Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Beckett
As I’m signing in at the shelter, an employee appears from the back room, her eyes lighting up. “You took Moose out last time you were here, right? A couple of months ago?”
I glance back at Joey, who’s exploring the lobby. “Uh. Yes.”
Relief washes over her face. “Would you like to take him out again? He’ll be so happy to see you.”
A shot of confusion rushes through me. “I got an email a few weeks ago saying that he’d been adopted.”
She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “He had, but last week, the family brought him back, saying he was ‘too needy.’”
Scoffing, Joey steps up beside me. “What kind of soulless bastard returns a dog for being too affectionate?” When we both turn to her, she holds up her hands in defense. “Sorry. That came off a bit brash. But I still stand by what I said.”
Chuckling, I turn my attention back to the employee. “We’ll be happy to take him out again. We should have plenty of opportunities to introduce him to people today, so hopefully we’ll find him a permanent home.”
“Also,” Joey says, tapping her fingers on the counter, “if you could give me the name and number of the person who returned—”
“Joey,” I interject, trying not to laugh.
“What? I just want to have a little talk. No harm. No foul.”
Moments later, Moose skitters through the kennel doors, then weaves between our legs in wiggly circles.
I crouch, arms wide. “Hey, bud! It’s been a while.”
Joey giggles, clipping on his leash. “What a happy guy. Those ears could pick up radio signals.”
Rising to my feet, I hold out a hand to take the leash. “That’s part of his charm. Stumpy legs and floppy ears.”
The warm sun and clear skies make for a beautiful day as we wander to my SUV and get Moose loaded up. “Let’s find you a home, buddy.”
Music blaring and windows down, I pull out onto the street.
“All right,” Joey says. “What should I know about your mom before I meet her? I can’t believe we’re at this stage of our relationship,” she teases. “What a backward romance we have.”
Grinning, I tap the steering wheel to the beat of the music. “So dramatic.”
She shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Eh. At least it keeps things interesting.”
“Things you should know about Dana.” I sigh, pondering how much of my mom’s eccentricities are acceptable to share. “She collects salt and pepper shakers, gets overly emotional at TV commercials, and names all her plants.”
“Houseplants? I feel like that’s normal.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Her entire garden. She hosts a small funeral after she’s cleared out her garden at the end of every summer. She follows it up with a large dinner, where she serves all the veggies she’s picked, plucked, or pulled.”
Joey turns in her seat to fully face me. “You’re fucking with me.”
I scoff. “I wish.”
A mischievous grin takes over her face. “Should I ask her thoughts on cross pollination? Do veggies get kinky?”
“Now you’re the one fucking with me.”
“Unfortunately, I’m very serious about cross pollination. Who wouldn’t want a melon-squash-cucumber-corn hybrid?” She sinks into her seat and watches the scenery. “I wonder if she’s caught any of her plants cheating. Like what happens when the beans pollinate with peas? Is that taboo?”
“Generally speaking, beans can’t pollinate with peas. Or other legumes, for that matter.” I check the rearview mirror again. Moose’s ears are flapping in the breeze and I swear he’s smiling. “And a melon-squash-cucumber-corn hybrid isn’t possible either.”
She whips around, eyes wide with wonder. “Do I want to know how you know that?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “One too many of these competitive gardening functions.”
“What do these events entail?”
“There are usually ribbons for the largest grown crop. That kind of stuff.”
“Think anyone will show me their eggplant? I’ll take a cucumber or a squash too.” She tosses her head back, cackling. “I’m not picky. I enjoy all phallic shapes and sizes.”
With a roll of my eyes, I sit a little straighter. “I’m ignoring this ramble.”
“I think that’s for the best.” Her laugh is light and airy and it fills me with warmth.
Thirty-minutes later, with Moose on a leash and fresh loaves of bread in tow, we wander into my mom’s backyard. Between Moose’s happy trot and Joey’s radiant smile, I can’t decide who’s enjoying this day more.
At the sight of the crowd gathered around my mom, my chest tightens.
As if she can sense the change, Joey gently grasps my arm and pulls me to a stop.
Eyes boring into me as if she’s speaking directly to my soul, she says, “Hey. We got this, okay? If you need a break, tap me in. If you need to leave, send me a text. If you need a distraction, I’ll let Moose run wild in the garden. Sound good?”
I give her hand a silent thank you for being you squeeze. “Sounds good.”
My mom does a double take, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Beck!” She strides our way, looking from me to Joey to Moose, who’s panting with excitement. “And company!”
Joey shifts the large paper bag of sourdough bread to her other hip. “Hi! We haven’t met. I’m Joey.”
My mom’s green eyes widen and she waggles her brows at me.
Unsurprisingly, heat rises to my cheeks.
Joey, bless her, takes a step forward and distracts my mom. “You have a beautiful garden, Ms. Hart.”
“Please,” my mom says, waving her off, “call me Dana. And thank you. My veggie babies are enjoying this beautiful stretch of weather we’re having.
” She peers down at Moose, who’s looking up, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.
“And who do we have here?” She crouches, giving his floppy ears a scratch.
“This is Moose. We’re taking him out for the day, hoping to find him a forever home,” I say.
“He’s such a handsome boy,” she coos, her voice hitting that ridiculously high note that’s reserved for puppies and babies.
“I’m sure he’ll love all the attention he gets here.
” Standing, she settles her hands on her hips.
“You look like responsible parents. Just keep him away from the bell peppers. He’s been eyeballing them. ”
Moose wags his tail in response, though I don’t know whether it’s a happy wag or an admission of guilt.
“We brought lots of bread,” Joey chimes in.
