13. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
“What the hell do you mean we’re getting a dog?”
Luka’s arms are crossed so tightly that the fingertips on his right hand are turning white. He’s staring at Stefan as if he’s lost his mind, but Stefan isn’t backing down.
Truthfully, I’m also uncomfortable with this sudden new development.
Stefan came up with a list of social engagements for me and Luka in an attempt to shed a positive light on Danica Rose while drawing some of the media attention away from Konstantin’s trial, but privately, everyone is stressing about the case.
Luka won’t admit anything to me, but I can tell how it’s eating away at him.
I wish he’d let me be there for him. Instead, all he’s done is close himself off even more.
He’s not sleeping, and I’ve seen him up at all hours of the night, just staring out the living room windows at the city below.
He barely speaks to me, either—I mean, even less than usual. It’s as if he’s ceased to exist outside of his rote schedule of going to work, doing his job, and coming home.
I don’t know if Stefan is doing much better. The lines on his face suggest that he’s not.
I glance at the printed list in my hand. We have a new event each day for the next two weeks. None of them sound horrible, and I’m pleased to see that many will have a much broader impact than simply keeping the DRM image above water. I’m happy to support the community.
We’re going to teach a craft workshop at a foster care facility on the South Side, play bingo at a senior center, and help deliver meals to the elderly via a mobile kitchen. But for our first assignment? Stefan is convinced we need to adopt a shelter pet. With the media invited.
“Maybe we can adopt one for a few weeks, and find it another home?” I suggest.
“Absolutely not,” Luka interjects, crushing my hopeful solution.
Luka is not a pet person. He made that very clear from the beginning.
He didn’t want the mess, the noise, or the responsibility.
I’ve always been open to the idea, theoretically, but never felt like the timing was right.
I’m home a lot more now, though, working only a few hours a week when I have a modeling gig.
If there was ever a good time to be available for an animal in need, this is it.
“What about a cat?” I ask. “They’re a lot more low maintenance.”
“Nope. Not gonna cut it.” Stefan is firm. “Everyone trusts a man with a dog.”
“Then you and Tori get a dog!” Luka says.
His brother smiles and leans back against the kitchen counter. “It’s not a good time for us right now. We’ve…got some things going on. Besides, we’re not the ones who need to earn the public’s favor. Ergo, you’re about to become puppy parents.”
Luka turns his eyes to me as if I had something to do with this. I shrug and shake my head. I don’t know what he expects me to say. I’ve got nothing.
Stefan looks down to check his watch. “Looks like you two better get going. I made an appointment for you at the Twin Lakes Animal Shelter for ten. Big smiles for the news crews.”
Luka looks at me again, his lips pulled into a hard line.
“I’ll go change,” I say hurriedly, eager for any excuse to get away from the tension.
When I go back to the kitchen, the brothers are in their same spots. Stefan appears to be giving Luka a soft lecture.
“Remember, your wife has the final say.”
“Right,” Luka says. “Knowing her, she’ll pick out a horse just to spite me.”
I roll my eyes. What would I legit do with a horse? Though…if it meant spiting him…
“Seriously,” Stefan pushes. “The media doesn’t want to see you choose the dog. They want to see Brooklyn do it. So back off and let her take the reins on this.”
“I think I will get a small horse.” I grin as I walk by them to fill my to-go coffee container from the pot on the counter. Stefan smiles back. Luka scowls. Oh, this is going to be fun.
He says nothing as we drive to the shelter.
I’m tempted to try making small talk, but he’s got so much on his mind with his father’s trial that I decide to leave him be.
I glance at his hand resting on his thigh and have the strongest urge to take it in mine.
I want to be there for him right now. But I have no idea how to get him to let me in.
His eyes meet mine briefly and my heart flips.
Sometimes, I swear he knows what I’m thinking.
He starts to speak, but then our attention is drawn to the reporters and camera crews waiting for us as we pull into the shelter parking lot.
Stefan invited the local news and tipped off the celebrity outlets to let them know we’d be here today.
Most of them probably work for online sources, so I’m sure our pictures will be all over Insta as soon as I have a puppy in my arms.
We exit the vehicle and are met by Amy Lee, the shelter director, who greets us with a grin and quickly ushers us inside. The absolute noise of barking dogs makes Luka’s whole body tense, but like a champ, he puts on a warm smile and steers me inside.
