Page 137 of Puppy Love

“Come on, really? All of you?” I look over at Hayden. “I mean surely you don’t—”

He nods his head. “I tried not to give into it, but the will was too strong.”

I sigh, hanging my head.

“Alright, press play.”

Hayden presses play, and as the intro sounds, Adrian lets out a quiet “hmm.” I turn and look at them.

“What?”

They smile and shake their head.

“It’s just…I’m going to have to make a new one.”

I furrow my brows.

“A new what?”

“A new painting of our family.”*

forty-three

Four Months Later

Cam

Luigi crossed The Rainbow Bridge last week. 36Not by choice, of course. I was sobbing as the woman at the junkyard practically pried him from my hands.

Dr. Burton said that, just because I knew it was time for a change, doesn’t mean it would come easily. He was right about that, which of course just irritated me and made me want to be fine out of spite.

I ended up okay, of course, but spite had nothing to do with it. Somehow, Violet had managed to keep the keys for me. They stay on my bookshelf next to my dad’s favorite books and his photo and Cooper’s painting, and sometimes, I pick them up and shake them just to hear to the sound.

Ted, my new-to-me 2017 black Toyota Camry, is practically silent as we curve through the bright green mountains. It’s strange to not feel every bump and hear every rattle, but I can’t say I hate it. Violet sits in the passenger seat, sipping melted iced coffee from Evergreen Grounds, even though we’re now two-hundred miles from that tiny green kiosk. I didn’t get anything, because caffeine and Prozac aren’t the best of friends.

After I noticed a big difference in its effects, Dr. Burton and I completed a few exercises, and a few tests. Apparently, there’s a link between Adjustment Disorder and OCD. I never considered that I could have OCD, because I don’t walk around touching door frames and buying hand sanitizer in bulk. But then I learned about mental compulsions, and it all started to make sense. I was scared to tell Violet at first. To tell her yet another thing that was wrong with me. But she simply kissed my head, pulled the covers over my body, and told me she would always be there, no matter what. And I had to believe her, because she’s proved it.*

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” she says calmly. “I promise I won’t be upset if you decide you just want to go home. Or if you want to get a hotel. I don’t want to push you into an attack.”

“Violet, I want to meet your family. And Mallory is part of that, I get it. Tyler wants her at her birthday, but she wants us there too. I’m not going to be jealous over your ex-wife.”

Violet raises her brows, a slight smirk creeping across her face as she takes a sip of her bean-water.

“Not even a little bit?” She bats her eyelashes, and I shoot her a fake glare, even though I’m smiling.

“Okay, maybe just a tiny bit. But not anything crazy. Just enough to make me want you on your knees.”

Violet’s face flushes, and she bites her lip. “Perfect.”

Ruthie’s house isn’t unlike Violet’s. Victorian but modest, and yellow too. Except now, Violet’s is brown. I thought it was kind of a strange pick, but it’s her house after all.

“Are you ready?” she asks, gripping a moving box in her hand. I take a deep breath and nod, gripping three nylon leashes in one hand, while I knock on the front door with the other. Violet chuckles.

“Cam!” she yells in a laughing whisper. She twists the doorknob and pushes it open. “You don’t knock at Ruthie’s.”

My cheeks turn red as we step inside. “Oh.”

“It looks like everyone’s in the backyard,” she says, lifting the lid of the box to peek inside. We walk through the house, photos of what I can assume are Ruthie, Jeremiah, Willow and Tyler. They’re a cute, all-American family.

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