But maybe Tessa had offended her. Made her think that she wasn’t good enough. Maybe correcting her misunderstanding of where a subscapular adductor would be, if it were a real thing, bothered her. She hadn’t meant for it to, but when had she ever been especially good at reading an audience?
Never, that’s when.
Eliza’s frown was a pressure on Tessa’s temple, not properly painful, but constant and unignorable. Finally, she had to address it because she knew it wouldn’t go away otherwise.
“Eliza?”
She kept her voice down, soft enough to not startle her even as she cut through the silence.
Eliza didn’t look up from her book. “Hmm?”
“I’m sorry.”
This did pull at her attention; she peered up without moving her head. “For what?”
“Whatever I said that upset you.”
“You didn’t say anything to upset me.”
“But … you’re upset?”
Her voice pitched up at the end, turning what should’ve been an observation into a question.
Eliza moved her head now, lifting her face away from the book she was still flipping through. “No.”
“You look it.”
“It’s nothing. Not your fault.”
“But—”
“It’s fine, Tessa,” she interrupted. “Leave it.”
Tessa closed her mouth so hard her teeth clacked.
They were quiet again for another moment, and Tessa could feel Eliza’s eyes on her even as she ducked her head to avoid her gaze.
Eventually, Eliza sighed and scooted an inch closer. “Actually … do you know what’s going on here?”
Tessa looked at where she was in her book. Her flipping had stopped on a diagram of a dog covered in tiny print and bisecting lines. It looked like directional terms.
She grimaced. “I usually keep a cheat sheet with me for this sort of nonsense.”
Tessa blinked once, struggling for a moment with her surprise. Directional terms were some of the most basic things a person could learn, and to get along this far and not know them was kind of remarkable.
But maybe she just didn’t have much of a mind for remembering words with similar sounds that meant opposite things. Cranial and caudal, plantar and palmar, dorsal and ventral. They weren’t always exactly obvious, and to misunderstand would be to potentially do something very, very wrong.
Better a cheat sheet than a misunderstanding, but a cheat sheet wouldn’t be allowed on any tests.
Tessa closed her own book and focused instead on Eliza’s.
Her own studying could wait if it meant helping a new friend. And a bit of review wouldn’t hurt her either.
Chapter Fifteen
Tessa was relieved once again when Eliza left.
It was a stupid feeling, one she shouldn’t have, but so strong she couldn’t even pretend to not feel it. Eliza’s presence was a vice, and even as Tessa knew it wasn’t fair to think of her like that, she couldn’t help it.
Princess let out a great gusty breath as the door closed behind Eliza, and Tessa grinned down at her.
“You can’t be feeling relieved, too. That’s not fair.”
She just wagged her tail.
“Silly pup.”
Another tail wag, this time faster, bumping gently against her leg. She stared up at Tessa with expectation written all over her face.
“What?”
She turned and sprinted into the living room, then came back a moment later with her new rope toy in her mouth.
Tessa crouched down, and Princess bounced into a play bow, front feet splayed a little on the laminate floor of the kitchen, tail wagging so fast it was a blur of scruffy gray hair.
Tessa reached for the free end of the toy and gave it an experimental tug. Princess growled playfully and tugged back, harder than expected, tearing the toy out of Tessa’s grip.
That’s how she ended up chasing her dog through the house on her hands and knees, play growling right back, occasionally snagging one end of the rope toy and struggling for a moment with her over who would claim it, and laughing until her ribs ached.
It had been a long, long time since Tessa had really laughed, and once she started, she didn’t want to stop. It felt so good, better than she remembered, and she wondered how she’d gotten through the last six months without it.
She and Livy laughed a lot — Livy had a clever tongue and a biting wit, and claimed that one of her missions in life was to keep Tessa smiling, so she often couldn’t help it. Since then, Tessa had forgotten what it felt like to laugh, freely and openly, without worry.
And as the energy finally gave out and both Princess and Tessa collapsed onto the couch for a more leisurely evening, Tessa realized that laughter was something she never should’ve given up.
Livy would’ve wanted her to keep laughing. She would’ve wanted her to feel joy; happiness; the light, floaty feeling that came with a good laugh. She would’ve never wanted her to turn as somber as Tessa had become.
She wrapped Princess up in her arms and pulled her close to her chest. They both breathed just a little harder than normal — not quite panting, but the chasing and tugging and laughing had definitely gotten both their hearts going after a very long, very somber day.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wishing that she could, just for a moment, understand her. That she could know what the previous minutes had meant, how she didn’t want that lightness in her chest to ever go away again.
She knew it would. She’d come down from the high in a minute or two, and the black hole that lived there in the center of her would reassert itself. That was the nature of her life. Her depression. Her anxiety.
But there could still be moments when she wasn’t thinking of that. There could still be seconds, minutes, maybe even hours or days, when her world wasn’t being sucked into that black hole.