“Welcome!” Amy nearly shouts. “How would you like to do this? We usually ask a few questions to get a sense of what you’re looking for and then take a tour of the whole place while we introduce some of the pups, but I see you’ve got quite an entourage today.”
I make a half turn to see all the media people have followed us inside and the small reception area is now packed. I hope Stefan informed the shelter ahead of time that this was going to happen.
“I’m so sorry about all of this!” I tell Amy. “Maybe we can just stage a few photos right away, so the camera people can all get their first shots in instead of fighting over them.”
“Of course,” Amy says.
We decide to have the media photograph us walking through the kennel first, putting on our happiest faces as we visit all the most photogenic labs, chihuahuas, and beagle mixes.
Then Amy introduces us to a pair of brindle Staffy mixes, brother and sister, their brown eyes watching us with a spark of deep intelligence.
My pulse leaps for a second, but after licking our fingers through the chain link, they go back to playing with each other, seeming uninterested in me or Luka.
We move along after offering a round of ear scratches.
We meet a mini-Pinscher, a plump dog with curly white fur, and a few more small-size mutts who are ecstatic to run around chasing the tennis balls and chew toys we throw for them.
My stomach flutters each time we meet a new dog, my heart going out to each of them. I want to take them all home. How can they sit here all day behind bars and still be so happy?
Finally, Amy leads us to a room with a gated playpen where pets can meet (and play with) prospective owners.
“Before I bring in any likely candidates, have you considered what type of dog you’re looking for?” she asks us. “Taking into account your own energy levels, the amount of space you have, how many hours you’re at work every day…”
I look at Luka, caught off guard. We’re supposed to be the fully connected couple who’d given this enormous thought, instead of two people who barely tolerate each other and only learned about this business a matter of hours ago.
“I think something small,” Luka says. “That doesn’t bark a lot or need a lot of attention. You know, the kind of dog that’s okay having some time alone and is kind of independent.”
Amy’s smile goes a little tight. “So, you’re saying that you really want a cat?”
I laugh quickly and playfully tap Luka’s arm. “You jokester,” I say, then turn to the director. “He’s kidding. Smaller would be preferable, though. And we’re very active, so we’d be happy with a younger dog who loves to take walks and play frisbee in the park. Right, babe?”
Luka chuckles, as if he suddenly remembers he’s supposed to be in character mode here.
“I’ll be right back,” Amy says with a nod. “You can have a seat in the playpen.”
We step over the gate and Luka looks at me like the floor is made of lava, but when I sit, he follows. As he settles beside me, I realize I’m anxious. But is it all the cameras pointed at us, capturing our every move, or because we’re about to adopt a sweet, needy animal?
“Here we go!” Amy chirps, bustling back in with a volunteer helper, both of them carrying an armload of squirming puppies.
They set them in the pen, and the first little plump-ball comes ambling over, goes right to Luka, and tries to tongue kiss him on the mouth. He frowns and turns his head away. The puppy tries harder. The reporters love it, and it just goes from there.
Luka goes stiff as four more puppies jump on his legs, licking and yapping away. But then a smile tugs at his mouth, and grows, until he’s grinning from ear to ear.
He pats as many on the head as he can. We both start picking up random puppies and those sticky-sweet little sounds that people use on baby animals start coming out of our mouths. Even my husband coos a little as he pets the puppies.
I had no idea I was a pet person, but I can’t imagine walking out of here without a dog.
Maybe more than one. I’m LOVING this. And the press seems to be loving my enthusiasm for them, a few even dropping their cameras to get in on the puppy play themselves.
Suddenly, a smaller pup with the same curly fur as a dog I saw earlier plops into my lap.
“That’s a Doodle puppy,” Amy tells me. “A very good family breed.”
My eyes light up as I look at Luka. “Let’s get a Doodle!”
“What the hell is a Doodle?” His voice is low so the reporters can’t hear.
I frown at him. “Weren’t you listening? This is a Doodle.” I can feel my eyes getting teary as I pat him on his round pink tummy.
“If we’re getting a dog, it has to be a real dog,” Luka hisses.
“But he’s so soft,” I choke out, overwhelmed with cuteness. “Look at his wiggly tail!”
Luka’s trying to tug his shoelace out of the mouth of one of the tiniest puppies, a little spaniel. “How do we choose? They’re all so adorably destructive,” he deadpans.
