Page 16 of How to Ruin a Wedding

“Clearly not impressive enough,” Taina points out.

“How I wish I shipped you off to military school to learn some manners.”

“Sorry.” Taina salutes. “Clearly, it’s not impressive enough,sir.”

I reel my arm back, ready to slap her. She dodges me, sticks out her tongue, then grabs my phone from the coffee table, flips it over, and points to a Polaroid photo tucked beneath the clear case—my pit bull terrier gleefully demolishing my couch.

My heart lurches at the loss of her, still fresh even though it’s been a year. I’ve always thought photos held an impossible responsibility, carrying the weight of memory even if the people in them are gone. It keeps the moment alive, anyway.

“If you won’t officially move in with me,” Taina says, “or let me commit murder, let me help pay for your share of Save a Paw.”

Anxiety bites at me when she mentions the animal shelter.

Save a Paw is my real dream, not this wedding-wrecking mess I’m in. A haven for dogs that provides services for homeless animals, like vet care and any necessary surgeries, nurturing and caring for them, and trying to house them where they can get all the love and care they deserve.

Since I was sixteen, the owner had promised me that once he retired, he’d sell the business to me. I was supposed to have years more time to be able to buy it from him. But a couple months ago, Joshua told me his wife wanted him to retire earlier, spend the rest of their years traveling the world, so he’d come to me first, like he promised. Save a Paw could be mine for $30,000.

I’d been putting aside small amounts for years and had already saved up $10,000 for it. I’m nowhere near the other $20,000. When I told him that, he said his wife gave him a year to get his affairs in order, therefore,Ihad a year (now three months left) to buy it off him.

A stressful fact made more anxiety inducing when he informed me that his partner, the other shareholder, already had someone interested in buying.

In a cruel and genius way, Taina goes into my photos app and starts playing videos of Storm and me. “Think of all the Stormys that need you to keep the business thriving. What would have happened to her if you hadn’t found her?” she asks, knowing damn well she probably would havedied. “Don’t you remember? How much pain she was in?”

Of course I do. How could I not? My dog was my everything. “Don’t be cruel,” I tell her.

“I’m just saying, Storm helped you realize your passion in life. Animals. You can’t let the shelter go to some Wall Street, high-water, cufflink-wearing asshole.”

I rub my palms against my eyes. “I’m pretty sure it’s a former veterinarian wanting to take over.” But she’s right, Storm had helped me.

In every aspect of my life. In every relationship, platonic or otherwise. It doesn’t matter how hard I work at being a good friend, an amazing girlfriend, or an incredible employee; it’s like I was speciallycreated to be an extra in every main character’s life. It doesn’t matter how much I bend and twist and break to become a priority for the people around me, I’m always just an afterthought.

The first time I’d ever been needed was on my sixteenth birthday. My parents forgot—understandably—since Taina had the flu so horrendously, she had to be taken to the hospital, and I dragged myself on a ten-mile walk, hoping that each step would feel less miserable than the last.

And then I saw a dog limping across a road, under the drizzle becoming rain. Its leg buckled halfway through, and it dropped as the headlights of a car poured closer and closer toward it. Without thinking, I ran out, hands up, screaming for the car to stop. It swerved, barely avoiding us, but the near-death hardly shook me.

The poor silver thing was whining, its hind leg bent at a grotesque angle. Its eyes were blue and wide with pain, and they held such a familiar kind of heartache that I wrapped it up in my arms. A pit bull. Fifty pounds of dog that I somehow managed to drag to the nearest shelter.

Save a Paw—I’ll never forget walking through the building.

It was all a blur. The staff took the dog from me, questioning things I had few answers for, taking her away for hours, and returning with a declaration that she was recovering from surgery, but her leg had been purposely broken.

I spent the rest of the night waiting for any updates. I cried when they carried the wounded dog and placed her within a large cage at the shelter. When I wouldn’t leave, the employees let me enter the room and lie with the dog to ease her cries as she tried to sleep through the pain. Each time she woke, her eyes met mine, like she was checking to make sure I was still there. Only when she confirmed it did she let herself drift back off to sleep.

She needed me.

It was work convincing my parents to let me adopt her, but once I brought in the tears, they couldn’t deny me. I buried her name tag and called her Storm, for the night I found her. Finally, I was a first choice.Storm needed me, but I needed her more. We spent every day together; our walks got me outside and kept me healthy, and her company as I read or watched TV or studied or slept kept me sane.

She was my best friend and I was hers, but I often thought about the other cries I’d heard. The other animals crying out for love and having nobody reach out.

So our walks took us back to the shelter, where Storm made friends, and I volunteered to pass the time. I helped shower the dogs, distracted them when they were getting their shots, cleaned up the kennels, and worked out potential adoptions to see if families reallywantedandcouldcare for a pet.

Save a Paw ismine.

“This wedding wrecking isn’t sustainable,” Taina says, pulling me from the memories. “I’ve been tracking the click-through on all the ads I’ve been running, hits on the site. It’s tanking. And the job marketdoessuck.”

Anxiety bites at me when she says it. “I know, but it’s only temporary. Once I save up for my share, I can start working on how to make the shelter financially sustainable. Make enough for it, and me, and then, no more wedding wrecking.”

Taina raises an eyebrow. “And how do you plan to do that? Bake sales?” When I open my mouth, she holds out a hand. “Just kidding, don’t be mad. I know you’ve been playing around with ideas, but you still haven’t told meexactlyhow you plan to get any revenue for it.”