Chapter Seventeen
Hannah
The cool air of the grocery store hits my face as we step inside, a stark contrast to the warm sun outside.
Chris grabs a shopping cart and playfully insists I hop in, but I roll my eyes and push past him to grab a basket instead.
“We”re here to shop for breakfast, not to goof around,” I tell him and myself, even as my heart does a little skip every time he smiles at me. I can”t keep the warmth from my voice, remembering the thoughtfulness behind his gift.
As we walk down the housewares aisle, I can”t help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of cooking together. It seems so domestic, so normal, and yet nothing about our relationship has been normal from the start.
We first choose a skillet and a small griddle, along with a spatula, a mixing bowl, and a measuring cup. Then we head toward the breakfast meats.
”What do you think? Sausage links or patties?” Chris asks, holding up two bags as if they’re trophies.
”I’m partial to patties,” I decide, pointing.
”Good choice,” he grins, tossing the box into the basket and steering us towards the dairy section for milk and eggs.
As we walk, I can”t shake off the conversation we need to have about the embezzlement at his gym. It”s been eating at me, the numbers not adding up, and now the uncertainty of who he can trust.
But looking at Chris, seeing the easy way he navigates through crowds, always with a protective eye on me, I feel a pang that I can’t protect him, too.
The walk back is quiet, each of us lost in our thoughts, Lucy trailing behind us on the leash to smell every single leaf, it seems.
She finds dirt deeply interesting. I make a pained expression for Chris’ benefit, but it’s clear he doesn’t mind, oohing and aahing over her found treasures as though he himself were a big puppy in a human’s body.
He keeps his hand wrapped around mine, warm and inviting, as though he’s been holding my hand all our lives.
Back at my place, we unpack the groceries and supplies in the small employee breakroom, and he kisses my cheek when he notices that I’m overwhelmed by the process. “Don’t worry,” he tells me, “I’m right here to help you.”
“I just don’t know where to start,” I tell him honestly, melting into his kiss.
His hands snake around me hips and I moan without thought. He smirks at my body’s response, kissing underneath my ear, and tells me, “Start at the beginning.”
Chris puts on a song on his phone, and a woman’s honey-thick voice wafts out of the speakers as he pulls out the ingredients in a row for me. He plugs in the cooktop and turns it to medium-heat.
He whirls around to me and wraps his strong arms around me, tucking his chin on my shoulder. “Okay, read the first step. You got this.”
I flip to the page we’re on – pancakes – and think to myself: and we’re off.
I tell him, ”You know, this feels nice. Just…us. No money or gym talk, just us.” I snuggle into the crook of his arm and let him pet my hair.
He whispers into my ear, “Are you stalling?”
“Mmm, and you already know me so well,” I joke as he pushes me away from him. He catches me before I crash into the wall, and I dissolve into laughter in his arms.
As I crack eggs and pour milk and mix batter, in the back of my head two thoughts compete with one another: one, that I can’t wait to shower with Chris, to shampoo his hair and touch his warm body, and two, that I need to confront Julie.
After breakfast is completed and pancakes are eaten, we head to Chris’ place to shower and clean up.
Once Chris drops me back off at my office/home once more, I immediately begin to sleuth, even as I know I shouldn’t.
I sit in my desk chair and open my laptop, chewing on my thumbnail as I type in my password.
I look behind my shoulder to make absolutely certain that Chris really did drop me off and leave, my guilt manifesting as anxiety.
And then I do the thing I shouldn’t: I type Julie’s name into a search engine and look to see what social media profiles come up.
Last night when Chris came by and seemed so upset by Julie’s arrival and by the knowledge of Noodle’s departure, his words kept ringing in my ears: that Julie had abandoned Noodle.
Chris has been the epitome of a positive force, someone who enters your life and instantly makes you feel seen and understood.
I wonder if I could track down Noodle for him. And it’s definitely not because I think that I’d be more appealing to him if I could. More appealing than Julie. I’m definitely over that fear.
With trembling hands, I click on a profile that looks like her picture in a tiny little circle. It unfurls itself to reveal squares upon squares of pictures of Julie at her best: Julie up against a brick wall, Julie looking back and laughing, Julie doing yoga on a mountain top.
That last one in particular really stings – she sure has got the aesthetic of a fit, successful young woman down. A part of me wonders that, if I scroll, will I find pictures from five years ago?
Not what I’m doing right now, though. A few swift taps bring me to her latest post — a casual invitation to a brunch with friends.
The irony is not lost on me. While she sips mimosas with her companions, I stalk her life from afar, alone in my office, the lights turned off, the harsh light of the screen in my eyes.
Against my better judgment, I find myself making a spontaneous decision. I need answers, closure for Chris. He deserves that.
Without giving it a second thought, I grab my keys, Lucy’s leash, and head out the door.
The drive to the brunch spot is a blur, my thoughts consumed by the impending confrontation.
