Chapter 19
Jake
Iwas coming in from my run. Late June meant hot afternoons with rising humidity.
I had to shower and get ready to head over to Ali and Misha’s house.
I jogged through the back door, slowing only to drop my phone and kick off my running shoes.
Sweat beads were pouring down the sides of my face.
I hopped over Chic lying at the bottom of the steps.
I made it halfway up the stairs when I realized there was no sound of paws scuffling the wood behind me.
When I turned to look down, Chic stood hunched at the bottom step. He reached his paw and waved it hesitantly toward the step before pulling it away. A signal he was failing.
“Hey, buddy. You having a bad day?” I asked in the tone of voice I used when talking to animals, especially Chic. My old friend. My confidant. My sidekick.
As I descended the stairs slowly and crouched down to him, I noticed his back legs shaking.
A tense tremor into his lower back. Not a good sign.
A sign of significant pain. This was more than just a bad day.
I’d noticed him slowing down and sleeping more.
I couldn’t remember the last time he had a burst of energy to run out and jump into the lake or catch a ball.
I ran my hand gently along Chic’s side. I noticed advanced atrophy in his hindquarters. Damn it.
“Chic, you’ve let yourself go. What are we going to do about it?
” I said, joking as I recalled silently how few runs Chic had been able to take with me lately.
I’d detected advanced arthritis and joint pain in Chic in the last few weeks, so I’d left him behind more and more lately.
The stairs were still okay, though. Until they weren’t. Until today.
“Come on, boy. You know you love to beat me up the stairs,” I whispered into his ear, surprised by how my voice cracked.
He used to stretch and jolt his way up the stairs two at a time even after miles of running the trail.
He sometimes even jumped into the shower before me.
Always the winner. I knew all too well what his current state was signaling, and I wasn’t ready for it.
How many times had I counseled families through moments like this?
How many times had I said, “You’ll know when it’s time.
” And here I was, no more prepared myself.
No more ready to face these declining months. Weeks? Days?
I looked into his eyes. At least those had stayed clear. No cloudy haze or opaque interruptions in his vision. I pressed my forehead to his. He lifted his head and tapped his nose to mine.
“I think we can get you up the stairs one last time, bud. Would you like that?” I wrapped my arms around him to lift him to my chest. He felt lighter than I anticipated.
Against my chest he let out a weary sigh.
His breathing was steady, but was that a wheezing I detected?
I’d have to do a proper exam with my stethoscope tomorrow at the clinic.
“You’re an old boy, but maybe this is just a respiratory infection. We’ll get you all checked out.”
I placed Chic on the end of my bed, where he wiggled around finding the most comfortable spot.
He folded his paws and rested his chin on top, turning his body toward the door to my bathroom.
I gave him a few extra scruffy pets. He turned on his side, inviting a belly rub. Never too old for belly rubs.
I got my shower, then fed and tended to Chicory some more. I was feeling extra guilty about leaving him alone while I went over to Ali’s for dinner.
“Maybe I should stay here with you,” I said to Chic as he took little bites of his food from his dish in the kitchen. He looked up and back toward me, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say he rolled his eyes at me.
“Is that your way of telling me to go?” I asked.
He simply turned back to his food and proceeded to nibble. I rationalized that I would just be next door. And I decided I would pop over every hour to check on him.
There was a light tapping on the front door. Chicory barely registered the interruption or else decided barking and drawing attention to the knock wasn’t worth his energy.
It was Eric, and he had a bouquet of roses.
“Eric, how sweet of you, but maybe we should bring those to our hosts,” I said.
“They’re not for you. They are in fact for our hosts, especially the cute one with the square jaw,” he said with a dreamy look to him.
“That’s great. I have a bottle of champagne.”
“Do you think I made a good choice with these? They aren’t wildflowers, but I thought maybe they’d like something a little different. I don’t know. I am so bad at this,” he said.
“Bad at what? Being thoughtful? They’re nice. He’ll love them. I think you did good,” I said. “But why’d you stop here first? I was just about to head over.”
“I wanted a chance to talk to you before tonight,” he said.
“Okay.” I heard myself sound weary in response. “Keep talking while I get myself ready to head out.”
