Page 18 of The One You Chose

Hi E,

I have bad news. Retta-Mae has been adopted. I know you had your heart set on her, but unfortunately she will live in luxury and only eat wet cat food for the rest of her life. We have a few more kittens left. If one sticks out to you, let me know and I can get you the application. Maybe a gift for your boyfriend?

Jeremiah F. Deir

Adoption Coordination Director

Port Madison County Humane Society

thirteen

Crazy to Suppose

Lina

Istaredatthescreen. Was this guy asking if I had a boyfriend? He was. I had no idea what he looked like, but man, was I curious. He couldn’t have a girlfriend, could he? Guys don’t ask that unless they’re unattached. And I knew he was close to my age. Unless he graduated late in life. Before I could chicken out, I emailed back.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: re: Bad News

I don’t have a boyfriend. To be honest, I met a guy recently. I really liked him, but I guess the universe had different ideas of what’s best for me. It didn’t work out. I was excited when I met him, but he obviously wasn’t as into me as I was into him. He ghosted me. I don’t have a ton of dating experience, so maybe that’s how it goes. I might have read the cues all wrong.

It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone. The last guy I seriously dated was less than trustworthy, if you catch my drift. He wanted to work things out, but if there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s someone who lies to me.

Wow, that got serious fast. I’m sad about Retta-Mae, but just as with my dating life, there are other kittens in the shelter. I suppose I’ll have to move on from my hopes of Retta-Mae.

After emailing, I worried I had said too much. Admitting the last boyfriend I had cheated on me wasn’t a glowing endorsement. Minutes later, my email chimed and there was a waiting email.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: re: re: Bad News

Retta-Mae doesn’t know what she’d missing. I’m sure you would have been the best pet owner there was. As for dating, I know the feeling. Recently, I met someone but for one reason or another; it didn’t work out. I wanted to see her again, but I guess fate, the universe, whatever you might call it, didn’t agree. It’s hard to be alone around the holidays.

PS. That guy and really, all of them were fools to let you get away.

Jeremiah F. Deir

Adoption and Foster Coordination Director

Port Madison Humane Society

I reread that line, over and over. While there was no way this Jeremiah guy knew Fitz, it was still nice to hear that someone out there saw, or read, my worth, even if it was only through a few brief emails. I drafted a response and then deleted it. Then rewrote it. Sitting there in my drafts, I hovered my finger over the send button before stuffing, my hands under my legs.

I wasn’t sure what was drawing me to keep talking to this guy from the animal shelter. For all I knew, he was 80 years old, a great-grandfather. I shouldn’t be flirting over emails with a grandfather. I didn’t know any Deirs in the town, but it was such a small town that everyone knew everyone. It was possible I passed this guy all the time in line at Ridgewood Market and had no idea. He could be old or married, or old and married. Or gay. No, I didn’t think he was gay. And he was definitely flirting back. Maybe.

My friends found dates on apps all the time. My roommate in college was catfished by a 14-year-old girl posing as a 6‘3 rugby player once. I knew that once you add the internet into a situation, there is no way to discern the truth. But I didn’t meet Jeremiah through a dating app. He accidentally emailed me from an actual place. I had been to the Humane Society before. My parents got their dog, Roscoe, there as a puppy.

Zoya peeked over my shoulder, “Girl, you know we can’t have many pets here. Mr. Dawson would kill us.”

Slapping my laptop closed, I narrowed my eyes at Zoya. “Snoopy much?”

Popping a section of Clementine in her mouth, Zoya shrugged. “What’s so interesting about the Humane Society? If you want to pet a dog, go back to your parent’s house.”

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