Page 3 of Quake

Kat's wearing a cherry-red turtleneck and black denim pants, her hands turning white from the freezing weather.

“Gi,” she finally says, her tone hushed. “I know you’re not a fan of talking about your feelings.” She pauses, her cheeks heating with embarrassment as she takes another moment to make sure it's okay if she keeps going. I work on a swallow, my jaw grinding together, but I give her a nod so she can get it out and we can get this over with. “I’m sorry if this is overstepping, but I care about you. We all do. And it isn’t really any of my business, but Ale’s shared some of what happened to your parents with me, and I can sort of relate. You know, because of everything with mine.” She and her brother had their own horror show to live through as kids, and when that information got leaked to the press, they made it their mission to spread every detail of that tragic day to anyone who’d listen. “And Alex was a really great guy. I’m just sorry I hadn’t gotten to know him better.” My heart sinks. Alex really liked Kat, and even hearing his name still stings.

“All that to say, I don’t know what you’re going through or how you’re feeling.” That admittance is exactly why I like Kat so much. She’s capable of showing empathy without making me feel pitied like I do by every other well-meaning person in my life. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always here. And I mean that, Gi. I won’t tell Ale or anyone else anything you want to share with me,” she tells me with sincerity in her tone. “I won’t dissect what you tell me or try to psychoanalyze you.” Of course, as someone who lives with anxiety, she would know that that’s one of my biggest fears. “I can just be a listening ear, but there’s also absolutely nothing wrong with seeking professional help. You might think you hide it well, but every time I see you, your eyes lose just a bit more light.” She trails off before catching herself, eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

My heart is lodged in my throat, and I feel bare and raw as she speaks so freely of the things I fear so much.

“It’s okay to ask for help. It’sokayto take medication for a chemical imbalance that’s causing you to be so unhappy. It’sokayto speak with a therapist. You’re never alone in this, okay?” she asks me, and I give her a noncommittal nod. I know she’s right, but the thought of seeing a therapist makes me want to vomit.

She grips the arms of her chair, pushing herself up and out before smiling at me and heading back inside. I should go in, too, but my head is spinning with thoughts. I always hear, “Mental healthishealth,” and I agree, especially as someone who hasn’t felt well in as long as I can remember. But seeing a therapist? That scares the shit out of me. I don’t want to relive my trauma. I don’twantto talk about it. And I definitely don’t want the press meddling in my life and sharing all the sordid details of my childhood with the world when someone snaps a photo of me walking into or out of a psychiatric office.

The door slides open behind me. Luca's leaning through the doorway with one hand on the door and another on the wall beside him. “Come on, Eeyore, get inside. Mom won’t let us eat until your sad ass is at the table with us.” Luca’s the only one who doesn’t tiptoe around my shitty moods, and sometimes I wonder if it’s because he feels the same or at least something similar. Like a shared cloud of sadness and anxiety looming over us both, but he’s better at hiding it.

“I’m coming,” I tell him, not having it in me to joke with him tonight. I lean down, whispering to Pickles, “Come on, pretty girl, you’ve gotta get up. We need to eat dinner.” She lifts her head, her eyes finally opening as she stands, stretching her long spine withher front paws on the ground and her back ones still in my lap. She climbs down, sniffing around the back patio as she waits for me to peel myself out of this chair.

I get up, and she follows me inside, taking her place on the floor beside me at my end of the table.

Dinner goes as expected. The kids fight at their table in between giggling at one another and throwing food around like tiny piglets. Everyone pesters me and Luca about when we’re going to bring someone home for them to meet, and then they rag on Ale for not having proposed to Kat yet. It’s a lot of the same stuff we talk about every week at Sunday dinner. That’s not to say these dinners are boring. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but it’s just familiar.

After dinner, we all help clean up. Ale and Kat put the kids to bed for their Sunday night sleepover.

Ale has always slept over at our parents’ house on Sunday nights when he didn’t have a game the next day. He does a much better job at spending time with our nephews and nieces than I ever have, and I envy his ability to give so much of himself to others.

Not that I'd expected it to, but even after he started dating, this routine hasn't changed much. Now Kat just stays over, too, treating our family as if it were her own, and truthfully, it feels like we always have been.

Dante and Arielle sneak back to their house, same as Charlie and Rose, who take this one night a week to have some alone time, knowing their children are in excellent hands. Once they’re gone and Luca has sufficiently given us an Irish goodbye, leaving without saying a word, I leash up Pickles and start heading home, kissing Mom on the cheek and getting a hug from Dad.

I drive for the next twenty minutes before pulling up outside of my apartment. I park and, instead of heading inside, take Pickles on a walk around the block. There’s a small park with a few black metal benches directly across the street from where we live. The trees are decorated with twinkling lights year round, so it’s pretty well lit, even for a late-night stroll.

