Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
[ P hoto of Sarah lying dramatically across the couch, one paw dangling off the cushion, eyes closed in eternal mourning.
]
Letter from Sarah (insert British accent while reading):
Day .
. . well, I never did get the hang of numbers, did I?
Your scent’s all but vanished from the sofa cushions.
I’ve sniffed every corner, even the suspicious bit behind the loo.
Nothing.
I lie here.
Abandoned. Betrayed.
Chew toyless.
Did you ever love me, or was I just a furry prop in your social media stories?
No, no, I mustn’t spiral again.
Pull yourself together, Sarah.
You’re a strong, independent Vizsla with separation anxiety.
But still.
Lucian: Did she seriously send me that weird email herself?
Olivia: I’m just a messenger.
Lucian: You’re not a good influence on my girl.
Olivia: I’m a great influence, and she’d like to have a letter from you—with a picture of course.
Photo of Lucian’s hotel room.
Letter from Lucian (read to Sarah in the most Bostonian—and elegant accent you can muster .
. . I’ll know if you didn’t, Liv.)
My dearest Lady Sarah,
I read your letter whilst crouched behind a tackling dummy.
War is cruel. The men are loud.
But none more tragic than the echo of your absence.
Your Father,
General Crawford
Olivia: :laughing: emoji
Olivia: You did not just call yourself General Crawford.
I can’t stop laughing.
Lucian: You shouldn’t be reading other puppies’ emails.
Olivia: Someone has to do the dirty job.
She has no opposable thumbs, remember?
Lucian: What do you think life would be like if dogs had opposable thumbs?
Olivia: :thinking: emoji
Lucian: Chaos.
Pure, adorable chaos.
Sarah would’ve already unlocked the snack cabinet, texted me thirty-seven times, and ordered herself a Paw-pur-Pedic because basic beds are ruff.
Olivia: She’d have blocked you by now for ignoring her requests and calling her “chunky” last week.
Lucian: I said fluffy.
And that was a private conversation between me and her emotional support tennis ball.
Olivia: Honestly, she’d probably have a Petsy shop by now—Artisan goods for pups with taste.
She’d be selling personalized bandanas.
“Bark if you love chaos” mugs.
Lucian: And a bio that reads: “Single. Chaotic. Enjoys long walks and judging people from windows.”
Olivia: So .
. . basically me, but with fur.
Lucian: Don’t sell yourself short.
You’d also hoard funny socks and have an irrational hatred for delivery people.
Olivia: One time I chased after a UPS driver because he left the package in the rain.
Lucian: I rest my case.
Olivia: You realize that if Sarah had thumbs, she’d probably open the front door and just show up at your training camp with a sign that says, “I miss Dad.”
Lucian: Don’t even joke.
I’d abandon all drills on the spot.
Give a dramatic speech.
Carry her off the field like a football-shaped princess.
Olivia: You’re so dramatic.
Lucian: And somehow, I think you like the level of drama I deliver.
Olivia: Because this is cheaper than therapy.
Lucian: I’m honored to be your emotional support system.
Olivia: I don’t know how this is my life.
Lucian: Same. But if this is our timeline, I call dibs on the left side of the bed.
Olivia: Only if you don’t snore.
Lucian: I purr. Like a big, confident man-cat.
Olivia: Well, I’m definitely locking my bedroom door now.
Lucian: You’re not fun.
Olivia: I have another letter from her.
Lucian: Send it . . .
let’s see what she has to say now.
[Picture of Sarah sitting in front of Olivia’s laptop, a paw on the keyboard.
]
Letter from Sarah (insert British accent while reading):
I attempted to send a message myself.
It read: “assssjkljssssswwwwwwww.”
I believe that’s Vizsla for I love you.
Or possibly kindly present the bacon, posthaste.
Either way, I await your signal.
Tail primed. Ears at full alert.
Dignity questionable.
Lucian: This is gold.
I could just read all the nonsense you pretend my girl is writing.
Olivia: I’m not making shit up.
She really tried to do the typing.
She thinks I’m just sending you lies, which I’m not.
She is indeed awaiting your response.
[Picture of Lucian’s favorite socks.
]
Letter from Lucian (read to Sarah in the most Bostonian—and elegant accent you can muster .
. . I’ll know if you didn’t, Liv.)
My most brilliant girl,
Your message reached me.
I’ve tattooed it on my heart.
Ssswwwwwwww forever.
Hold strong. Tell Mother to ration the treats wisely.
And please stop chewing Mom’s socks.
I hope the trainer has been teaching you new tricks.
Love,
Dad
Olivia: Thank you for the help disciplining the pup.
Lucian: It’s the least I can do while you’re teaching her to read and write.
I had no idea my dog will be the first pursuing a degree in creative writing.
Olivia: You’ll just have to find a dog college that will accept her.
Lucian: That’s easy.
Her test scores will open all the doors.
Olivia: She might need those opposable thumbs for the door opening.
Lucian: True. But I feel like Sarah’s the type to get into Yale on a full-ride scholarship and still refuse to sit when told.
Olivia: She knows the command.
She just doesn’t respect authority.
Lucian: Wonder where she learned that from .
. . :thinking: emoji
Olivia: Must be her environment.
Some loud, insufferable man is always around corrupting her.
Lucian: I prefer “influencing her with charm and charisma.”
Olivia: You once gave her a slice of pizza because she looked “emotionally neglected.”
Lucian: She was emotionally neglected.
You told her she couldn’t have your sandwich.
Olivia: Because she already ate half my lunch.
Lucian: A queen takes what she wants.
She learned that from you.
Olivia: You’re not helping your case.
Lucian: I’m not trying to.
I’m just trying to get joint custody of our overachieving, sass-filled, pizza-loving, genius pup.
Olivia: Fine. But you get her during finals week.
I’m not dealing with her when she’s stressed and shedding everywhere.
Lucian: Deal. I’ll help her prep for her poetry exam.
I’m very good at sonnets.
Especially the ones that rhyme bark with dark.
Olivia: That’s . . .
honestly your brand.
Lucian: Coming soon: Bark Side of the Moon, an original collection by Sarah Crawford, edited by Lucian “Shameless” Crawford.
Olivia: You’re exhausting.
Lucian: I might be, but it’s fun to make up stories about Sarah with you.
You wouldn’t give her a pizza or sandwich, would you?
Olivia: Only if I prepared them specially for her.
Lucian: You need to stop cooking her food.
That’s what kibble is for.
Olivia: This is why she’ll end up liking me better.
Our cooking sessions are the best.
Lucian: Hey, as much as I would like to keep this conversation going, I have to get up and head to camp.
Don’t forget moving day is today.
Olivia: Don’t remind me.
I’m not ready. Jacob said I didn’t have to lift a finger, but I’m still overwhelmed.
Lucian: It’ll be okay.
Text if you need me.