Chapter Twenty-four Vaughn
Chapter Twenty-four
Vaughn
“When you asked if I wanted to hang out after practice, this isn’t what I had in mind.”
“How can you say that? Look at how cute he is.” Lacey’s smile couldn’t possibly get any brighter as a four-year-old chihuahua named Pip climbs all over her lap and tries to adorn her with kisses.
“I thought I’d be the one getting to lick your face.” I pet Pip’s back, and I swear the dog bares his teeth at me before going back to lavishing Lacey with attention.
She blushes and hugs the dog to keep him from putting his tongue in her mouth. “I don’t think you’re going to want to after this.”
The animal rescue smells like a mixture of wet dog and urine. Not the most romantic setting but somehow not a deterrent at all. I can’t get enough of Lacey. Which should be obvious by the fact I’m still here.
I’ve never had a pet. Dad always said we were gone too much. Late nights at the school, away games, and even during the offseason there’s club soccer that is just as demanding.
I lean forward and take her chin between my thumb and pointer finger, turning her face to the side Pip didn’t lick, and drag my tongue along her cheek.
“Oh my god. I can’t believe you just did that.” She turns a darker shade of pink.
“You’re right.” I scrunch up my face. “I think I just made out with Pip.”
Her laughter makes my gut tighten. She’s so fucking adorable. Every little thing.
“Here,” she says, holding out the tiny dog. “Take him. I’m going to make sure he has fresh water and then we can get out of here.”
She places him in my outstretched arms where I hold him away from my body while Lacey gets up and goes into his cage. It’s a pretty big space for such a little dog with a cot, some toys, and a water dish.
Lacey has her back to me and when she bends down to get the water dish, Pip lets out a low growl.
“What, like you wouldn’t have looked,” I say to the dog who just caught me checking out Lacey’s ass.
I stare into Pip’s beady brown eyes. He looks back at me with distrust. He’s pretty cute. Light tan fur with big ears that stick up on top of his small head. He’s mostly short-haired, but the hair around his face and tail are a little longer. He looks a little like a tiny lion.
“I know. I like her better than you too, so we’re even,” I tell the little beast who clearly doesn’t like me.
“What’s that?” Lacey asks, looking over her shoulder at me.
“Nothing. Just guy stuff.”
She laughs but doesn’t press for me to explain. She sets his freshly filled dish down and brushes her hands off. “Okay. I think that’s it.”
I stand with Pip and set him down in his cage. He trots right to Lacey and stands on his back legs.
“Aww, look. He’s sad we’re leaving,” she croons at him in a sweet voice.
I’m sure he’s sad she’s leaving but not me.
She scratches behind one of his ears. “I’m sorry. I wish I could take you home, but I promise I’ll come back and see you.”
She keeps petting him for a few seconds more before standing tall. Pip goes straight to his bed and plops down as she exits and closes his cage.
“I feel bad.” Lacey’s bottom lip sticks out in a cute pout.
“He looks pretty happy.” As long as I’m not near him anyway.
“They take good care of the animals here, but it’s still sad to think so many of them need good homes.” She reluctantly takes a few steps farther away from Pip.
“You’ve spent a lot of time here,” I say. I noted how familiar she was with it from the moment we walked in. The guy at the front recognized her and said it was good to see her again, and it only took her vouching for me for us to be waved back to help out.
“I used to volunteer once or twice a week in the evenings, but things with school and cheer have been so hectic.” Her brows pinch together, and I can see how hard she’s being on herself for not coming more.
I take her hand and thread our fingers together. “You’ve done more than most people.”
“This is where we got Burt.”
“Really?”
She nods. “He came in all matted and dirty, but I loved him the instant I saw him. He was just a puppy. This little bundle of energy somehow happy and sweet even though he’d been through so much.
They don’t know if he got lost or was dumped by someone, but he’d obviously spent at least a few weeks without shelter.
From the second I had in my arms, I knew he was mine.
I cried for my dad to let me keep him. He made me put up posters all around town first in case he belonged to someone. ”
She smiles as she tells the story, and I can picture her, a few years younger but still as determined.
“I’m going to figure out how to volunteer more. Maybe I can come on weekends,” she says.
“And you crossed off another item on the list.” At her smile, I add, “How many more to go?”
“Quite a few. Claire is taking me skating next week.”
We get into my SUV. The stink of us seems worse in the confined face. She wrinkles up her nose as if smelling it too. But she just looks so cute, I can’t resist leaning over and kissing her.
