Say You'll Remember Me(4)

“Do you think he smiles at the dogs at least?”

“Probably not.”

“My toxic trait is thinking I could change him,” she said.

“Ha. My toxic trait is not caring if I could change him.”

She laughed.

I could hear Mom come into the room in the background.

“Tell her hi,” I said.

“Samantha says hi.”

“Who?” I heard Mom say.

“Samantha,” Jeneva repeated.

Silence followed. Mom didn’t say hi back.

I stared at Pooter while I tried to get my feelings about this to flatten.

“How is she?” I asked.

“Fine.” Then to Mom, “I’m making you dinner. We’re having pasta. No, you don’t need to help, I got it.”

I reached under the sofa and pulled out my laptop to check the Pooter funds. This was the core source of my serotonin this week. Well, the kitten too. But the GoFundMe was a multipart success for me. It meant I could save my baby, it renewed my already high faith in humanity, and it meant Dr. Asshole was wrong, which was a petty kind of joy, but a solid one nonetheless.

The page loaded and I smiled. Almost ten thousand now. I was close enough that I felt comfortable scheduling the surgery. And just in time too. I was heading to California in six weeks and I’d have to take Pooter with me, so the sooner she started healing the better.

“I’m excited for you to see the house,” Jeneva said. “We’ve done a lot of repairs.”

I heard Mom again.

“We’re having pasta, Mom,” Jeneva said. “Yes, I’m making you dinner. No, just sit, you don’t need to help, I got it.”

I moved the phone away from my mouth like she could hear my expression. Then, instead of letting the knot in my throat thicken, I hit refresh on the donations page.

Someone just donated $500.

I sat up.

Most people gave twenty-five. Maybe fifty. I’d gotten a handful of hundred-dollar donations. Nothing this high. I looked at the name and my eyes went wide.

Jeneva must have heard the gasp. “What?” she asked.

“The grumpy vet,” I breathed. “He just donated all this money to my GoFundMe.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

I read the note. My three favorite words: You were right.





3





XAVIER


THIS LOOKS TERRIBLE,” I said.

Tina shrugged. “You told me to make him look different.

He looks different.”

My dog smiled up at me with the goofiest haircut I’d ever seen. He had the beard of a schnauzer and the shaved legs of a poodle. He’d be embarrassed if he cared.

I blew a breath out. I guess ugly was better than dead.

“Still no name?” Tina asked.

“No. I’m waiting for something to speak to me,” I said.

It had been over a month since his “death.” The lady had come in and collected the St. Bernard ashes weeks ago. I figured she wouldn’t have any reason to come back to the clinic, so I’d brought the dog to work so he wouldn’t be home alone. That meant he needed the haircut now that he was out and about—and he needed a new name. I’d been calling him by his old one this whole time, but that wouldn’t work if he wanted to make public appearances.

“So are you definitely keeping him?” Tina asked.

“I think I have to. I can’t exactly put him up on an adoption site.”

“None of your friends can take him?”

“No.”

She scratched behind his ear. “He’s a good boy.”

“They’re all good boys,” I grumbled.

My stomach growled. I looked at my watch. Two o’clock. I’d worked through lunch again.

I was the only doctor at my practice. If a patient needed a last-minute visit, I didn’t like to send them to the ER vet if I didn’t have to. It meant I didn’t always get breaks—in fact most days I didn’t.

Tina must have read my mind. “We brought you some chicken enchiladas. They’re in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” I said.

They were always feeding me. It happened so much I’d started paying them for the groceries.

I opened up the laptop to respond to emails while my dog sat with his chin on my thigh.

“So you’re going with Chris tonight to the thing, right?” Tina asked, leaning in the doorway.

“That is the plan,” I said, not looking up.

“Is he still single?”

“As far as I’m aware.” Chris, Mike, Jesse, Becca—they were all my best friends, practically family.

“You should ask him if he wants to meet my sister,” she said. “She just broke up with that youth pastor?”

“Chris is too busy for dating,” I said, skimming an email about a vaccination clinic for the rescue. “And I am too busy to be in the middle of it.”

“What about Mike?” she said, going on unfazed. “Although he might be too muscly. Not sure she’d like that. Too bad Jesse isn’t single, he’d be perfect. They’re both in finance, you know? But Chris is a pharmacist, that’s really good too. Also, he likes to read and she likes to read. I bet they’d get along, you should ask him.”