“I’m nervous, Jake. And excited. And . . . oh God. Jake, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. One second I can’t wait to see him, and the next I want to run and hide. I’m scared I’m reading too much into our time together.”
I closed my hall closet door gently, shoes in my hand, and took a seat on the bench in my entry. Eric slumped down on the bench too, the bouquet dangling from his hand to the side.
“What if Misha doesn’t feel the same way? I don’t want to make things awkward . . . or my God, get hurt,” he confessed.
I took a beat to slip my shoe over my foot, giving some thought to how to respond. Careful not to say the wrong thing. Who was I to be giving advice?
“I get it, man. I think some nerves and fear are normal. And you’ll never know if you don’t put yourself out there. It’s a gamble either way, isn’t it?”
I pressed my heel down into my other shoe and stood to settle my pants over the tops of my shoes.
“I think you should make your feelings very clear. I have a strong suspicion that Misha is on the same page. You two are great together. I can tell you’re both happy. Maybe it feels overwhelming because it is—in a good way,” I said with a shrug.
“I’m afraid I am going to drink too much at dinner and not be able to drive home or something and make a total fool of myself,” he blurted out.
“I got you. I’ll be there. I won’t drink tonight so I can drive you home. And I’ve got your back. I’ll give you a signal if you seem unsteady and might want to consider slowing down.”
“You’ll be my human guardrail? That’s sweet, Jake,” Eric said. “You’re a good friend.”
I grabbed my phone, keys, and wallet from the table.
“Truth is, I’m rooting for you and Misha. And I’m a little envious of what you’ve found in each other,” I said.
“You shoot your shot with Ali yet?” he asked.
“I think it’s going to take more than one shot,” I said. “But I’ll take every shot I’m given.”
I walked over to the wine fridge and pulled out the bottle of champagne.
“Let me make sure Chic is all set in his dog bed and then we can go. He’s moving a bit stiffly today, so I plan to pop over every hour or so to check on him. Will you cover for me when I sneak out?” I asked.
“Deal,” I heard Eric say.
“Come in!” we heard two voices shout from inside the house after we knocked on the door to Ali’s cabin.
We walked into a made-up tablescape and decorations. The house looked amazing.
The hosts did not, however. Eric and I shared a worried look.
“Hey there, guys,” Eric said tentatively. “How’s it going? Everything okay in here?”
“No!” Misha and Ali shouted at the same time.
There was a whirlwind of activity. Both had their phones propped up on the counter, following their respective recipes.
Eric and I moved into the kitchen. “What can we do to help?” I asked.
Eric wrapped his arms around Misha from behind while Misha faced the countertop, his hands arranging some food in a pan, and put a kiss on his cheek. Misha leaned his head into Eric as he presented Misha with the bouquet.
“Gentlemen, help yourself to a drink. Cocktail fixings, wine, and beer are all lined up over there. Eric, love, can you find a vase to put those in? Ali and I will just need a little more time to finish up making dinner.”
Misha sounded like a practiced host even if his frenzied tone made what he was saying less convincing.
Ali looked wrung out and solidly overwhelmed.
The way she’d collapsed into my chest when I picked her up from the hospital after Betsy’s fall replayed in my mind.
We locked eyes and smiled across the counter at each other.
I wanted to walk up to her and grab her chin in my hands and press my lips to hers for a couple of beats too long.
Let her transfer some of that worry and fatigue to me.
Lighten her burden in every way I could.
But that felt too intimate at this delicate stage.
There was no doubt on my end, though. I was enamored with this woman. I thought about her every conscious second and probably even the unconscious ones.
“Chicken’s cooking beautifully,” we heard Misha tell Ali in a voice that I think was supposed to mimic Julia Child. “The recipe said it would take an hour at three hundred and fifty degrees, but I cranked up the heat to five hundred to save time. You know how I love to crank up the heat . . .”
Eric and I exchanged a look of alarm, but heard Ali agree with his strategy. “Oh I do know. And very efficient of you. Slay!” They bumped hips from where they were standing in the kitchen. Oh God, I think they thought this would work.
“Wait, did you remove the giblet things?” Ali asked.
“Remove them? I thought that was seasoning. Where do I remove them from?” Misha’s voice practically squeaked.