Or an organ.
A heart, perhaps…
As twilight gives way to full night and the temperature drops enough to raise goosebumps on my damp skin, I wade out of the fountain, slip my wet feet into my sandals, and squish home. I haven’t eaten dinner. I should be tempted by all the amazing smells drifting through the city streets—grilled meat and onions, tangy lemongrass and exotic vegetables, and something sweet and fried from the dumpling house I’m sure would be delicious—but my stomach is a leaden lump of misery.
It’s hard to imagine ever wanting food again. I don’t want to eat or change into my cozy pajamas or take a hot bubble bath or dig out my foot spa machine or any of the other things I usually do to make myself feel better after a rough day. It would all be pointless.
Nothing will make me feel better.
Even taking Sheldon out of his habitat for a run around the blanket mountain I’ve made for him on the living room floor doesn’t lift my spirits. My pet hermit crab clearly enjoys the exercise and the small buckets and cardboard tubes I’ve worked into the landscape to give him more hidey-holes to explore. But watching him scuttle and discover, all I can think about is the article I read on the highly social nature of hermit crabs.
The crabs, believed to be of above average intelligence for crustaceans, work together to help their comrades find new shells when they outgrow their old ones. They also collaborate in finding food and thrive in colonies of ten or more.
Sheldon was never meant to be a solitary creature. He shouldn’t have been sold as a pet—crabs are hard to care for and rarely thrive in captivity—but he was, and by the time I adopted him he was too old to risk being introduced back into the wild.
I’ve done everything I can to care for him properly, keeping the humidity in his tank high and his sand wet to facilitate molting, providing toys and opportunities for exercise, and acquiring natural shells for him to grow into instead of the painted novelty numbers that can poison crabs over time, but he’s still alone. And I’m a poor excuse for a playmate, a fact he makes clear when he ignores the fingers I wiggle his way, opting for a second crawl through an old wrapping paper tube, instead.
If I were a good crab mom, I would buy a bigger tank and go hunting for more abandoned hermit crabs. I would give Sheldon a colony to bond with and stop pretending that I’m ever going to be what he needs.
But I don’t have the money to buy a ten-gallon tank or the time to care for that many clawed creatures. So really, the best thing I could do for Sheldon is to put him up for adoption, free to a home with an established crab colony where he can live a life as close to what nature intended for him as possible.
“I have to let you go, Sheldon.” Fresh tears well in my eyes, and the pickaxe-wielding gnomes get back to work on my heart. “I have to let everyone go, and I’ll be alone and miserable forever.”
I’m on the verge of a full-fledged meltdown when my phone rings. Heart leaping into my throat, I run to grab my cell from where I tossed it on the kitchen counter, but a glance at the screen reveals it isn’t Shane.
It’s Hailey.
Sniffing hard, I force a smile into my voice as I answer, “Hey, sissy. How’s it going?”
“It’s going good,” Hailey says, her tone shifting as she adds, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, silently cursing my sister’s Bree-dar. She can read me like no one else, but I don’t want to talk about what happened with Shane yet. Not even with Hailey. So I call upon my meager acting skills and hope to sound convincing enough to fool her. “I’ve just got a little summer cold, no big deal. How about you? Have you kicked the Mexico food poisoning yet? It sucks that you got sick on your honeymoon.”
“At least it wasn’t until the last day,” Hailey says, looking on the bright side, as always. The way I used to do until my heart was smashed into a thousand pieces by the brutal machinations of fate. “And…it turns out it wasn’t food poisoning.”
“What?” I lean back against the island, keeping an eye on Sheldon so I don’t lose him under the entertainment center and spend hours on my hands and knees hunting for his hiding place the way I did last time I turned my back on him for too long. I search the mound of blankets but don’t see him immediately, so I start back across the room as I ask, “Then what was it? The flu wouldn’t last this long, right? You don’t have one of those creepy parasites, do you? The ones that can grow to five feet long and live in your intestines for years?”
