Page 2 of If This is Love

It seemed like a nice, easy solution to help me feel less lonely, but staring at this dog and knowingwhyhe was available for adoption, it felt like he was my soulmate, too. The canine version of a soulmate, I supposed.

“And look at how happy you are even after all that.” I continued to stroke the soft, silky fur on his head. “You areinspirational, Jax. I think you could help me a lot, baby boy. I think you could help me remember to look for joy every day. What do you think?”

Jax opened his mouth, lolling his tongue again while his tail immediately wagged at full speed.

I chuckled softly and stood up, facing AJ. “Well, I think we’re a good match.”

“Yeah?” She smiled brightly. “Awesome.” She opened the gate and slipped inside, attaching a leash to his simple nylon collar, and Jax began stamping and whining and turning in frantic circles like he was so excited that he couldn’t be still.

Just after the leash was clipped to his collar, Jax bulldozed his way through the gate and into my legs. He leaned all his weight against me, pushing his face into my knees while he whimpered like he was sobbing tears of joy.

LikeIwas the family that he’d lost. LikeIwas suddenly the person he’d been missing the whole time. And it was sweet, but it was so sad. This poor, sweet baby never should’ve been in this place to begin with. Hisreal familyshould be here still.

Just like mine.

But unfortunately for Jaxandme, that just wasn’t possible.

I knelt in front of him again, and he pushed his face against my chest, curling his body into me like he was trying to get as close to me as possible, and I swallowed my heartache.

“You okay?” AJ asked with a little concern in her voice.

“Oh yeah,” I replied, expertly stuffing down the hurt and focusing on the joy. After all, there was always a little joy around somewhere if you just tried to see it. I pointed at a poster on the wall that featured a man on his knees with his arms wrapped around a Golden Retriever’s neck. The large text read,I didn’t rescue my dog. My dog rescued me.“I feel like that poster’s telling me the truth.”

I didn’t rescue my dog. My dog rescued me.

I did believe that. But then he would break my heart. Dogs didn’t live anywhere near as long as people. I was setting myself up for another loss that would stab and twist in the center of my chest, make me feel like I was drowning in a sea of fresh air, and I’d just have to carry on with my life, continuing to pretend and convince everyone around me that I was coping just fine and all I needed was my faith.

But if the cruelty of life had taught me anything, it was that loving something was worth the pain of losing it, and you just had to love anyway and love on purpose. Just like I’d done with Michael. Just like I’d done after winding up in foster care at ten years old because my mother passed away from a senseless tragedy.

And then you just had to wait to see them again.

You just had to stay the course. You just had to be strong. You just had to remember that the love you shared with who you lost was still with you even if they weren’t.

Even on days when it felt like loneliness could literallydrownyou. Days like today.

Days likeeveryday.

GABE

ALGIERS POINT, NEW ORLEANS

What do you do when you spend every day of your life going above and beyond the call of duty, taking care of everyone around you, only to come up short and be left behind by all those people?

If you’reme, you get up every morning and toe the line anyway.

You wake up before the sun and without an alarm, and you take care of your shit.

Today was no different.

That wasn’t entirely true. There was an alarm. Sort of.

A big, pink tongue, and a big, black nose pushed against my cheek, coating it with a warm, wet, dog-breath-scented film, and I settled my hand on Gunner, my eight-year-old yellow lab’s head before I even peeled my eyes open.

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and sat up in my large, empty bed. I’d been waking up to an empty bed for six years, and I wasglad. Better for it to be empty than to share it with someone who had a tendency to shareotherpeople’s beds and then come home to this one acting like it was the only bed they wanted to be in.

Acting like it was a bed they wanted to be inat all.

Better to be woken up by a dog licking your face than a two-faced woman who’d promised to be there through good times and bad, and sickness and health, until the bitter fucking end, blah blah blah, et cetera, et cetera, so on and so forth.

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