Chapter Twenty-Seven
T he rest of the term flies by and before I know it, we’re three weeks into May and I’ve completed my second year of Cornell’s veterinary program.
Something clicked into place after I helped Minh Ha with Pilot, a rightness in being able to offer useful assistance while knowing that with my degree, I’d soon be able to do so much more.
Also, what she said to me that night—that I was better with people than I thought I was—made me realize I’ve attached too much of my identity to a single personality trait.
Sure, I have a history of struggling with dating and making friends.
I gravitate toward solitary spaces, speak before I think, and get anxious in large public settings.
But when given a task, whether randomly baking or helping a neighbor feel less alone, I do okay.
Something I think my parents know, deep down, even if they couch their love and concern for me in too many lessons about what I should do differently, building insecurity when they’re meant to do the opposite.
Funny thing, doubt. All it takes is a seed. The watering comes all too easily.
Everett and I throw a party in his apartment on the last day of my exams, celebrating my new resolve to finish my degree, his promotion to associate creative director, and Aggie’s recent weigh-in at seventy-five pounds, marking an astonishing fifty-pound loss since I first met her at the shelter last September.
Several of Everett’s coworkers attend, a few of my classmates, Sam and Sariah from Ruff ’n’ Rescue, Georgia from Aqua Paws, and everyone on the sixth floor of the Maple Lane Apartments, including Felicity, who pops by to say congrats and that she can’t stay long, only to end up talking with Regina about fashion for two solid hours.
We also have some out-of-towners. Andy and Nora from Hounds and Hearts drive down from Syracuse, eager to celebrate Aggie after being near certain last fall that she wouldn’t make it to winter.
Everett’s sisters Dakota and Charlotte visit to toast Everett, Dakota on her own and Charlotte with her husband and delightfully precocious two-year-old son.
The adults embrace Aggie and me like we’re family, as warm and kind as Everett is, while little Liam interrogates his parents about the curious dog-less state of their household.
Hannah flies over so we can enjoy a proper visit this time and to check out the Lake Placid Ironman course before she completes the race this summer, though her motivations are suspect since she and Khalil keep making heart eyes at each other.
They’ve been training together through an app since she headed back to the UK last month.
He hasn’t stopped talking about her. She’s never looked happier.
Johann the baker comes by with a Black Forest cake that might be the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and Arthur and Diana visit with the five-year-old wire fox terrier they started fostering last week.
We all play along with their use of the word fostering , but the dog has clearly found his forever home.
Diana wasted no time renaming him Stoker in the Irish author tradition she has upheld with all of her terriers.
He gets along great with Aggie and Pilot, and the three dogs create no end of chaos, chasing each other around the sofa, playing tug-of-war, sneaking unattended food off the coffee table, and vying for attention.
Aggie can’t totally keep up with the other dogs, and we’ll always be managing the impact of her early years, but her tail never stops wagging.
Her beautiful tail, now covered with fully grown hair where last year, there were only sores.
Once people disperse, Everett’s sisters head out to their short-term rental, and the party has dwindled to the seven of us—Hannah, Everett, Regina, Tegan, Khalil, Minh Ha, and me—we collapse in the living room with two tired dogs, and I hand out the gift bags I put together this afternoon, waving away questions about why I brought gifts to my own celebration.
Tegan opens hers first with a childlike enthusiasm, reaching in to hold up a pillar candle.
“‘Wistful Wishes,’” she reads before sniffing the candle. “More like Whole Lotta Lavender.”
Regina gives her a playful swat. “I believe you mean thank you.”
“No. It’s okay,” I say through a breath of laughter as the others examine the candles and soaps in their own bags. “I don’t understand any of the names. I just figured I should use my employee discount before handing in my notice. Thought we could all use a laugh.”
“Cinnamon apples,” Minh Ha says as she sniffs her candle. Then she rotates it to read the label. “Sorry. No. ‘Autumnal Caper.’” She holds it out to Pilot, who’s curled up on her lap.
Pilot gives it only the most cursory of sniffs before settling in for a snooze.
Hannah smothers a laugh behind a loose fist. Her candle scent is Love at First Sight. She doesn’t share this with the group, but the giddy look she sneaks Khalil speaks volumes.
We carry on, laughing about Loden and Linden products in a way that feels deeply cathartic after almost two years of working there, feigning enthusiasm about pretentious home furnishings with politely condescending customers.
This Sunday will be my last day. I’m starting a paid internship on Monday with Dr. Stean, the pathology professor who was so understanding about my exam mark last term.
She’s even letting me bring Aggie to the lab while I work.
The job is full-time for the next three months, and while it doesn’t pay a fortune, it’s enough to hand in notice at both of my part-time jobs.
No more weekend candles. No more late-night plungers.
“Think you might go back in the fall?” Khalil asks as he sets aside his Gentle Avalanche candle, one of the most nonsensical scents and therefore one of my favorites.
“I hope not,” I say. “I’m applying for teaching assistantships, and my immunology professor recommended me for a scholarship, but I won’t know about any of it until the fall.”
“If you need another recommendation, let me know,” Minh Ha offers.
“Wow, really?” I ask. “Even though you’re not my professor?”
