It’s Saturday, which for most people would mean a housefull of chatter and activity, with parents home from work for the weekend. That’s not the case for me, with parents who work in retail, because Saturdays are the busiest for their jobs. Dad sometimes works half the day on Sunday, but Mom’s home then, and both are off on Mondays. I made sure to let Trish know I was always free to work Monday shifts, because those are the days Dad decides to clean out the shed or Mom finds some reason to reorganize the pantry.
Sure, maybe sometimes I’ll volunteer to be extra hands at Triton when I’m trying to avoid being alone, but I draw the line at chores at home.
I microwave a bowl of instant oatmeal and cover it with a thick layer of brown sugar, something my mom would get on me for if she were here. It’s not until I’ve finished eating and rinsed out my bowl that I realize I haven’t been stepping over Margarine all morning. She usually follows me around like a shadow, especially after my parents have left and I’m her only human left in the house. Come to think of it, she wasn’t in my room when I got up.
“Margie?” I call out.
When she doesn’t come running, a spike of unease shoots through me. “Margarine? Where are you, girl?”
I check the living room and my parents’ room, but don’t see her. I open the back door, wondering if maybe my parents let her out and forgot to bring her back in before they left for work. Margarine’s not a runner, so even if she was left to her own devices to explore outside, she wouldn’t go far. When I find no trace of her outside, I start to get really worried.
“Margarine!” I call, louder.
A faint noise comes from the laundry room. I slam the back door and run through the kitchen, smashing my elbow as I turn the corner into the small room that smells of detergent and dryer sheets.
Margarine is curled up on a pile of clothes. Her eyes are open and she’s panting, watching me, her tail wagging like she’s still happy to see me but doesn’t want to get up. She lifts her head and sort of leans up on her shoulder, then falls back onto her side.
Oh my God. I think shecan’tget up.
“What’s wrong, girl?” I put my hand on her side and realize how heavily she’s breathing. “I’ll be right back, sweet pea, I promise.”
I race up the stairs, grab my phone, and call my mom on my way back down.
“Something’s wrong with Margarine,” I cry as soon as she picks up. I’m back in the laundry room, and I kneel down. “I just woke up and I couldn’t find her, but she’s in the laundry room.” I sniff, and realize she might have had an accident too. She hasn’t peed in the house since the week after we brought her home. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
“Okay, slow down.” My mother, always calm. My heart is pounding all the way in my throat. “What exactly is she doing?”
“She’s just lying here on some clothes, like she fell and can’t get back up. She’s breathing really hard. Like, panting, but she hasn’t been doing anything. I don’t know how long she’s been here—I slept in, and I don’t know what time you left this morning, or if she was okay then—”
“Honey, it’s okay. Sam’s here today, so I’ll come home to check on her, okay?”
I’m stroking her ears over and over, and notice her food bowl. “She hasn’t eaten anything. Her breakfast is still in her bowl.” Margarine’s one of those dogs who start whining at the cupboard where we keep her food a good hour before it’s time for her to eat, and scarfs it down in less than sixty seconds. Then licks the bowl and floor around it.
That seems to worry Mom more than anything else, because I detect more urgency in her tone when she says, “I’m on my way.”
Mom left to take Margarine to the vet forty-five minutes ago, and I’m a mess. She had to carry her because Margarine couldn’t stand or walk, but her tail was still going even as my mom tucked her into the car. I’m supposed to work my first dinner shift at Pearl’s tonight, so I stayed back in case Mom and Margarine have to stay awhile.
I haven’t stopped crying.
I try calling Kat because Margarine’s always been part hers, too. We found her together, after all. Kat doesn’t answer, and in this moment that makes me irrationally angry. Especially because I can’t get Kat’s words from the morning she left out of my head.
She’s a grandma.
What if this is the last time I see her?
Was there something I missed? Some sign that Margarine was sick and I didn’t notice? She got tired pretty early on our walk yesterday, but I didn’t think anything of it. Oh my God, what if shedies? If I said something to my parents and they took her to the vet earlier, could we have prevented this?
My sweet, butter-yellow dog has been in my life for so long. She’s been by my side for years, and I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t come home.
I swipe my hand across my eyes. I don’t want to be here alone right now. I just want to talk to someone. I unlock my phone and open my texts to ask if my neighbor Ruby is home, but first my eye catches on the message Myles sent last night.
Before I really even think about what I’m doing, my fingers are moving across the keyboard.
10PLAYLIST:text me back
SO FUNNY STORY, Itype.This is actually Amelia. I totally spaced and put my number in your phone without thinking. I’m so sorry
I toss in a facepalm emoji. When Myles replies right away with anOh, hey—no worries! How’s it going?I take advantage of having someone to talk to.
