Page 114 of Say You Will

thirty-six

Henry

How Long Will I Love You | Ellie Goulding

The gray light ofa cool November morning filters into the living room. It’s a new day. A fresh start. I know what I have to do, starting with telling my grandmother I don’t want MPD. After which, Franki will, hopefully, believe me that she’s my priority and find it in her heart to forgive me, but a man has his limits, and I’ve reached mine.

“I have always treated you well.” My voice verges on feral. “I give you affection. Attention. Respect. I make the disgusting food you like that, if I’m going to be honest . . .and I am. . .I personally find revolting. But I’m done with yourjudgmental bullshit.”

The bedroom door whips open and Franki stands there, eyes squinted without glasses or contacts. Her hair is a sexy, disheveled mess, and she’s wearing a blue T shirt with no bra and striped loose pajama pants. She props her hands on her hips. “What in the world is going on out here?”

I point an accusatory finger at Oliver as he sits at my feet, wagging his tail and giving a happy yip. “That. Right there. He’s trying to mess with my head.”

She blinks in confusion. “Henry, do you feel okay? Your hair looks like you stuck your finger in a light socket.”

My hair is the least of it. I’d dressed in my normal clothing this morning. Black trousers, white shirt. My feet, however, are in a pair of steel-toed boots because my normal shoes are currently outside. Where I threw them. “Heshit”—I force back my visceral reaction, then manfully continue—“in my shoe.”

She turns wide eyes on Oliver. “You didn’t.”

When Oliver runs to her and does his majestic wiener dog pose, she lifts him into her arms. He whines and nuzzles into her, and she rubs his back in comfort. “It was an accident. Dachshunds don’t like to go outside in the cold. He’s very sorry.”

Oliver turns his head toward me and sneers.

I point at him again. “He’s not sorry. He’s taunting me,” I say in a malevolent near whisper.

She shakes her head in disbelief.

“Last night, he locked me out of the cabin while you were in the bathroom. He stole my spot in bed . . . You know what? No. I’m not listing his transgressions.” I lean toward Oliver, my voice low and accusing. “He knows what he did.”

She turns away protectively. “Don’t speak to him like that. He’s a dog. You’re acting like a lunatic.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. He’s more than a dog. He’s an evil genius.”

“Well, I guess it takes an evil genius to know an evil genius,” she snaps.

“So it does,” I agree.

She stares at me. I stare back. Then her face crumples, and she starts to shake. I step closer, concerned, and she wails, “I’m angry at you,dammit.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Her last vestige of control over her face cracks, and a laugh pushes its way past her closed lips in a helpless sputter.“Oliver shit in your shoe.”

I blink. She’s not crying. She’s been trying not to laugh. My own mouth twitches in response. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny.” She struggles to even speak the words.

Unable to remain standing upright, she leans into me as she loses her last shred of self-control, laughing so hard tears streak down her face. “Not Oliver, but you . . . you . . . I thought there was a . . . person. I thought . . . but . . . you . . . and Oliver . . .”

I drop my forehead onto her shoulder and struggle to speak through my own laughter. “He’s so pissed at me. He . . . is . . . so petty.”

“You talk to him . . . like he understands you,” she wheezes.

“He does,” I say through my own laughter.

She cracks up even harder. Oliver wiggles in her arms and stretches over to lick my face. I put a hand up to gently push him back and wipe his kiss onto my sleeve-covered bicep. Something about that dog kiss strikes me as even funnier. He knows I hate his spit on my face.

She sets Oliver on the floor and drops down onto her butt, leaning back against the coffee table, rocking with laughter.

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