Tessa had known that, once upon a time.
Perhaps she could know that again.
Maggie texted the next morning. I’m off at one today. Lunch?
Tessa texted back, Whatcha in the mood for?
Tacos.
Don Juan?
I’ll pick you up a little after one. Bring $$.
She grinned down at the text and imagined Maggie on the other end, grinning just the same way. Of course. I still owe you.
Tessa settled in for the morning at her desk, Princess in her normal place at her feet. And, when Maggie pulled into the driveway, Tessa put Princess in the bathroom, where any damage she might do while she was gone would be minimized.
That was advice she’d picked up from a Google search about separation anxiety, that it was a good idea to put the dog somewhere where damage would be either minimal or easy to clean up while you were working with them through such behaviors. The bathroom, with its tile floor and ceramic appliances, single door, and small, high-up window, seemed like an obvious choice.
It was important, the Googling suggested, that you do leave the dog because you couldn’t work on behaviors if you never put them in the situations that would elicit the behaviors. You shouldn’t be tied down because your dog was anxious when alone; you should work with them to not be anxious.
So, Tessa sat all morning on an old shirt that she didn’t care too much about to cover it in her scent, put food and water in the bathroom, and closed Princess in with the shirt and a few chew toys before leaving. She could hear her whining and scratching at the door, but she didn’t turn around, no matter how much she wanted to.
She was going out to lunch with Maggie. Princess couldn’t come.
They both had to figure out how to be okay with that.
Don Juan was a little Tex-Mex place buried in the back of an alley off the main road through town. The sort of place that you could only find out about when someone else brought you there. Rarely busy and always halfway out of business, it was a rundown joint that looked more like a seedy bar than a decent place to eat, but all the locals knew it had the best ta
cos and margaritas.
Maggie and Tessa got one of each. Tessa wasn’t a huge fan of margaritas — she preferred whiskey — but you didn’t go to Don Juan and not get a margarita, any more than you didn’t get their taco platter. They chatted lightly about nothing: holiday traffic, if there’d be snow for Christmas, whether or not one should add guacamole to nachos (Tessa: never ever, avocados are trash; Maggie: of course, guac is delicious).
“What’re you doing for Christmas?” Maggie asked at last, after a second round of margaritas and a fresh round of nachos (guac on the side).
“I’m not sure,” Tessa admitted carefully. It wasn’t exactly an unexpected question — three weeks before Christmas was the sort of time when you get that kind of question — but she didn’t want to admit how gloomy her Christmas plans currently looked.
She didn’t need to hear that kind of thing.
Maggie scooped the guac onto her nacho and bit into it slowly, a thoughtful frown on her face. “Me, neither. Would you want to come over to my place? Make cookies?”
“Yeah. Yeah, if you want me to.”
She smiled. “My dad’s not well enough to do much baking, and there’s nothing so depressing as a Christmas without cookies.”
They were quiet on the way back from Don Juan, and Tessa noticed just how comfortable she felt in that quiet. Unlike with Eliza, where she could sense every painful moment, where each second dragged as if determined to make her feel it, in the car with Maggie, Tessa didn’t feel her presence like a vice at her temple. Her toes stayed loose in her shoes, not even fighting against the urge to curl up and under like they sometimes did when she was terribly uncomfortable.
Eliza gave off a sort of restlessness, an energy that made Tessa relieved when she finally left, tired like she’d just spent an hour on a treadmill, running just to stay in place. But Maggie was a quiet person, comfortable, familiar, and easy. They could talk about nothing and then sit in silence without it hurting, and that was something Tessa was surprised to find in another person.
Not the sort of thing she thought she’d ever feel from someone who wasn’t Livy, and she was grateful for it.
Princess was napping when she opened the bathroom door, though her head snapped up the moment the hinge creaked, and she rushed right over, standing up against her leg until Tessa picked her up. The bathroom had definitely been a good choice — there was a small puddle on the floor, but it cleaned up with a paper towel and a spritz of disinfectant. The shirt had been bunched up into a bed and was now covered in gray hairs, but she’d picked one she wasn’t attached to for that very reason. There weren’t any visible marks around the door.
She grinned down at Princess, who was still nestled against her neck in greeting. “Better this time?”
Princess flicked her tongue along Tessa’s jaw. The warmth, the sudden wetness and burst of affection made Tessa giggle, and once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop.
She giggled and Princess wagged her tail all the way back to the office.
Chapter Sixteen
Tessa woke the next morning with a sick bundle of nerves trembling in her stomach.
It was Saturday. Her interview was only two days away.
This shouldn’t have sprung up on her like it did. She’d made the appointment days ago, and she knew what was coming and why, and it was a reschedule anyway — why should it hit her like it did now, of all times?
It was two days away. It was her second chance.
But it was also her last chance.
Don’t think about it like that. That’ll only make it worse.
But the day that she could talk herself out of an anxiety spiral was the day she wouldn’t get them anymore.
