“You know,” Cal said, “for someone who isn't being weird, you're doing a remarkable impression of someone being weird.”
“I'm fine.”
“You've cleaned that same corner three times.”
I looked down. He wasn't wrong. I moved to a different corner.
Cal watched me for a moment, then looked down to scratch Tucker's chin. Tucker melted sideways against his knee with a groan of pure contentment.
“Are you interested in adopting him? Is that why?—”
“No.” The word came out before I'd finished thinking it. I set the cloth down. “That's not it.”
Cal waited.
“I'd love a dog,” I added. “I'd lovesixdogs. But I can't.”
“Because of the farm.”
“Because of everything.” I pulled the tablecloth and spread it back over the table, smoothing it flat. “The farm is already more than I can keep up with. Adding a dog right now would be—it wouldn't be fair to him.”
Cal kept his eyes on Tucker, giving me space I hadn't asked for but apparently needed.
Because I don't even know if I'm staying.
Uprooting Tucker from the farm to follow me back to Seattle would be cruel.
I watched him lean his whole soft weight against Cal's knee, completely trusting, completely surrendered.
It wouldn't be fair to him.
The thought settled, and then kept settling, spreading into territory I hadn't meant to wander into. Because it wasn't really about Tucker.
It was about the expiry date stamped on everything in my life right now.
You didn't bring a dog into that kind of uncertainty. You didn't ask someone sweet and trusting to build a life around you when you didn't know if you'd still be here.
Tucker nudged my hand with his nose. I gave him one last scratch, the silk of his ear sliding through my fingers, before stepping back.
“Amanda will be perfect for him,” I heard myself say. “She will.”
She had a stable life, a daughter, a house with yard. She could give Tucker everything he needed. She was the kind of person who could commit to things.
Cal was quiet for a moment. Tucker settled back against his leg.
“You would be, too.”
I looked up.
Cal wasn't looking at me. His jaw worked slightly, like he was deciding whether to keep going. Then he did.
“I know you're stretched thin.” He kept his eyes on Tucker. “And I know the farm is a lot right now. I'm not saying it makes sense.” A pause. “I'm just saying a dog would be lucky to land with you.”
“Cal.”
He finally looked at me.
“That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”