“Ew, no.” Hailey clears her throat. “Please don’t say gross things like that. My stomach can’t take it right now.”
“I’m sorry.” I kneel down, laying my cheek flat on the floor, peering into the various tubes, hunting for a sign of shell or claw with no luck. “Then what’s wrong with you? And are you going to the doctor instead of doing that herbal self-healing stuff you always try before you give in and seek real medical help?”
“I’m going to the doctor,” Hailey says, a secret in her voice that pulls my focus away from my elusive pet. “And I’ll be going to the doctor every month for the next eight months. Probably twice a month or more near the end.”
I sit up so fast all the blood rushes from my head, and the world begins to spin. “Oh my God, you’re knocked up!”
Hailey laughs. “I am!”
“Holy shit.” I sit back hard, my tailbone making aggressive contact with the floor. “Did you plan this? Are you excited?” I shake my head. “Of course you’re excited, I can hear how excited you are, and it’s always been your destiny to mother someone. But you guys have only been married three weeks. That’s some fast work, woman.”
“Turns out I was already pregnant on our wedding day. I just didn’t know it yet.”
“So definitely an accident,” I say, adding quickly, “But a happy one?”
“Totally happy. Will and I are thrilled. Both of us want a big family, so it makes sense to get started now. And I wanted to take a break from working full time at the gym, anyway. Now I have the perfect excuse and an exit timeline.”
“But what about going back to school?” I resume looking for Sheldon, scooting across the floor beside the blanket, leaning down to gaze into the nooks and crannies as I go. “I thought you were thinking about going back to school?”
“I was. And that’s still on the agenda, but I’m going to stay home with the baby for at least six months first.” She sighs, the sound filled with so much love and anticipation it makes my heart ache. “I’m so happy, Bree. I can’t wait to meet our baby and for Baby to meet everyone we love. I’m so glad he or she is going to have family close. Including the most kickass aunt ever.”
“An aunt. I’m going to be an aunt,” I murmur, blaming Sheldon’s disappearance for why this obvious truth didn’t penetrate sooner. When it does, my first genuine smile of the evening stretches across my face. “Oh man, I can’t wait to hold her and play with her and foster an appreciation of good music instead of that shit you listen to. And teach her how to ride a bike and dance with her in the rain and sneak her away to get her first piercing even though you tell her she’s too young!”
Hailey’s laugh ends in a firm, “You’d better be joking. My child is not getting anything pierced while he or she is under my roof. And she could be a he, you know.”
“No, she’s a girl, I just know it,” I say, crying out in relief as I finally spot my tricksy crab hiding behind one leg of the coffee table. “There you are, Sheldon! Way to give me a heart attack.”
“Did you lose him again?”
“Only for a few minutes. And it wasn’t my fault. He’s crazy smart. He waits for the phone to ring, when he knows I’ll be distracted, to make his break for freedom.” Pinning the phone between my shoulder and cheek, I gather Sheldon carefully into both hands. “But I promise I won’t lose your kid. Not ever. Not even for a few minutes.”
“I’m not worried about it. But I am glad you have Sheldon. He’s brought out your nurturing side. It’s nice.”
H
appiness evaporating, I set Sheldon in his tank. “I actually just decided I have to give him up. It isn’t fair to him to keep him here with me.”
Hailey makes a soft sound of dismay. “But you love him! And you’re so good with him and all his special needs.”
I grab his blanket from the floor, shaking it out. “I try, but I’m away from the house so much, and no matter how hard I try to entertain and socialize with him, I’m not a crab. He needs a colony, and I can’t provide that so…I have to let him go.”
“Oh, babe, I’m sorry,” Hailey says. “Is that why you sounded so blue when you picked up?”
“Yeah,” I lie, visions of Shane’s miserable face as he turned to walk away from me making my nose sting again. “But it’s for the best. It really is. I’ve evaluated the situation logically. I have to make the compassionate choice, no matter how much the selfish part of me wants to hold on to Sheldon.”
