Turning Tables ✔

Part 2

JENNIE

"Okay, but like, nobody could steal her, right?!" I asked in a panicked tone

"Well, technically, they could," the voice on the other end of the phone said to me.

"But she's microchipped! I mean, that's why I got her microchipped, right? The vet said that it was best to have her chipped."

"It is good to have her chipped. Absolutely, you did the right thing in doing that. But veterinarians only look for chips if someone comes in with a lost animal. If somebody decided to just keep her for themselves and pretend she belonged to them, there's not a lot of ways to combat that."

"Right," I mumbled, my head buried in my hands.

"Look, it's only been twelve hours. You said she has a collar with your number, right?"

"Right." I sighed.

"Okay, so just relax. Most people are genuinely kind, and if they find a stray cat their first instinct is going to be to bring her back. Don't worry. I'm sure she'll turn up."

"Okay. Yeah, thank you. You'll call me if anyone brings her in, right?" 

"Absolutely. I've got your number written down here on the counter and I'll tell the next shift worker to be on the lookout as well." 

"Okay... Okay, thank you."

"No problem."

We both hung up. That was my second call to the pound today. But I just didn't know what else to do.

I hadn't been this anxious since... Well, since I first decided to come back home, I guess.

I had already searched my entire neighborhood for Lyla, but I decided to go back out and do it again. I wasn't sure what else to do. I felt useless just sitting here waiting for someone to find her. Plus, she couldn't have gotten too far, since she was so young.

I grabbed my jacket and walked out of my parents' house. It was still so weird for me to be back here. After years of complete independence, living with my parents when I was only a few years away from 30 was pretty weird.

Although it wasn't like I had to come back. I mean, this wasn't me being a failure. It wasn't as if I lost my job and wasn't able to pay rent and had to come back home.

Actually, quite the opposite. It was my parents that were in trouble. And I felt obligated to help, especially because of how I'd treated them over the last decade.

My parents were basically the best parents you could ask for. They were kind, loving, supportive, and just generally good people. They'd never wronged me in any way. Sure, we'd had our fights, like all kids did with their parents. But it was all minor, ordinary stuff.

And yet, I still chose to walk away from them when I was eighteen and never look back.

I didn't know what there was to say about it. I was kind of a shithead kid. I was going through a really difficult time in my life and I panicked. I couldn't shake the sense that I was never going to get out of this hellhole of a town. So as soon as I graduated, I found a job out of the city at a resort that would pay for room and board, and I left.

I left a note, but besides that, I didn't even bother saying goodbye. And I didn't tell them where I was for two years because I was scared they were going to come after me and, I don't know, drag me back or something. Although how could they? I was technically an adult.

I still cringed when I thought about that. It was such a shitty thing to do and I knew I broke their fucking hearts when I bolted. I wished so badly I could go back and undo the pain I'd caused.