“Let me take that bag from you.” Mom holds her arms out. “Beckett, Nancy has been dying to talk to you.”
Groaning, I drop my head. “Not about the mole.”
She winces. “About the mole.”
“Mom, couldn’t you—”
She puts a hand up. “Beck, I tried. You know how she gets. If you do this for me, I’ll let you sneak out the front in twenty minutes. Deal?”
“Deal,” I reply.
Joey snorts. “Seems like we’re all on team ‘get Beckett out of here unscathed.’ I had a plan in place too.”
My mom’s green eyes sparkle. It’s a look reserved for moments when someone understands and accepts me. An expression that says Finally, someone else sees the part of my child that I always knew was there.
“You talk to Nancy,” Mom says to me. “Joey and I will take the sourdough inside.” With a swish of her floral dress, she heads for the back door.
Joey trails behind her, glancing at me over her shoulder, her wavy hair bouncing with each step. She mouths “good luck” and gives me a thumbs-up.
A laugh bubbles up inside me, though the sound catches in my throat at the rush of gratitude flowing through me. I’ve never felt worthy of being understood and accepted by another person. But Joey doesn’t see my anxieties as flaws. Rather, she sees them as just a small piece of who I am.
To her, my anxiety is a single brushstroke on an expansive canvas—noticeable up close yet never defining the picture she holds of me.
Twenty painfully long minutes later, after I’ve answered all of Nancy’s mole-related questions, I push through the back door. At my side, Moose is panting like he’s just ran a marathon, when in reality, he’s been lounging in the backyard, getting belly rubs from strangers.
As I set a bowl of water on the floor in front of him, laughter drifts in from the living room, the airy sound drawing me in.
I round the corner to find Joey and my mom looking at the wall I aptly call “The Beckett Shrine.” It’s filled from top to bottom, end to end, with photos of me at every awkward stage of life.
From the infamous nineties bowl cut to a mouth full of braces, she’s got it framed and nailed to the wall.
The laughter turns into chatter, and my mom asks, “Has Beckett shown you his prize-winning eggplant yet?”
My stomach drops to the floor and all the air leaves my lungs. Oh my fucking god.
Joey, who was taking a sip of lemonade, slaps a hand over her mouth, sputtering. “Uh, nope. Can’t say I’ve seen any prize-winning anything of his”—she smirks at me—“yet. I’m sure he’s packing something gold-star worthy, though.”
My mom follows her gaze to me. “Oh. I was showing her your eggplant.”
“Mom, you cannot say stuff like—”
She slaps my shoulder. “Don’t get your boxers in a twist. I meant this photo over here.” She points to a dusty old frame. The photo inside is of scrawny, eighteen-year-old me holding an impressively large eggplant.
“Wow. That big boy has some girth to it,” Joey jokes. “I like the little curve it does at the tip.”
Lips pressed in a firm line, I narrow my eyes at her. She’s only adding fuel to the innuendo fire.
“And just look at how proud he is holding that girthy thing!” My mom beams, completely oblivious.
Or maybe she knows exactly what she’s doing.
With Dana, it can be difficult to tell whether or not she’s intentionally stirring the pot.
“Yeah. So proud,” I mutter. “I spoke with Nancy. All seems well.”
“Thank you, thank you.” She claps once. “Now that you’ve done your good deed, you’re free to go.”
“Deeds,” I correct her. “Plural.”
My mom rolls her eyes. “Bread baking is hardly any trouble for you. You have enough pent-up anxiety to open a bakery.”
That gets a chuckle out of me. She’s not wrong.
“It’s true,” Joey chimes in. “Now I know why his forearms are so defined. It’s all that kneading.”
With a groan, I tip my head back to the ceiling. “You two can’t be trusted together.”
Both women laugh, the light sound filling the room.
My mom turns to Joey, taking her hands, her green eyes filled with appreciation. “It was so lovely to meet you. Please come back and visit,” she says, her gentle voice full of sincerity.
We exchange our goodbyes, lingering a bit longer than necessary.
Mom and Joey have bonded quickly, it seems, and with every step toward the door, one of them blurts out another thought they want to share.
Eventually, my mom crouches to give Moose one last ear scratch.
His tail thumps against the wall with glee and it makes us all laugh.
Outside, the sunlight streams through the lush trees. I take a deep breath, relishing how good I feel right now. Moose pads alongside us as I lace my fingers with Joey’s. She glances up at me, brown eyes sparkling, and for a moment, I get lost in her radiant features.
This woman is truly special in a way that’s difficult to explain. She makes the world brighter, turning ordinary moments into memorable ones.
Moose snores in the back seat the whole way back to the shelter while Joey hums to the music and I sneak glances at her as often as I dare.
Dropping Moose off at the shelter was gut-wrenching, his soft whines piercing through our hearts. Before we left, we loved on him, promising to see him again before leaving Hemlock.
A couple of my mom’s friends showed interest in him, falling in love with his floppy ears and soulful eyes, and promised to visit him tomorrow. Part of me hopes one of them adopts him so I can ask for updates on his life. Maybe even visit him occasionally when I’m back in town.
As we drive along the winding road, dappled with late afternoon shadows, I rest my palm on Joey’s warm thigh. The simple touch grounds me to the present moment.
Today was a good day.
It was as easy and natural as breathing. Every day, this woman finds ways to make me feel safe while still making me laugh. She pulls me into the light when I’m used to staying in the dark corners. Being with her feels safe and right.
I want more days like this with her. More light, steady days. More days where I don’t have to second-guess myself. More of this quiet sense of belonging that shrouds me when I’m with her.
And more of the kind of peace I thought I’d never find.