“Happy to,” she says. “And I can honestly say you never wrote a paper that bored me.”
I almost laugh. If she ever read the papers I wrote as an undergrad...
“I can do another shirt,” Regina adds from her spot in the middle of the sofa. “I’m dying to launch official fan club merch and Tegan’s been begging for an Aggie’s Waggies tee.”
“Aggie’s Waggies,” I echo with a smile as I pet her head where it rests on my lap.
“You know I’ll do branding and video production,” Everett says, seated behind me in an armchair while I lounge on the floor with Aggie. “But only if you want me to.”
I give his leg a squeeze in gratitude. He knows I’ll want him to.
We’ve already worked this out. I post casual Aggie updates when I have them.
He steps in with sponsorship negotiation and video production as official brand manager on an as-needed basis.
Neither of us touches the account on date nights or weekends, which we’ve been better at carving out for each other.
“If it’d help,” Tegan says, “I can book you in for a financial planning session.”
I spin toward her in surprise. She has only ever said she works in a bank.
“You’re a financial planner?” I ask.
“I know.” She sighs through an eye roll. “Most boring job ever.”
“Most amazing job ever,” Regina corrects before I can do the same. “I never could’ve started a business without you. And you look stupid hot in a pantsuit.”
Tegan grins at this, and for a moment, the two of them get lost in a love bubble, locking eyes and linking pinky fingers on the sofa, still and forever The Lovers to me.
“If we get seed funding for our grant proposal,” Khalil says, “I might be able to pay for Aggie to test demo models. Worth a shot, right? And something fun for your account?”
I gape at him in astonishment. “Something spectacular for the account.”
“You know I can’t help with money,” Hannah says, “but I’ve got you twenty-four seven for moral support.
And I’ll visit more often. Also...” She sneaks another look at Khalil as her cheeks bloom red, drawing out a blush on his cheeks as well.
“Cornell has a hell of a law school, so, you know, we could look into that. See if there’s a way to do more than visit. ”
If I was gaping before, my jaw is now completely unhinged.
The room goes quiet, other than Aggie’s slightly labored breathing as she twitches her way through a dream.
Anticipation hums between us while my friends’ generous offers hang in the air.
This time, despite a familiar tug of resistance, I don’t question the kindness or let my brain twist it into something that has to be transactional.
I allow my smile to build, and the burst of happiness and gratitude to expand in my chest, warm, bright, vast, and unfettered by the lessons I’m finally letting myself unlearn.
“I love you,” I say. “All of you. You know that?”
They all respond at once, some earnest, some teasing me for being earnest. Minh Ha scratches Pilot’s head.
Tegan and Regina snuggle closer. Khalil and Hannah make more heart eyes at each other.
Everett leans forward and wraps his arms around me, holding me in a snuggly embrace made even snugglier by yet another cozy sweater his sister made for him.
As I lean into him with a heart so full I wonder how it still fits in my chest, Aggie stirs from her nap and blinks up at me, rolling onto her back for a belly rub.
It started with you , I think as I bury my hands in her floof. It all started with you.
Everyone soon heads home, with Hannah and Khalil the last to leave after helping us clean up.
Maybe she stays at my place but more likely at his, which I look forward to hearing about tomorrow morning while Everett drives us to Lake Placid with the late spring trees in full bloom, Aggie’s head hanging out the window, and Neil Diamond blasting at full volume.
Aggie settles in now on the bed we keep for her at Everett’s, where we sleep more often than not these days, snuggling with her cow, her favorite pink ball, and her monkey, though we’ve selfishly removed the squeakers from her overnight toys.
She was confused at first, and gave us her most convincing sad eyes, but as always, she forgave us and loves us anyway, a lesson I suspect she’ll teach me a thousand times over in the days and years to come.
As I climb into bed with Everett, I take care of one last, unfinished task by finding my phone and opening TikTok to my mom’s account.
It’s filled with cheerful videos of social outings and posed moments with my dad, almost always with her arm around him, much less often with his arm around her.
Shortly after Hannah’s last visit, I asked my mom if she was lonely or if she ever wished my dad made more of an effort to spend time with her.
She expressed astonishment at my questions, assuring me everything was great, wonderful, perfect.
Her life. Her job. Her friendships. Her marriage.
I may always wonder if I would’ve handled my loneliness better if she’d been more open and accepting of her own, but I can’t change that now.
I can, however, accept that social media has given her something more than a platform for relentless positivity.
It’s where she finds connection, and I understand that a lot better now that I’ve seen more of its positive sides.
So, after years of stubbornly refusing to engage, I get over myself and give her the only reassurance I know she’ll accept.
I tap the screen and like her latest post.
“Everything good?” Everett asks as he snuggles close and pulls me against him.
“More than good.” I set aside my phone, turn out the light, and rotate to face him, toying with the curls that curtain his forehead while his fingertips brush circles on my lower back. All these little ways we reach for each other, each one a tiny miracle of human connection.
“I love you,” Everett says with a gentle sincerity, and no matter how many times I’ve heard the words now, they still hit hard. I hope they always do.
“I love you, too,” I say back.
Thump, thump, thump , says Aggie’s tail.
And all feels right in the world.