Chapter 3
Chapter Three
“Idon’t want you to go,” Dana pouts. “What am I supposed to do without you?”
Her voice tries to sound teasing, but it cracks around the edges.
“Well, first, you're supposed to take care of Graham for me. I will not leave him with my mom; she’d probably give him away the second she figures out the plan.”
I grab a hold of Graham, my ten-year-old Australian shepherd, and sink down onto the floor beside him.
He rests his head on the top of my thighs like he knows something important is happening.
His mismatched eyes, one brown, one blue, stare up at me with a quiet loyalty that makes my throat tighten.
He smiles the way only dogs can, tongue lolling slightly, tail nub thumping against the hardwood in soft, steady beats.
Besides Dana, he’s been my best friend.
And my biggest worry.
I press my forehead gently against his. “You’re going to be such a good boy,” I whisper, even though he doesn’t know what I’m saying. Or maybe he does. Maybe he understands more than I give him credit for.
I know I wouldn’t be able to take care of him the way he needs to be taken care of.
Leaving with a high-energy dog who needs space to run and stretch and chase the wind wouldn’t be fair.
My plan only stretches far enough for a small apartment, maybe above something noisy and inconvenient.
Not a yard. Not open land. Not the kind of life he deserves.
Grabbing his brush, I start working through his thick coat, slow, methodical strokes.
The repetitive motion steadies me. Dana is pacing near the window, muttering under her breath about ways to sabotage the wedding, ways to stall it, ways to stage an illness dramatic enough to cancel the whole thing.
“As far as I’m concerned,” she says, crossing her arms, “we fake a fainting spell during the vows and sprint.”
I huff out a soft laugh. “That would still require me to walk down the aisle.”
Graham’s little tail nub wags faster when I scratch behind his ears. I focus on that. On the softness of his fur under my fingers. On the warmth of him pressed against my knees. On anything that isn’t the clock ticking toward a day I never agreed to.
I look up toward Dana and catch her watching me. Her expression isn’t playful now. It’s scared.
As much as my leaving is what’s best for me, I know it’s going to be hard on these two.
I stand up and try to wipe Graham’s fur off my black leggings, but it clings stubbornly, as if even the universe is trying to hold me in place. I give up and walk toward the closet instead.
The dress hangs there like it’s waiting for me.
Soft ivory lace. Structured bodice. Delicate sleeves. It looks like something out of a magazine spread titled Happily Ever After.
I run my fingers across the lace, tracing the floral pattern stitched into it. It’s beautiful. That’s the worst part. It’s beautiful and expensive and completely wrong for me.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” I ask Dana quietly.
She sits up straighter on my bed, hands planted beside her. I can see the thoughts processing behind her eyes. She doesn’t answer right away, which means she’s taking the question seriously.
“No,” she finally says. “But I feel like you should find a way to let Liam know you aren’t going through with the wedding.”
The name settles heavily between us.
I know she’s right.
A ball of tension coils low in my stomach, sour and stubborn. Knowing she’s right and doing it are two completely different things. I don’t trust myself to follow through if I see him face to face. I don’t trust myself not to freeze. Or worse, to fold.
Shaking off the sadness before it can root too deeply, I turn suddenly and tackle Dana back onto the bed. Graham barks once in surprise and then launches himself up after me, all paws and enthusiasm.
I start tickling her ribs mercilessly.
“Lilly!” she wheezes. “I swear I will pee on your comforter!”
“That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,” I say, laughing harder than I have all day.
Her laughter fills the room, messy and loud and real, and for a moment, the weight of everything disappears. We’re just two girls on a bed with a dog climbing over us, limbs tangled and future temporarily forgotten.
“I’m going to miss you both,” I say when I finally stop, collapsing beside her. “And when things get settled, and I finally find a small house I can afford, we’ll be back together. You’ll see.”
“Pinkie promise?” she asks, holding out the pinkie of her right hand, her voice soft now.
“Pinkie promise,” I reply, wrapping my left pinkie around hers.
We fall back against the pillows; pinkies still intertwined like we’re twelve years old again and not on the edge of something terrifying. Graham settles himself squarely on top of both of us, heavy and warm, his version of protection.
“Thank you,” I say, staring at the ceiling. “For doing this. For being here. For taking care of Graham.”
My eyes sting for what feels like the hundredth time today.
Dana squeezes my hand. “It’s okay,” she says, blinking rapidly. “Because you know what we’re going to do today?”
I sniff and glance at her.
“What?”
She grins through watery eyes. “Try to take over the world.”
And for just a second, I almost believe we can.