Princess opened her eyes and immediately nosed a little closer, wriggling around on the bed until she was caught between Tessa’s arms, her chin lightly against her cheek. The weight, the warmth, was soothing, an anchor against the out-of-control spiral she could feel herself sinking into, and she breathed slow and measured into Princess’ chest until she thought she had her voice, at least, back under control.
“Morning, pup,” she murmured without removing her face from the fur.
Princess licked her cheek.
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Tessa said it as much to reassure herself as the dog, with each repetition making it that much more true. “Just a little freak-out.”
She whined back.
“The interview’s not even until Monday afternoon. I don’t have to be losing my mind over it yet.” Tessa smiled, still into Princess’ fur. “We’ll wait until Monday morning for that.”
She made another noise, not quite a whine or a bark, but one that felt like acknowledgement anyway.
Why was she so convinced that Princess was hearing — and maybe even understanding — her? The fact that she responded to the words the way she did was certainly a huge part of that little delusion.
And really, what did it matter if Tessa was fooling herself about such a thing? People thought their dogs understood them all the time. Feeling that way about her own was hardly shocking.
And if it wasn’t hurting anyone and made her feel less alone, what was the trouble? That it made her wonder if she might be a touch crazy?
Tessa already knew she was.
She hugged Princess a little closer and felt her relax into the touch as much as she herself did. Her eyes drifted shut, lulled by the steady rhythm of dog breath ruffling her hair and the heartbeat against her chest.
And then the ring tone on her phone broke the quiet.
They both jerked. Tessa groaned and rolled over toward it, annoyed that someone was trying to interrupt her Saturday morning.
Never mind the fact that her Saturday morning was already interrupted by the nerves still swimming in her gut. She doubted there was anyone with her number who might make that better.
It was Eliza.
Tessa hesitated over the answer button. She liked Eliza, she did. But was it really necessary to talk to her every single day? She hadn’t even talked to Livy every day.
She answered.
“Tessa? I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call.” There were tears in her words, cracks in her voice.
Tessa’s stomach clenched again, harder than before. If there had been food in it, she might’ve been sick. She sat up, thoughts focusing. “It’s fine. What’s wrong?”
Eliza was quiet for a moment, sniffling and wiping at her nose. “I just needed to hear a friendly voice.”
“What’s wrong?” Tessa tried again a bit more firmly.
“It’s … whatever. Nothing.”
“You’re crying.”
“Thanks for that, Sherlock. Never would’ve figured that out if not for your deducting skills.”
Why had she even answered? The reason for pushing the “answer” rather than the “decline” button were fading from her mind. “Is there something wrong?”
“No. None of your business anyway.”
“Then why’d you call?”
“I dunno, because I wanted to? Because maybe who I talk to on the phone is the only bloody thing I can control? Because maybe I just wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t going to yell at me?”
“Hey, hey, c’mon. I wasn’t yelling.”
“Oh, so just because you’re not yelling, that means you can say whatever? Means you can get all high-and-mighty?”
Tessa frowned. Something had clearly gone wrong, but she couldn’t parse what. “Eliza, you called me.”
“Because I thought you’d get it!” Her voice rose to a screech.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to get, you forgot to tell me that part!” She wasn’t trying to screech back, but her voice responded in kind to the rise in Eliza’s.
Princess lifted her head and peered up as if wondering what had gotten into her.
Tessa couldn’t fault her for that question — she wondered the same.
Eliza made a noise like a cross between a sigh and a sob. It came out as a
strangled huff from her throat. “Why am I even talking to you? We aren’t even friends!”
“We’re … not?”
That one hit like a fist to the stomach. Tessa had been waffling about it the past few days herself about where they sat on the stranger-acquaintance-friend spectrum, at what point two people cross from one thing to the next and whether they’d done that in the last couple of days, but she would’ve never thought to say such a thing out loud to Eliza. Those were her own speculations, her own nonsense, not to be shoved off onto someone else, especially someone else whom she hadn’t properly established a relationship with.
Because to just announce something like that was kind of mean, and it hurt.
Eliza blew out a breath. “You know what? Whatever. I’m sorry I called.”
“Eliza, what—”
But there was only empty air on the other side of the phone.
Tessa dropped her arm to her lap and stared dumbly down at the phone until the screen turned black.
“What was that?” She looked up at Princess, who’d sat up and now cocked her head with unmistakable curiosity.
The last two days, she’d been a little off with Eliza. Not growling or aggressive, but there was always a bit on tension on her face whenever Eliza was there. Tessa had mostly been ignoring it because everything she knew about Princess suggested that wasn’t a shocking response to people — she’d lived through some nasty abuse and wasn’t particularly well-socialized, so being weird with people was practically to be expected — but maybe she shouldn’t have ignored it. Maybe she was trying to tell her something about the other woman in the house.
Reign of Terrier Page 8