What will I say to Julie? How will she react? Is this crazy? Am I crazy? What would Chris do if he knew?
I push aside my doubts, steeling myself for whatever lies ahead.
As I step into the bustling restaurant, the smell of coffee and chatter fills the air, mingling with the palpable tension coursing through my veins. Scanning the crowd, it doesn”t take long to spot Julie, her familiar silhouette seated at a table near the window.
She sits straight up, as though someone is watching her and judging her posture. Her hair falls in perfect waves down her back, and she has a book open on the table as she waits for her friends. I can’t remember the last time I had time to read a book.
Summoning every ounce of courage, I make my way over to her, my heart pounding in my chest. She looks up as I approach, her expression shifting from surprise to guarded apprehension.
”Anna,” she greets me, her voice tinged with uncertainty. ”What are you doing here?” I slide into the seat across from her, and she lifts her chin, telling me, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m meeting friends here.”
“I know. And the name is ‘Hannah’,” I tell her, nodding at a waitress holding up a pitcher of water questioningly at me.
She walks over and places a glass down in front of me. She pours water into the glass, smiling, unaware of the tension between Julie and me, thinking there’s friendship, thinking we’re here for a giddy brunch like the rest of her patrons. Adjusting her glasses, she smiles at me and says, “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No,” I tell her, scrunching my nose at Julie. “I’m leaving soon. Thank you, though.”
“Aw, who’s this?”
The server’s eyes are on Lucy and her hands shoot out to pet her shiny black coat. Her fingers fiddle with Lucy’s dog tag and she reads the name.
“Lucy, aww, you’re so sweet. Okay, well y’all let me know if you need anything.”
As soon as the waitress leaves, I don”t waste any time with pleasantries. ”We need to talk, Julie,” I say, my tone firm and resolute. ”About Noodle.”
The color drains from Julie”s face, her eyes widening in alarm. ”What about…about Noodle?” she asks, her stammer betraying her unease.
Her uneasiness softens me a bit. I lean forward and ask, “You told Chris you got rid of her. What exactly does that mean?”
Julie’s finger trails the rim of her mimosa glass, and she tells me as she lifts it to her mouth, “I got rid of her. It’s exactly what it sounds like. She was pissing all over everythingng. It was exhausting cleaning up after her every day, sometimes multiple times a day. Pets are supposed to enrich your life. She didn’t.”
She shrugs, and I can tell that she’s deflecting, pretending to care less than she really does. I wonder how guilty she felt when it happened, if at all.
“Okay, so you didn’t want her. But where did you get rid of her? Where did she end up? When?”
Julie shifts uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding my gaze. ”It was a long time ago,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. ”I don’t really remember.”
I interlock my fingers together, placing my elbows on the table. I drop my chin onto my hands and lift my eyebrows at her. “Try. What do you remember?”
“I left her...in a dumpster.”
The confession hits me like a punch to the gut, leaving me reeling with shock and disbelief.
I never knew Julie. All I knew of her was a few holiday appearances. The appearance she didn’t make had made more of an impression.
Back then, I had given her the benefit of the doubt, considering that marrying someone was a big commitment, considering the fear it must have taken for her to just not show up, the anxiety that must have consumed her.
But now, anger surges through me like a tidal wave for Noodle and for Chris.
“Why didn’t you just give her back to Chris?”
She shrugs. “You sound just like him.”
Her friends have shown up. One slides into the seat next to me, a big smile across her face, expecting that I’m a new friend she hasn’t yet met, her curls springy and her green glasses poised on her nose. Julie looks at her and shakes her head.
“Like who?”
“Like Chris. He asked the same thing. Why didn’t I just give Noodle back? As though that was an option.”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No!” she scoffs. “I had just gone through the worst breakup of my life. It isn’t as if I could exactly call Chris up and ask him to come get her. So yeah, I dumped her in a dumpster over by the art district. I figured some hippies would find her and give her a better life or whatever.”
She flicks her hand at me, exhausted with the conversation, embarrassed, leaning into the villain narrative.
“But why? Chris loved that dog,” I whisper, the anger in me ebbing, sorrow taking its place.
“Wait, you left a dog in a dumpster?” Julie’s friend asks, looking over at the other friend in horror.
“Sure did!” I tell her chipperly, standing up. “This dog, I’m pretty sure.”
Lucy pants dutifully at my side. “This is Lucy, who I found in a dumpster in the art district several years ago. Lucy, who reacted ecstatically when she first saw Chris. Lucy, who fell asleep on him. Lucy, who I’m pretty sure is Noodle.”
Unable to bear the weight of the conversation any longer, I turn on my heel and storm out of the restaurant, my eyes blurred with tears.
As I make my way back to my car, I can”t shake the feeling of betrayal, the bitter taste of it lingering on my tongue.
In that moment, I vow to myself that I will do whatever it takes to make things right.
For Noodle, for Chris, for myself. No one deserves to be treated like garbage.
Even a dog. Maybe especially a dog.