“Like I should not have dragged you out here at three in the morning.”
Bridge, with the help of the taxi driver, had finally finished emerging. “It’ll be good for the baby. It’s fresh air. New experiences.”
“It’s inside you. What’s it going to experience?”
“They experience all sorts of things. Sounds. Vibrations. Music.”
“Pollution,” I suggested. “Petrol fumes.”
“They’re going to grow up in London. They’ll have to get used to it sometime. Besides”—Bridge forgot about me for a moment and turned to the taxi driver. “Oh, thank you so much. Have a lovely evening.” She turned back to me. “Besides, this is important.We can’t have a repeat of your wedding. I can’t go through that again.”
“Bridge,” I said, as sternly as I could, given how profoundly in the wrong I was, “it’s just a dog. We’re getting a dog. People do it all the time, often very irresponsibly.”
Her eyes—always fairly wide—widened further. “It’s not just a dog. You’re expanding yourfamily.”
My commitment-phobic heart pinned a note sayingIt’s been funto my ribs and did its best to sneak out my arse. “On a scale of one to one,” I asked, “how helpful do you think that was?”
“Sorry. I know you get scared and think you’re an awful human being who’ll be a failure as a dog-daddy, but that little puppy is counting on you.”
I gave an actual howl. “Still not helping.”
“I’m not trying to help.” Having subtly manoeuvred herself into poking range, Bridge took full advantage and poked me. “The last time I tried to help, you didn’t get married.”
“Which was the right thing to do,” I reminded her.
“And the right thing to do now is—” She stopped, looking very briefly pained.
“Bridge?”
“It’s fine. Just a contraction.”
I stared at her in a way that tried to balance concern for her well-being with concern for how badly everyone would kill me if Bridge had a baby on a bridge.
“Tiny contraction,” she told me. “They happen. Still probably got ages before it gets serious.”
My look of concern tilted very sharply in thehow badly everyone would kill medirection.
“What’s right for you and Oliver now”—Bridge got straight back on the puppy horse—“is to get a dog. An adorable little dog who will literally be killed if you don’t take him home tomorrowand love him.”
Jesus Christ. “Nobody’s killing puppies. They’ll just find him a new owner. A better owner. Who’s better.”
“And what about Oliver?” demanded Bridge, who’d started poking again now that her definitely-fine-and-not-a-problem contraction had passed. “Are you going to stand in the way of Oliver getting a puppy? Can you imagine how handsome he’d look with a puppy?”
“I’ve seen him with several puppies,” I said. “You have to interact with them before they’ll give you one. He looks fine.”
This was a lie. He looked great. He looked like a poster trying to encourage you to get a rescue dog.
“You’re going to break his heart,” declared Bridge. “And kill a puppy.”
I collapsed against the railing and covered my face with my hands. “You know, we could have done this over the phone.”
“It wouldn’t have been as effective. You’re getting that puppy, Luc, whether you like it or not.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the exact opposite of the advice they give you about dog ownership.”
“That’s advice for normal people. This is advice foryou.”
“Um,” I said. “Thanks?”
