Page 12 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
Three days after the trip to the emergency vet’s, I get word that Aggie can come home with me. Dr. Kong puts our call on video so I can see for myself. Aggie’s still barely mobile but she’s alert, holding her head up and looking around with interest, perking up her ears, gently wagging her funny little tail, and eating her food without hesitation. She also looks like she’s smiling.
I reach out to Andy and fill out adoption papers, because once this dog comes home with me, I can’t imagine anything that would make me let her go again. We share a laugh about how I might be the fastest foster fail ever, but it’s a failure that feelssoright, I run with it.
Before I pick Aggie up, Andy connects me with Ruff ’n’ Rescue, the rescue organization he contacted in Ithaca. There, I meet Sam and Sariah, who look like I imagine Ken and Barbie might look if they gracefully aged into their late forties or early fifties: white, tanned, tall, fit, blond (with a little silver), neatly attired in brightly colored sportswear, and possessing a kind of natural, cheerful charisma that makes them easy to talk to. More important, they both have a lot of experience rehoming dogs and cats with serious healthissues. They’re also deeply invested in Aggie’s case already and want to help her adjust to a new and happier life.
They set me up with a heavy-duty sling and a strappy harness for lifting Aggie from a prone position and supporting her weight until she can support her own. They also provide me with a starter kit of carefully selected food and a large, sturdy storage bin, demonstrating how I can turn it upside down and place Aggie on top of it so she can mimic a standing position, reducing stress on her hips, backside, and tail as we work on her mobility and get her weight down. They talk me through techniques of using both the harness and the sling, as well as what I might expect in the coming weeks, and how to adjust the food plan if I discover any digestive problems or unforeseen allergies.
I pick up a big puffy bed, two dishes, two balls—one squeaky, one not—and a cute stuffed monkey toy I grab on a whim by the register, where a particularly adorable selection of toys has been carefully placed for suckers like me. None of the items I buy are fancy or top-of-the-line, but they’ll do until I figure out what Aggie likes. I’m trying not to think about my bank account right now, though I can’t completelynotthink about it, especially not with significant expenses ahead of me and the prospect that I’ll be cutting back on hours at one or both of my jobs so I’m not leaving Aggie home alone all day, every day. Dr. Kong and Sariah have been talking all week, and the rescue organization is generously covering the cost of Aggie’s recent vet bills. They’ll even provide some free rehab check-ins at the rescue center, but now that I’m adopting Aggie and she’s mine, all further veterinary expenses will be my responsibility.
“They’re coveringeverything?” Everett asks as he drives us to Syracuse on Tuesday afternoon. He sorted out a part-day off, whichallowed me to attend my morning classes. Once we were both free, we scrambled to put the dog bed in the back of the Volvo along with the monkey and the mobility equipment, and we hit the road like two kids on their way to Disneyland for the first time, though with aslightlydifferent soundtrack playing.
“The exams, the overnight care, the meds she needed during her stay,” I confirm. “For now, I just need to cover the prescriptions I’ll bring home today. Rescue workers are seriously the best humans on the planet. It’s not an easy job. Most people only see the success stories, or the happy endings that come after a lot of hard work is done.”
Everett nods in understanding while drumming his fingers on the steering wheel to the tune of “Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon,” which is a very strange song to have ever hit a pop chart. Still, the music’s growing on me, though I suspect anything I hear in this car with this man will grow on me. There’s something about his rebellious un-coolness I find very cool.
“What do your parents think of all this?” he asks. “Are they excited, too?”
“You mean because of Marmie?”
“It sounded like she was important to all of you.”
I nod as I consider my reply. I told Everett about Marmie when he saw her photo on my fridge the other night. We’ve been texting regularly since then, which is all our schedules have allowed. I don’t need to dump all of my family issues on him, but I guess we’re past the Brand-new Acquaintance stage, so I don’t need to hide those issues, either.
“They don’t know,” I admit.
His brows rise, disappearing under his mop of floppy curls. He’sin jeans today, not his usual corduroys, with a plum-and-viridian-striped sweater over a crewneck tee.
“My parents are challenging,” I say. “My mom likes to put a consistently positive spin on everything, which might sound great in theory, but in practice doesn’t leave room for anything that’s not bright and shiny. If I tell her about Aggie, and even hint at the potential difficulties ahead, she’ll gloss over it all, saying everything will be great, she’s so happy I won’t be lonely anymore, and when will I post photos on Facebook so she can share them with her friends?”
“And your dad?” he prompts after a beat of quiet consideration.
“My dad will ask how I’m affording it. That will be his first, last, and only concern. He’ll suspect I can’t do it on my own, and accepting financial assistance of any kind equates to a demonstration of personal failure and poor decisions.” I pause long enough to soften the note of irritation I hear in my voice. My relationship with my dad isn’t unloving. The love just gets buried under so many lessons and lectures. “With bringing Aggie into my home, money’s a legitimate concern, and I can’t honestly say I’m not worried, but I also don’t want to start a relationship with this beautiful, glorious being focused on the cost and not the love.”
This draws out the creases beside Everett’s eyes, letting me know he’s smiling even when he’s not really smiling. The look remains while he passes an agonizingly slow U-Haul and eases us back into the right lane, checking every mirror and resetting his hands at ten and two.
“Sounds like you have your priorities right,” he says, and I could hug him for that, for accepting everything I just told him and rolling with it. “Though if you do decide you want to post anythingabout Aggie, I know someone who can help with graphics and content.”
I catch his eye and tell him with a look that I know whichsomeonehe’s referring to.
“I’m pretty sure I could handle a selfie and a few words about a dog,” I say.
His smile eases into view as if he’s fighting it, but not fighting very hard.
“I’m pretty sure you could, too,” he says. He’s teasing me, which I like more than I probably should. He’s also leaving a door open between us, which I might like even more.
INSIDE THE RECEPTIONarea at the vet’s, a technician leads us to the closed door of a consultation room.
“Are you ready to see your dog?” she asks.
Your dog.Two simple words that almost knock me over.
Everett sets a hand on my lower back. “I think she’s ready.”
I don’t know what my face looks like right now, but from the glance the two of them exchange, I’d guess it’s pretty clear that if the technician doesn’t open the door before us in the next two seconds, I’m going to wrench the damned thing off its hinges.
Thankfully, this isn’t necessary. She opens the door and there’s Aggie, lying sphinxlike on a mat with a blanket, facing our direction. She’s upright and her mouth is ajar, with her pink tongue on display. Her eyes are bright. Her naked tail thumps quietly against the mat.
For a moment, I stand completely still, overwhelmed by emotion, with my fists balled together against my chest and Everett’s hand on my lower back. This dog and I are about to weave our livestogether in a million ways both big and small. She will be changed by me. I will be changed by her. We will be each other’s family. We will become anus.
