Page 75 of Lily In The Valley
“Move on? What?” I sat up. My ears burned. My nervous system went into overdrive. Little pricks of sweat touched my armpits.
“Tell her about lunch today, Nessa,” Lynn piped up.
“Yeah, Nessa. Tell me about lunch,” I urged.
She looked worried. Like whatever information she had threatened to push me over the ledge. She bit her lower lip, hesitating.
“Nessa, spill it,” I said, clipped.
She exhaled. “I met up with Zay and Khalil for lunch. He seemed fine, I guess. I asked if he’d talked to you. He said no. We ordered, started talking about the community center renovations. Then he got a call. I knew it had to be a girl by the way he was smiling. I honestly thought it was you. Clearly, it wasn’t. When he got off the phone, he said someone was about to pull through. Maybe fifteen minutes later, this girl, short, not gonna lie, she was cute, walks up to our table.”
“Kelly, it was the girl from the club. Tasha,” Lynn added, lowered the documents in her hand.
What could I say? What could I fucking say? Nothing. I could only blame myself. I half-listened as Vanessa recountedthe interaction. I heard the drumming of my heart swell in my ears. Nyah, Lynn, and Vanessa dissected the interaction between Khalil and his new interest with precision. They swore up and down it was just a rebound. That he was just trying to get over what took place between us. Reassured me that once he got the hurt out of his system, he’d reach out. But I knew better. He was gone.
I fucked up.
I wanted to scream it. Cry it. Wail the words until my voice went hoarse. But I couldn’t. Instead, I shut down. It was muscle-memory at this point. I’d perfected the art of disappearing without leaving. I’d mastered tucking the hurt deep behind a practiced smile. My teachers were those who gave birth to me. A mother who thought staying quiet meant strength. A father who absorbed the world around him and left nothing for anyone else. A life that never asked how I felt, instead expected me to cope.
As my friends continued gossiping and cackling, I smiled. Laughed at the right jokes. Added the necessary “I know that’s right,” and “Girl, I know you lying.” But inside, I was collapsing. My heart didn’t ache anymore. It buzzed with a warning I kept ignoring. I paddled my boat made of denial and let the waves of grief carry me away.
Khalil was gone.
My mother was gone.
My childhood was gone long before them both. And now there was just me. Glass-coated and untouchable. A pretty picture in a cracked frame.
We wrapped up our call well past their bedtime. The sun was just beginning to set in Seattle. I stayed on the couch, watching the city buzz beneath me. A knock sounded at my door. I looked through the peephole, seeing a delivery person. I opened the door.
“Hi, I’m Margaret with Pet Pals. Are you Kelly Reid?” The woman held an animal crate in her arms. Her smile beamed bright in the hallway.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but I think you may be mistaken. I’ve never heard of a Pet Pals.”
“Well, this invoice says I’m supposed to drop this off here.” She placed the crate on the floor, then kneeled out to grab the whimpering animal inside. A French bulldog puppy. Fawn-colored. Big ears. A little blue collar with a note that read:
So you’re not lonely when I head back. -K
“Someone loves you very much. It was no easy feat getting this cute thing here.” She placed the puppy in my arms. We stared at each other, its round eyes blinking at me like I was its whole world. “I’ve got you set up with some food. My partner is on the way up with some other supplies. Little fella is trained, but we’ll stay a bit to show you the ropes.”
As Margaret and her partner set up all the extra equipment–puppy crate with a plush bed, water bowl, stored its foodI held the puppy in my arms. In a matter of hours, my apartment had gone from feeling empty to buzzing with energy. The puppy licked my arms as we got acquainted with each other. Eventually, Margaret and her partner wrapped up setting us up.
“His food will be delivered twice a month. Subscription’s paid for the next six months. Also, you have a training package. Just give us a call to set up the dates and time that work for you. I believe Mr. Grant said you were a doctor?”
“Yes, yes, I am.”
“Fancy,” she cheered. She scratched behind the puppy’s ears, still in my arms. “What are you thinking about naming him?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting this.”
She and her partner laughed. “Well, don’t take too long. You’ll want to have a name when you start your training sessions.” They walked to the door and said their goodbyes.
I held the French bulldog eye level with me. He yawned and ran a tongue across his mouth and nose. “Are you as tired as I am?” He whimpered in response. I placed him in the crate set up by the large windows of the living room, tucking him into the soft bed. He nuzzled himself into the soft comfort and half-closed his eyes.
I tried to call Khalil. Three times.
Straight to voicemail.
The dog,now named Karter, followed me everywhere. I couldn’t pee without him crying on the other side of the door. Couldn’t leave for work without him losing his mind. He made it harder to stay numb. When I worked on the couch, he watched from his crate by the window with perked ears and curious eyes. I envied his blank slate. He didn’t know heartbreak, didn’t know grief, didn’t know what it meant to lose someone who wanted to love you but couldn’t hold your weight. He just wanted a good belly rub and a bowl of food. He cried when I left and wagged his tail when I returned.