Hold on to Shane. That’s what I’m really saying. I know that just like I know that Hailey’s response, “That’s very brave of you, babe. I’m proud of you,” is spot on.
It is brave to send Shane into his new life with no doomed-relationship baggage, and I should be proud that I didn’t let emotion cloud my judgment so completely that I gave up everything that matters to me to tag along on someone else’s adventure.
Especially in light of Hailey’s news.
There’s no way I could run off to live in Kansas City for three years now that I have a niece or nephew on the way. Hailey and I are more than sisters; we’re best friends, and the only sane family we’ve got now that our parents are going through their post-divorce midlife crises. With Mom obsessed with fitting into her college jeans at any cost and Dad running amok on every dating app known to man, we need each other more than ever.
And I don’t want to miss a minute of this baby’s life, let alone abandon Hailey for long stretches where I’ll be able to do nothing to help except send well wishes from half a continent away. And well wishes aren’t worth much when you’re covered in spit-up, you haven’t slept in days, and you’re so desperate for a shower you would eagerly sell your soul to the devil for ten minutes of uninterrupted peace and quiet.
Two of my best girlfriends have already boarded the mommy train. I’ve seen the mom gig from a boots-on-the-ground perspective, and it’s no joke. Hailey is going to need all the help she can get, and I’m going to be there every step of the way.
It’s yet another reason I should feel good about my decision.
But after Hailey and I hang up, with promises to grab lunch as soon as she can eat something other than crackers without feeling sick, I feel even worse than I did before.
More than anything, I want to pick up the phone and share the big news with Shane. I want to tell him how excited I am and how much I’m looking forward to lavishing this new munchkin with love and fun.
And I want to confess to him that I’m a little sad, too. Being allergic to semen isn’t just a major roadblock to intimate physical relationships; it’s also going to make it complicated and expensive for me to get pregnant. I’ll have to pay for a special procedure to wash my partner’s sperm clean of proteins before being artificially inseminated.
Not the most romantic method of conception, that’s for sure.
But Shane doesn’t want to hear my news anymore. He won’t share my highs or my lows ever again because we are Over with a capital O, and knowing it’s for the best doesn’t make the pain one iota more bearable.
Giving up on any attempt at functioning normally, I grab a bag of miniature chocolate bars from the freezer, change into pajamas, and crawl into bed to binge watch dumb reality TV, doing my best to get lost in the melodramatic, staged problems of other people.
But of course, it doesn’t work, and by the time I finally turn off the tube and burrow deep under the covers without brushing my teeth—in my depressed state, not even the threat of cavities or horrid morning breath can compel me out of my bed and into the bathroom—I can’t remember ever feeling so low.
I tell myself it will be better when I wake up tomorrow, but I’m a liar.
I know it the way I know chocolate is sweet, my new niece will be even sweeter, and that I will mourn what-might-have-been with Shane for as long as I live.
Chapter 18
Shane
Four days later…
Life is shit, and so am I.
I haven’t played this poorly since I was a five-year-old crashing the eight and over practice at youth league, thinking I was ready to play with the big boys and getting my front tooth knocked out for my trouble.
I can’t track the puck, I stopped maybe seven of the past twenty shots, and my lungs ache like I’m on the last mile of a marathon.
My chest burns, and I can’t seem to pull in a full breath. I’m starting to wonder if losing Bree has broken my body as well as my heart. It’s clear I’m not in peak condition this morning, but Tank shows me no mercy.
He looms at the blue line, blasting slap shots at me like Zeus hurling bolts of lightning—clearly unimpressed with my puny mortal efforts to defend my net.
“Get your arm up,” he shouts. “Your glove hand is slower than my grandma on the shitter.”
I wince. “Maybe she needs more fiber in her diet.”
“Again,” Tank shouts, not in the mood for jokes. “You’re wasting my fucking time. And your time. And hockey’s time. Hockey deserves better from you. Get your head on straight for breakaway drills.”
I roll my shoulders, stretching my stiff neck from side to side and doing my best to shake off the shitty start to practice. I readjust my grip on my stick, focus on Tank as he swoops out across the ice, and will myself to be here now.
