Page 18 of How to Ruin a Wedding

The door, in reality, is glued shut.

I start up my laptop, the only thing I own that’s brand new. I begin drafting an email to my old landlord, knowing in my gut it won’t get me anywhere, then shoot a text to my favorite employee at Save a Paw.

Sadness doesn’t look good on me, no, but it’s hard not to wrap it around me in this house I don’t belong in and with a sister who should be asking for advice instead of giving it.

I need space to breathe, so I send my email, gather what I need, and head out.

5.

Water sprays all around me, clinging to my already drenched T-shirt and soaked sweats. Stick, the golden Labrador standing against the wall, has been dodging the showerhead every time I aim it in her direction.

Two days in a row I’ve come to Save a Paw to escape the house that’s entirely safe and somehow feels close to collapsing on me every moment I’m there. Here, despite the confined space and constant noise, I’m more comfortable than ever. Stick let me lather her with the anti-itch conditioner, was cute enough to press her nose over mine, and dropped a paw over my leg once I gave her a nice ten-minute massage to let the ingredients soak in, tricking me into thinking she was complacent. Now my mouth is full of shampoo, aloe, and a liberal helping of dog hair.

I place the showerhead beside me, cross my legs, and hold Stick’s wide-eyed gaze. “All right, sweetheart,” I tell her as firmly as I can, given that she’s just a cute bundle of gold fur and love. “This is for your own good. Do you think keeping that conditioner in is going to help you? Trust me, I’ve done it, and my hair fell out. It’s no leave-in. You will regret it and need bangs.”

She whines, her head lowering.

“Look, the faster you let me rinse you off, the faster I can dry you. Wouldn’t it be so nice to strut through the dog park with a fresh mane? Don’t you want to be the envy of all the other dogs? It’s up to you.”

Stick sighs, and it’s not that I think she fully understands me, but at least I’ve bored her into a tentative submission. She stiffens when I bringthe showerhead over but doesn’t jump around or run to the glass wall overlooking the reception area where Ted, my favorite staff member, gives me an encouraging thumbs-up.

We give it another go, and Stick heroically only fights me one more time before we finish off in the corner of the room, where I use the blower to drybothof us off. As a reward, I bring her to the back of the shelter to join the other dogs running around the spacious play area featuring fake grass and walls painted with sky and clouds, creating the illusion of being outside. Sometimes when I’m here, I turn on high-speed fans to make it feel windy.

My shoes squelch with every step I take to Ted, who has a head of hair not too far off from Stick’s, and brown eyes that are always warm and welcoming.

He salutes me as I approach him. “Thank you for your service.”

“At ease.” I play along, scanning the board behind him with heartfelt photos of Save a Paw’s furry residents pinned by colorful tacks, looking their absolute sweetest to encourage the people entering to adopt, volunteer, donate, or all three.

My gaze snags on a photo of Storm in the upper right corner, smiling under a pink raincoat. Grief pins another tack into my chest as I go around the desk and grab it.

Knowing the way Taina’s brain works, she probably opted to save more practical items during my eviction, like furniture, electronics, and cookware. The sentimental items would be last on her priority list, so I pocket the photo in case the boxes I still haven’t finished unpacking at her house don’t have a single framed photo within them.

When I turn, Ted’s insistent clicking on the desktop catches my attention. Before he can exit the screen, I recognize the format of a resume. Unsurprising, since I’d only edited and reformatted fifty-seven of them over the past three months.

Guilt frames his widening eyes. “It’s just a backup plan. I know you’ll take over this place soon.”

“You’ll leave if I don’t?”

“I like Joshua, I like you, but if you guys are gone, my dad’s been meaning for me to join his auto shop for a while now.” He shakes his head. “But I know you’ll buy your share.”

I place a hand on his shoulder. “This is smart. Be smart.”

“I’m trying,” he says, his gaze averting to my wet shoes. “How is that going, by the way? Think you’ll be able to take over soon?”

I’m doing everything possible, but I’m barely above water. But I’ll manage. Of course I will.

The words are there, ready to reassure, but I think about the hopeful ping of each email notification I’ve received this past year, followed swiftly by the crushing words of rejection. It’s a painful and somewhat degrading process I wouldn’t want Ted or any of the staff here to go through.

I reach over and grab the desktop’s mouse. “Let me help you buff your CV.”

I can’t tell if Ted’s sigh is one of relief or disappointment.

Save a Paw is on the border between New York and Connecticut, so it takes me two hours to get to Taina’s place and, after pulling her Lexus into the drive-up garage, about five seconds to want to go all the way back.

Mathew’s Porsche is parked outside. Taina’s at Pilates, so I will be left alone with the man who has said only seven sentences to me since I moved in a week ago. It’s always the same:We’resohappy to take care of you.Only when Taina is around.

I get out and shut the door so lightly that it doesn’t lock. Hopefully, Mathew’s had a full day of helping rich people to get richer and is napping on the edge of their cloud couch in loafers that he refuses to take off even when in the house.