“You smell like dog. Or maybe that’s me.” She laughs but kisses me back.
When we break apart, I sniff myself, then shrug. “I guess at least we both stink.”
She giggles, and while I’m still enjoying the sound and wondering if I ever felt this happy before, she leans forward and licks the side of my face like I did to her earlier.
* * *
We head to her house to study after finally leaving the parking lot of the shelter. Her dad isn’t home, so she lets Burt out, and we take him on a quick walk.
“I’ve been talking to my mom,” I say as I slow my steps to walk in sync with her on the path in front of her neighborhood.
“Really?” Her brown eyes light up as she glances over at me. Burt prances happily, stopping every few feet to sniff something.
“Yeah. I called her after I passed my algebra test and then again when I found out the Mountainview game was canceled.”
“That’s great.” She keeps smiling at me for a beat and then glances away and falls quiet.
“What?” I ask, sensing there’s something she wants to say but isn’t.
“Nothing. I was just thinking how much I wish I could call mine.” She gives me a sheepish smile. “I don’t want to take away from how huge it is that you’re talking to yours; it just hit me.”
I take her hand in mine. “I’m sorry.”
“Nah, don’t be. I’m really happy for you. How is it talking to her?”
“Are you sure you want to talk about this?”
“Yes. Please. It was just a moment of jealousy. I’m fine.”
I nod and then consider my words carefully. “It’s been nice. A little awkward at the beginning each time, but I guess that’s to be expected.”
“Why do you think you didn’t reach out sooner?”
“I guess I hoped she would. Although since I’ve been talking with her recently, I’m remembering more and more times that she did reach out in the beginning, when they first split, and I blew her off or sat on the phone giving one-word answers.
Fifth grade me was even quieter and more sullen, if you can believe it. ”
She hits me with a real smile that eases the earlier tension. “You were a kid. She still should have kept trying.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “I’m finding the more I talk to her the less resentful I am about it. I’m not saying I agree with it or even that it’s erased all the hurt, but with time I’m hoping we’ll be able to hash it out. It feels too soon for that now.”
“The older I get the more I realize parents screw up just like us.” She takes her next step closer to me and bumps her shoulder against my arm. “I’m proud of you. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
When we get back, she changes clothes, and I wash my hands and up my arms and my face. It’ll have to do until I can shower tonight.
Settling at the kitchen counter, I take out my algebra homework. Lacey is pulling food from the refrigerator and pantry to make dinner.
I’m understanding the class a lot better now, but with Lacey moving around, it’s hard not to give her my attention instead.
“What are you making?” I ask, setting my pencil down and temporarily giving up on focusing on anything else.
“Manicotti.”
She has spices and measuring cups, mixing ingredients together I’ve never heard of and definitely never used.
“I’ve never had that.”
“You haven’t?” She looks up from where she’s chopping onions on a wooden cutting board.
“We don’t do a lot of cooking unless you count heating up food in the oven.”
She giggles.
Dad and I keep it simple. We have three or four meals we rotate and keep easy things like protein bars and stuff for sandwiches so we can grab things quick.
“Can I help?” I ask.
“Really?”
I nod and she thrusts a mixing bowl at me and then hands me a measuring spoon and a jar of Italian seasoning.
“Add half a teaspoon in here. I’m going to grab the ricotta cheese.”
I fumble my way through as she instructs me to add the rest of the ingredients. Then she mixes it and stuffs it into big tubes of pasta, then covers it all with a sauce.
“Want to do the honors?” she asks as she opens the oven.
I put the dish in on the middle rack and she shuts the door with a wide grin on her face. “Now we wait.”
We take a seat back in front of the counter on stools right next to each other. Making a meal like that was oddly satisfying, but I still don’t feel like doing algebra.
“How often do you make dinner like this?” I ask.
“A few nights a week.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Does your dad cook?”
“Sometimes,” she says almost defensively. “He works late, and I don’t mind.”
For all her talk of accepting our parents’ mistakes, I think she feels her dad’s absence more than she’ll admit.
“Relax, I’m not judging him or you. I was just curious.”
Her expression softens slightly. “He doesn’t really like to cook. And he’s not very good at it. Except for breakfast. He makes the best pancakes.”
“My dad doesn’t even do that. He grills during the summer, and he cooks up chicken and vegetables for us each week, but a whole meal like this…” I shake my head. I can’t even imagine it.