Page 8 of The One You Chose

“Bummer.” My cousin said, before flipping the car into reverse.

Back at my parent’s house and an enormous glass of Malbec later, I opened my laptop, ready to do some light internet stalking of Fitz. Google, okay. First name... Fitz. That had to be a nickname. What could that be short for, Fitzrandolph? Fitzwilliam? Oh, Fitzwilliam might be cool. Like Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Why hadn’t I asked him that? Did I know anything about the man?

Focus, Lina. Focus.

Okay, Fitz, short for something, just moved to the area for work. He didn’t like rhubarb beer?

No, that’s you that doesn’t like rhubarb beer.

I checked Facebook, but there was no Fitz to be found. An indie pop band, ads for a furniture company and various people with last names that started with Fitz. But no one in the area with Fitz as a first name or a last name. No mutual friends, no posts in the Ridgewood community page about speed bumps or Randall, the peacock that wandered the highway. No Fitz anywhere.

Frustrated, I clicked over to my work email to see what Black Friday sales were going to bankrupt me this year. An unread email sat between a reminder not to park in assigned parking spots at the college and a sales advert for a vegan makeup brand.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Your Adoption application #30751

Mr. William McConnell,

I hope this email finds you well. Thank you for your interest in adopting Otis from Port Madison Humane Society. Attached you will find your online application you completed on November 19th. Please review the information to ensure everything is correct and fill out the questionnaire. Once you have completed the application and questionnaire, it will be reviewed by our adoption team to ensure that Otis will placed in the correct home. Here at Port Madison Humane Society, the safety and well being of our animals is our first priority.

As mentioned in the paperwork, Otis requires a special diet and will be on medication for the rest of his life. He requires an owner who is prepared to take care of his specific needs.

Respectfully,

Jeremiah F. Deir

Adoption Coordination Director

Port Madison Humane Society

Confused, I reread the email a few times, then because I was nosy, read the attached application where a middle-aged man in a nearby town was looking for a dog. I typedPort Madison Humane Societyinto the search engine and found their website matched the email address. So, it wasn’t a scam and instead was a simple typing error. I looked up the picture of the aforementioned Otis. The picture was of a very large tan dog with a dark brown face and a big lolling tongue. I shot back a quick response to the Humane Society.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Your Adoption application #30751

Mr. Deir,

Hi, as cute as Otis is, (I looked him up on the website), I am not Mr. McConnell and cannot adopt him. I looked through the application, and as I am not a 57-year-old who lives in a five-bedroom home with a fenced backyard in Manzanita, I don’t think it will work out.

I am a 24-year-old preschool teacher at the child development center at Ridgewood Community College (not that far from Manzanita!) who lives in an apartment. As much as I’d love a dog, I don’t think an English Mastiff would be allowed or that my roommate would appreciate it.

If I could be so bold, I think you might have hit E instead of W when writing the email address. I hope you can get a hold of Mr. McConnell. (If my memory of the staff directory is right, I think he teaches calculus.)

E. (Not W.) McConnell

After emailing, I snapped my laptop shut. Beside me, the family dog, Roscoe, nudged my hand. Burying my fingers in his thick caramel fur, I scratched behind his ears. His pink tongue lolled out, much like Otis from the email. I wished I could have a dog in my apartment, but knew that between mine and Zoya’s stuff, there was barely room for a goldfish, let alone a 150 pound dog.

In a few months, Zoya would move out when she and her boyfriend from high school, Milo Bellamy, would get married. Zoya’s parents were very traditional and forbid her from living with her fiance before marriage. Zoya agreed to live with me only because then she could have Milo over whenever she wanted and have time to plan the wedding.

But all that would change soon. For the first time, I’d be living on my own. With my job at the center, I could barely afford my portion of the rent. Preschool teachers were woefully underpaid, and my job was no exception. I would either have to move back in with my parents in June or find another roommate. Neither sounded like a fun idea.

Resting my chin on my hand, I could feel a tender spot on my jaw where Fitz’s stubble had scratched me. Fingering the abrasion, a pulse of heat drove through me, remembering his kiss on my skin, the feel of his hands on my hips, the heat of his breath against my ear. I had never experienced a night like that before. I was ruined.

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