After losing her job and her girlfriend, it's time for Annie Abraham to admit defeat and move back in with her parents. She has hardly been back to her tiny Montana hometown since the unforgettable summer before her senior year of college, when she...
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I make it home at lunchtime after leaving my stuff in the coffee shop to buy a new charger from the tech store across the road and calling a cab, the driver shooting me a judgmental look when I gave him an address less than a mile away until he saw my bags. The house is cold and empty except for my parents' golden retriever, Cooper, who either remembers me from a year and a half ago or he doesn't care enough to bark. Probably the latter. He has never been a good guard dog, way too friendly to every stranger he meets.
"Hey, Coop." I scratch his big caramel-colored head once I've brought my stuff inside and dumped it in the hallway, because there's no way I'm dragging everything upstairs. I can't even drag myself upstairs.
It's enough that I make it to the sofa. I'm horizontal within a couple minutes of getting home, pulling a blanket over my cold, weary body, and closing my eyes. Cooper gets the memo that it's nap time. He leaps onto the sofa and lands on top of me, making himself comfortable in the space between my body and the back of the sofa. He's too big but that doesn't deter him. It does mean that I end up right on the edge, though.
I want to sleep. God, I need to sleep. I don't care that it's one in the afternoon. I don't care that it'll mess up my sleep schedule. I just need to close my eyes and lose consciousness to get rid of the ache behind my eyes and the overtired burning in my chest, to let sleep renew me. But when I close my eyes, I see Laurel. I see her this morning transposed over the last time I saw her, when I told her that I loved her and she stared straight ahead with a set jaw, her steely gaze fixed on a point beyond the steamed-up windshield. I told her I'd see her again and she told me I was destined to get out of our small town.
I really thought we could find each other again once I graduated. I truly thought that after a year away, we could pick things up where we left off, but Laurel knew better. She already knew. I asked her if she loved me. Horrible, I know, but I was desperate for her attention even as I left, and I can't forget what she said because her words sliced me open. Don't make me say it when you won't be around to hear me.
She never said the words. We were only together for ninety-three days, I didn't expect her to fall in love with me in that time. But I didn't expect that I would fall in love, and yet I did. I fell so hard it terrified me. I fell so fucking hard that once I left it was easier to stay away. Avoiding her became an act of self-preservation.
How am I supposed to sleep when she fills my thoughts, her face in profile in my mind's eye. That final glimpse of her when I got out of her car for the last time and buried my hands in my pockets as I walked away, when I looked over my shoulder at the back of her car and she was still there. Still staring straight ahead, away from me.
Cooper rests his warm muzzle on the side of my head. I feel his hot breath, hear his heavy sigh close to my ear.
"Mood," I say, reaching back to stroke his silky fur. We never had dogs growing up. It was only once I moved out, the last of the Abrahams to flee the nest, that Mom realized with no kids and with Dad working away half of the time, she could get pretty lonely. Enter Cooper, who has been a cuddly oaf since he was a puppy. I think Mom might actually prefer him to my brothers and me: Coop's always here, always wants her love and attention, wags his entire body every time she comes home.
