Chapter 16 #2
I get into the shower and turn it up so it’s scalding hot, hoping it can burn away some of this shame. I’m so hungover, and
also upset about the phone call, that I alternate between drinking the hot shower water and sitting on the floor of the tub
with my head between my knees.
I feel much better with a clean body and clean hair, but I can’t bring myself to wear anything but my softest sweatpants.
I take three Advil and am dragging a brush through my hair when I hear the front door open and shut.
“We’re back!” Luke calls.
I go downstairs and put out fresh water and kibble for Thisbe. I sit on one of the kitchen stools and take a sip of the latte
Luke got me. I’m also recovered enough to have one of the donuts. It’s an apple fritter.
“How did you know I love these? Did I tell you last night? I’m so sorry, by the way. Please strike anything I said from the
record.”
“No, you weren’t talking about donuts last night,” Luke says, and I want to die all over again because what was I talking about? “It was a lucky guess. And you’ve always had a sweet tooth.”
I fiddle with the plastic lid. “So if I didn’t talk about donuts, what did I talk about?”
Luke hesitates. Only for a split second, but I catch it. “You weren’t making any sense. You just seemed drunk. Nothing embarrassing,
I promise.”
I don’t think I can live should the alternative be true—that I was making sense—so I convince myself he is being sincere. Denial is a powerful force. I take another bite of the donut. Objectively
I know it’s good, but even chewing feels like too much effort. My coffee cup says Lucas C. with a heart, and has a phone number scrawled underneath it. I turn the cup so it’s facing the other direction.
“So.” Luke claps, and I cringe at the loudness of it, which makes him smile. “What’s on the schedule for today?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Gloriously, nothing.”
Right as I say it my phone chimes. I check the notification and want to die. Apparently my phone has perfect comedic timing.
Profiles—SPCA, the alert says. Traffic is light. Leave in ten minutes to arrive on time.
I put my forehead on the countertop and close my eyes. I completely forgot. “I do have something to do today,” I tell Luke.
The cold granite feels so good. Maybe I can cancel. Maybe I can cancel and stay right here with the cold stone seeping into
my skin for the next ten hours straight.
“Whatever it is, I’m game,” Luke says.
I think about it. Usually, it’s just Martina and a few other volunteers. The weekend crew is older, most of them retirees. The shelter is the one good place I can bring Luke on an outing.
“Did you drive here?” I ask.
He nods.
“Great.” I lift my head and hop off my stool, galvanized. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure you can walk?”
I make a face at him. “Yes.”
He follows me into the entryway. “Are we going somewhere you can go in your pajamas?”
I look down. He’s right. I do need to change, but not for the reason he thinks. “This is a set, thank you very much. But you aren’t wrong. I’ll change.”
Upstairs, I put on leggings that have a hole in the knee and an old sweatshirt with a big oil stain on the front, which is
objectively much schlubbier than what I was wearing, but I know from experience that this is the right call for what we’re
going to go do. When I get back downstairs, Luke nods, deadpan. “Ah, yes. Much better.”
I grab him by the wrist and pull him out the door. “You’ll see.”
On the way to the shelter, I explain.
I tell him about how I’ve been volunteering there on the weekends since I was a sophomore.
How I used to do all the normal volunteer stuff, like cleaning out kennels, giving the dogs rubber toys filled with peanut butter, taking them for walks, and petting and socializing the cats.
But ever since I made an adoption video for Ms. Ruth, a fifteen-year-old blind and partially furless Pekingese, my position has changed.
“I’m in charge of the no-hope cases,” I explain. “The dogs and cats that have been in the shelter for over six months.” I
wiggle my phone at him. “I make short video profiles about them. A little about their backstories and then some stills and
clips of them looking heartbroken and adorable. Usually, they get adopted within the week. My record is an hour. I haven’t
failed one yet.”
“I could help you,” Luke suggests.
“Help me?” I ask. “How?”
“I could be in the videos. If you wanted.”
“Like as a celebrity guest star?”
“Yeah. I don’t know.” He’s blushing. “Or maybe that’s stupid.”
“No, it isn’t. You’d really do that?” I ask him. “You’d use your fame and that pretty mug of yours for good?”
Luke eyes me with a half smile. “You think my mug is pretty?”
Something about this hangover is making me punch-drunk and filter-free. “Oh, please. Of course I do. And so does the rest
of the world. Which is why I think this is a great idea. We can exploit the hell out of your good looks to help some truly decrepit animals in need.”
Luke laughs. “How can I say no to that?”
I settle back in my seat. Glancing around, I can see that he’s tidied up the car. Or at least it looks like he tried to. I
wonder if he did that for me.