays and spotted a sign in the left bay near a bougie set of cat bowls that boasted fifty percent off the original ninety-dollar price tag.
“This may be an old life Tessa store,” I mumbled to Josie, frowning. The alternative though was to walk miles and miles in the opposite direction to the only other pet store I remembered. So, I pushed through the front door with its carved glass and welcome sign, and hoped they’d have a sensibly priced collar. A perky Beta with neck tattoos launched into action almost immediately. I hated that kind of thing; it always felt predatory and made me want to leave a store, even when I was wealthy. After returning his greeting, but politely refusing his help, I started aimlessly browsing. It wasn’t a large store, thank goodness, so locating what I wanted wasn’t a problem.
My heart sank when I found the collars. A floor to ceiling display of brightly colored circles. Some glinted with gems, while others were studded or embossed. I held up my free hand, tracing the air near the ones at eye level and reading off the prices.
“Twenty-five… thirty… nineteen… thirty-eight.” They were all out of my price range. I had to use the two hundred carefully. I couldn’t be foolish. Feeling defeated, I walked away from the main display and moved towards the back of the store. The name tag machine was there, bright red with glass on three sides at the top. That was only five dollars to use, plus the cost of the metal pendant. I eyed that display of little hanging bags. A bone. A star. A basic square. I cringed when I saw a red heart. Definitely not that one. Finally, I picked up a plain circle. It was $3.99. But it made zero sense to engrave her a tag if she had no collar. I moved again, past the machine to a shadowed area near a gourmet bone display. My pulse quickened when I saw a ‘final sale, no returns’ sign over a jumbled basket of random items on a shelf.
I picked through it methodically. It was filled with mostly silly things for owners. Dog themed socks, cat themed pins, vinyl stickers, headbands made to look like cat ears. Finally, I saw a flash of pink webbing. Hopeful, I pinched it between two fingers and lifted it out of the chaos. A size small collar. And it was less than ten dollars. It wasn’t fancy like the others on display, but it had an embroidery of tiny black paws trailing across the pink. The metal circle for hanging the tag was matte black and it boasted a tiny matching bell. It was perfect.How had my luck changed so much, and seemingly overnight?
“Finding everything you need, ma'am?”
I jumped in surprise, having been so engrossed in looking the collar over that I hadn’t heard the employee approach.
“I’m fine, thank you.” I turned just enough to offer him a perfunctory smile.
Despite my words, his eyes flicked down and locked on the blank name tag. “Ah, allow me to help with the engraving. Our machine can be a little tricky.”
Before I could protest, he’d darted forward, snagged the tag, and moved to the machine. By the time I’d shaken myself from the stupor of being ignored and followed him, he’d already set everything up.
“Name?” He asked, hand poised over the keyboard.
“My name?” I asked stupidly.
“Um,” he shuffled uncomfortably, “The pet’s name, actually.”
“Right, duh,” I pressed my lips together, puffed my checks with air, and blew out slowly. He was just trying to be helpful, and I was acting like an idiot. “Josie,” I said quickly, but then changed my mind. “Wait, do Josie Fortune, please.”
Fortune favors the bold.
I thought of Dad. Of that saying of his that I’d hated for so long. But maybe there was some truth to it, after all. I’d been bold and gone to The Eros Institute… or Cupid Company… or whatever. And now? My luck was changing for the better.
“Great, okay.” He typed quickly, pressed a few buttonsand adjusted the lettering size, and then flipped to the next screen. “Addresses are usually too long, so I always suggest a phone number.”
Right, a phone number.The whole point of a tag was so a stranger could get Josie back to me if she was ever lost. Not that I’d ever let her out of my sight, but still. I didn’t have a phone number. Hell, I didn’t have an address.
“Just leave that blank,” I said sheepishly.
“Are you sure? It’s usually best to?—”
“Blank,” I said firmly, feeling tears prick. My luck might be improving, but I was still a long way from a real home.
When Josie and I stepped back outside, she was wearing her new collar and tag. I held a logo stamped, brown bag containing ten dollars’ worth of soft cat food—mostly salmon based. After tax was added, I’d spent a staggering $29.56. Funny how I used to spend that much on one coffee and a Danish pastry back in the day without batting an eye.