But even as I watch Tank cradle the puck with his stick and curl toward center ice, a part of me is back at that fountain, looking into Bree’s sad eyes, realizing it’s over.
It’s over.
She hasn’t called or texted, and it’s really fucking over, and everything fucking sucks, and stopping a puck zooming toward my net doesn’t matter the way it did four days ago.
Back when I had hope. And dreams. And Bree.
Tank skates in hard, dangling the puck back and forth from forehand to backhand. I keep my gaze on his stick, anticipating his next move. I lunge forward, but instead of continuing his aggressive advance, he skids to a sudden stop, sending a thick spray of chopped ice right into my face.
I gasp, choking on the foot-and-ancient-rink-flavored ice as Tank rockets the puck into the wide-open net.
“Fuck!” I curse, shaking my head.
“Agreed,” he says. “You’re fucking hopeless. You need an intervention.”
“An intervention?” I blink faster. “What for?”
“You know what for. And since I don’t do romance, I called in the big guns.” Tank nods toward the far entrance to the ice, where a mountain of a person in a heavy faux fur coat and a pink knit cap topped by a rainbow pompom is cheerily waving our way.
I squint, certain the slush in my eyes is playing tricks on me. “Is that…?”
“Wallace, my brother, what’s wrong with you?” Yoda’s teasing voice carries clearly across the rink. “I thought you were good at this goalie gig.”
I smile in spite of myself and shoot back, “And I thought you refused to set foot in a big city for love or money.”
“For money, that’s true.” Yoda steps carefully out onto the ice, arms held out to his sides for balance. “But for love, I’ll go anywhere. What’s this I hear about you and your old lady calling it quits?”
“She called it quits,” I correct him, smile fleeing my lips for warmer, less miserable climates. “I can’t stay in Portland; she can’t bring herself to leave. And…that’s the end of that.”
“That’s not the end, dude,” Tanks says, huffing as he crosses his arms. “That’s a jumping off point for negotiations. You backed down too soon.”
“Way too soon,” Yoda agrees, eyes going comically wide as he alm
ost slips, regaining his balance at the last second with the help of some elaborate arm circles. “Dude.” He laughs hard as he steadies himself. “Ice is slippery.”
“And knives are sharp, and fire is hot,” Tank says, circling a hand in the air. “If we’ve covered all the obvious points, can we get to the wisdom for the heartbroken part so I can maybe log some solid practice time with this lovesick bastard before noon? Knox already gave up on both of us and went to grab his kids from the nanny.”
Yoda clucks his tongue as he shuffles closer. “You’ve got a bad attitude, Theodore. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d never been in love before.”
“Theodore?” I arch a brow Tank’s way.
“Theodore Tasmania LiBassi,” Yoda says, grinning like the panda bear who farted in the pit bull’s face. “But people on the playground called him Raz-ma-Taz because his footwork was so fancy.”
“I used to breakdance,” Tank grumbles, but he doesn’t glare at Yoda or threaten to cut the other man’s tongue out for telling his secrets, proving they must be even better friends than I realized.
“That’s not something I would have expected from you,” I say neutrally. Not that, or the in love part, but I have the sense not to mention that out loud.
“I’ve got layers.” Tank nods toward Yoda. “Not as many as this guy, but they’re there.” He rolls his shoulders back with a sniff. “But I’m not equipped to give anyone love advice, so I’ll go grab a coffee and be back in fifteen. Is that enough time to work your magic?”
Yoda lays a hand on Tank’s shoulder and squeezes tight “You’re not going anywhere. You’re the perfect person to give love advice. I haven’t been in love since Betsy died. Your memories are still fresh.”
Tank stiffens. “Yeah, tell me another one. You’re never going to forget one minute of your life with my sister, and we both know it.”
His sister. Well, that explains his relationship with Yoda. Other things, too, like why he seems so sad sometimes and why he so rarely talks about his family.
Puck Buddies Page 15