The puppy Luka’s playing tug-of-war with lets out the tiniest growl as he holds on tight. I can’t help laughing, and soon Luka is joining in. Cameras flash like crazy in our direction. But ultimately, we decide we aren’t looking for a puppy.
As Amy scoops the Doodle back into her arms, Luka asks, “Do you have something more…manly? And maybe a little older?”
She laughs and instructs her helper to bring in the next round of dogs. These ones are a little older, most of them a year or two old. They’re still technically puppies, but they won’t require quite as much ‘round-the-clock care. I’m in dog heaven, in love with every one I meet.
“Well?” Luka says finally. “Do you want to go for a round three, or…?”
He’s got a lean gray dog with interestingly long legs and an even longer nose in his lap. He’s been petting him nonstop, stroking his velvety ears, not aware of anything else.
“What kind of dog is that?” I ask Amy, pointing to Luka’s new friend. The dog looks over at me, and I can’t help smiling instantly. He’s a cute little alien of a puppy, with big dark eyes, a doofy grin, and ears that stick out from the sides of his head like a pair of bat wings.
“That’s a greyhound mix,” Amy says. “He’ll be a small to medium size when he’s fully grown, not too much bigger than he is now, but he’ll require a commitment to exercise. As in, he’ll need a lot of walking, and a lot of attention. They’re running dogs. It’s in their nature.”
“There’s a huge dog park a few blocks away from our place,” Luka says. “We could take him every day.”
My jaw drops. “Are you sure…?” I ask.
Amy smiles. “I’m sure Mr. Kibbles would love that.”
The dog’s gaze jumps to Amy the second she says his name.
Now it’s Luka’s turn to look surprised. “Mr.…Kibbles?” The dog looks back at Luka.
“Yes, that’s what we call him.”
Luka looks at me, his smile fading. The press utters some ooohs and ahhhs. “What do you think, Brooklyn? The choice is ultimately yours, of course.”
“What do you say, pupper?” I ask Mr. Kibbles. “You wanna come home with us?”
Maybe it’s just the high pitch of my voice, but he scrambles out of Luka’s lap and climbs up on me, wagging his tail like crazy as he attacks my face with slobbery kisses.
I laugh as I hold him back, planting a kiss on the top of his soft, gray head. “I love Mr. Kibbles. I think he’s the one!”
Each time someone says his name, the puppy snaps to attention.
It’s clear he’s familiar with his moniker.
We make a little show of playing with the dog, but it’s clear to me that Luka isn’t petting the puppy and tossing it a ball just for the media.
He actually seems to be enjoying himself.
Finally, the press leaves. We’re alone while Amy gets some paperwork for us to fill out.
“The thing is, I refuse to own a dog named Mr. Kibbles,” Luka asserts.
The dog looks up at him, waiting expectantly. I wonder if this is my husband’s way of trying not to form a bond with the dog.
“Too bad,” I say. “This is the name he knows. Besides, he’s already got so much to adjust to, with a new home and new owners.”
He frowns. “My dog needs a real name. Mr. Kibbles is ridiculous.”
The dog cocks an ear, and I suppress a grin.
“Well, maybe he doesn’t like the name ‘Luka.’”
He scowls, but I can see his mouth twitching. “Fine, then I’m calling him Kib.”
When we leave, Luka makes a big deal out of buckling the dog carrier into the back seat, asking Mr. Kibbles if he’s okay, and glancing nervously over his shoulder every few minutes the whole way home. It’s adorable.
When we get up to the apartment, we find that Stefan sent over all the supplies we might need, including a crate, toys, a collar, dog bowls, and a variety of dog food.
“Wow. He thought of everything,” I murmur. “We should send a thank-you card.”
Luka just grunts, deposits the dog in the crate immediately, and shuts himself up in his office, leaving me to take care of potty time and Kib’s grand tour of his new home.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I hear the dog whine urgently as he bangs against the side of his kennel.
It’s the third time since we put him to bed.
If this is anything like having an actual baby, I don’t know how parents stay sane.
Yawning, I throw on my robe and pull my hair into a ponytail.
It’s quiet when I walk into the living room.
Soft city light flows in through the windows, casting a glow over my husband as he lies stretched out on the couch, eyes closed, a book forgotten beside him.
Mr. Kibbles is curled up with his nose pressed against Luka’s chest, fast asleep.