my being a dog, literally said ‘woof, woof’ to me. And it was stupid and so wrong on every level. But later, it was funny because it’s so obviously not true in the least. But it was our inside joke, you know? We have those. Even with our trying to dig out of the damn pit we were in, there are a million little things that only we understand that connect us.”
“I don’t know what to say. That’s a lot of information. A dog? A submissive? Emma, what the fuck? I don’t think an ‘inside joke’ is something you build a relationship on, especially not one like that.”
The tears come again. Big crocodile tears of sadness streak down my face, dripping in puddles on my T-shirt. She doesn’t get it. “He’s ticklish, but only on his right side. That’s why his tattoo is on his left. He was scared he’d jerk when the needle hit that spot. But when I scratch him there, he’ll goof around and kick his leg like a happy dog. It’s cute. He likes mimosas when he eats orange chicken, even though it’s a breakfast drink with a dinner food. And now that’s how I eat takeout too. We like to face the wall when we spoon because it’s like the outside world doesn’t exist and it’s just us in this cocoon.”
Claire looks stricken the more I spill. “Fuck, honey. I didn’t realize.” And I think she understands for the first time. “I already feel like such a shit sister for getting you mixed up in this, and now you’re . . .” She looks at me, and I know she must see a complete and utter mess because that’s what I feel like.
She sighs, looking at the ceiling for guidance. “I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this, but if he’s it for you—which to be clear, I don’t think he is, and I think he’s more dangerous than you give him credit for—you should talk to him when he gets back. I’m not exactly a relationship expert, but it sounds like it’s at least worth a conversation. For closure. And maybe a tiny bit of revenge though?” She holds her finger and thumb up an inch apart.
It’s a big give on her part. To say that I should talk to him is damn near a one-eighty for her, considering she’s been trying everything in her power to get me to never see him again.
I hug her and she pats my back, mothering me even all these years later. “Come on, you need a shower.”
I force myself up and to the bathroom, and eventually, the water from my shower splashes down on my head as I replay everything. The fog clears in my mind, and I know what I need to do.
I have to follow him.
I hurry back to my bedroom, where I grab my backpack. Luckily, the archaeological field trips in school mean I’ve got some appropriate gear, including, most importantly, a ‘three-day’ rucksack. Not quite as large as a backpacker’s frame pack, I’m still able to fit everything I need inside.
Not that I’m packing heavy. I’m heading to the Brazilian jungle, not the north end of Iceland. Thankfully, I’ve got some quick-drying cargo pants, a few tank tops, and even a button-up that has SPF in the fabric. All relics of my undergrad days, but they still fit.
I’m just slipping on my boots when Claire comes back in, scaring the shit out of me.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Claire asks, looking me up and down. Her eyes widen in recognition, and she starts shaking her head before I can even answer. “Oh, hell no. I said to talk to him when he gets back. There is no fucking way I’m letting you go after him.”
Any sweet sister moment we’d had is wiped away with the hostility in her voice.
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I reply, double-knotting the laces of my boots before standing up and picking up my bag, throwing it over a shoulder. “Excuse me.”
I shoulder my way past Claire, who’s so surprised that she actually does let me by, and I set my backpack by the front door before going over to my kitchen junk drawer where I pull out my passport, sticking it in my pocket along with my wallet and phone.
“Are you listening to me?” Claire asks, planting herself squarely to block me in the kitchen. “I said you’re not going!”