I start my audiobook again, feeling confident that the area is nice enough to not be in any danger. Pickles trots ahead of me, her tan tail wagging and the bells on her collar jingling with each step. When I first adopted her, I had trouble finding her in the apartment because she liked to flatten herself into a pancake and army crawl under the furniture or anywhere she could make herself fit. I got her a collar with tiny jingle bells so I’d hear her and know where she was. Eventually, I got used to them and haven't had the heart to do away with them.

We do a couple of laps around the park before I stop by a trash can, tossing my gum out. Just as I’m steering us back home, I hear a squawk and see a flash of black wings pass by us. This park is filled with crows, even at night. I read that crows don’t see well at night, but with the constant artificial light here, you see them at night a lot more frequently than you would otherwise.

I feel Pickles tug on her leash, jolting forward toward something on the ground. She’s got it in her mouth, and she’s chomping. My lips pinch, and my eyebrows pull taut when I realize the damn crow dropped a fucking chicken bone for her! I quickly crouch down beside her, working to pry her mouth open and grabbing for the bone, but she panics and swallows it, looking at me with wide, guilt-ridden eyes. “Ah fuck, Picks, now we’ve gotta go to thevet,” I tell her, running my hand through my hair, tugging on my roots in frustration.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s get in the car.” I direct her over to the SUV, open the trunk and let her jump in. I’ve got a hot-pink dog bed back there with a blanket and her favorite stuffy. The dog is obsessed with things that happen to be pink, so I have an embarrassing amount of pink items in my possession. I really need to learn to stop letting her pick out her own beds, toys, and blankets because it’s alwayspink.Dogs can’t evenseeshades of red, but somehow, she always wants the pink toy, blanket, bed or whatever else.

She snuggles up in the back, suckling on her stuffy as I close the trunk and round over to the driver’s side. I hoist myself into the SUV and start the heater for her before searching for the nearest emergency vet. It’s almost midnight, so my options are limited because even the emergency clinics are mostly closed by now. It takes a few minutes, but I find a place that says it’s open twenty-four hours, and it’s only twenty-six minutes from here. I call them and let them know what happened so they know I’m on my way and can add me to their queue.

1. Pain – Three Days Grace

Chapter two

Gianni

Monday, February 10, 2025

We have to take a lot of back roads once we get out of the perimeter of the city. After about a half hour of driving, we pull up to a gravel road with cottage-style homes on the right and a one-story building with glass walls directly ahead of us. Leafless cherry trees are to the left, and a stone-paved walkway leads from the parking lot to the front door.

I open the trunk, and based on the look on her face, I made the right decision by taking my poor, sweet girl to get help. Her tummy looks like it might be a bit distended already, and her eyelids look heavy. She’s got a bit of drool hanging from her jowls, and it’s clear she’s not feeling well. “Come on, pretty girl, let’s get you inside so you can feel better, okay?” I coo to her, keeping my voice gentle. She lifts her head, acting as pitiful as possible, and a wave of anxiety hits me. God, please don’t let anything happen to this damn dog.

I lean over her, picking her up as gently as I can, grabbing her blanket to cover her as the snow starts falling in thicker sheets around us. I’m about to close the trunk when I hear her whimper, her eyes glued to the trunk as she gazes over her shoulder. And, of course, she’s looking at her fucking stuffy. I shake my head at her, grabbing her stuffy and tucking it under my armpit as I support her giant body with one arm, closing the trunk and locking the Jeep Wrangler.

As we approach the doors, a short woman with a straight black bob comes rushing toward us, swinging the door out and holding it open. “Hi! You must be Gianni.” Her eyes land on Pickles curled up in my arms, and she gushes over her. “Oh my gosh, and this little bundle of love must be Pickles! Oh goodness, Pickles, you don’t look so good, but we’re gonna have you feeling better in no time!” Her voice is high-pitched, and I internally cringe, having the same reaction to the way she speaks as I would to nails on a chalkboard. I know she’s just being nice, and I imagine that kind of baby talk comes with the territory of working with animals all day, so I give her a small smile before heading to the counter to check in.

“I’ll be with you in just a sec,” the young blonde at the counter says without looking up at me. The woman who opened the door for me comes around the desk, whispering in the blonde’s ear so quickly that I can’t make out what she’s saying. The blonde’s head pops up from whatever she is doing, her eyes wide with surprise, before she quickly recovers, plastering a grin on her face. She gives me a slow perusal, visibly ogling me, and it makes my skin crawl. I’m officially losing my patience.

“What can I do for you, handsome?” she drawls, continuing to eye fuck me.

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