Page 3 of Tides That Bind

“Do we know if it was even edible?

Nate’s playful teasing makes me angrier and I nearly sink to the floor and roll around in the cake’s remains because what’s one more disaster?

“We need another cake.”

“Yes, officer obvious, because ofyourdog.”

“He’sourdog.”

I never wanted a dog, especially one who sheds enough to weave an entire rug each day. But when Nate was accepted into the K9 handler program after joining the police department, it was hard to say no to something that made him so excited. After all, he gave up who he was—a Marine—to stay home for me and Lucas. So I’ve learned to tolerate Tides even though I don’t tolerate his shedding very well.

When I toss the dirty paper towels into the trash, I catch sight of the fridge. It’s hard to see the dog as anything other than family when I look at the photos decorating the doors. He’s in nearly every shot apart from the three just taken before he entered our home. He’s only a few months younger than Lucas. They practically grew up together.

I go to stand, catching sight of Nate’s scar on his leg, which reminds me of the time Tides was separated from us a few years ago. Lucas cried more in those few weeks while Nate recovered from knee surgery and Tides went on to continue to temporarily work under a new handler than he ever had in his entire life.

I make room for Nate who grabbed the mop from the laundry room. I should rush around the kitchen as I google if expiration dates for box cake are a hard line. But instead, I decide to take thisas a loss and hope that whatever’s available at the bakery on a Friday afternoon will please Lucas if I stick an action figure on top.

I find myself still staring at the fridge, following the trail of photos of all of Lucas's birthdays, the three of us—and Tides—looking like the perfect family I had always dreamed about.

But they all lead to the photo Nate is absent from—on the day Lucas was born. That one is different. That one, Riley is in.

“Oh, stop that.” Nate rights the photo I try to tuck beneath another. “He saw that last time. You hurt his feelings.”

I snort. “Riley has feelings?”

“I’m serious.”

I sigh as I hear Riley’s voice drifting in from way back then.

“I know you wish it wasn’t me. But I’m here and you’re going to get through this. I promise.”

“I just wish it was you, that’s all. That will never change for me.”

Instead of being present for Lucas's first cries, nervously learning to change a diaper from a nurse, Nate met our son on the tarmac of a military base after Lucas had already surpassed his birth weight despite his prematurity.

“There’s no one else I would’ve picked to be with you that day than Riley.”

This doesn’t surprise me. Nate often does pick Riley, even on the most insignificant day.

If Riley calls, Nate answers.

If Riley needs help, Nate is the first to volunteer.

If Riley needs a night out—which is often—and Nate isn’t working, he goes with him.

I struggle to understand why Nate doesn’t just like Riley but loves him so much he’s fine with him being the permanent third wheel in our relationship, and often, I feel, one with more directional power than me.

I learned a long time ago, after one sternhe’s familyfrom Nate, that I’ll never win the battle. So, I tolerate Riley to thegreatest extent possible. But like the tolerance I have for Tides’s shedding, my tolerance for Riley isn’t super high.

“Am I supposed to pick Lucas up?”

“Your mom is getting him.”

Nate clicks his tongue. “I’ll head to the store.”

I peer into the backyard where Tides spins in circles, chasing his tail and shake my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nate yawning. “Go take a nap. I’ll deal with it. I need your energy to keep up with the kids.”

Nate presses a hand to my waist, the pad of his thumb sliding up my t-shirt, circling the skin beneath. “Just an hour. You can pour a bucket of water on me if I’m still snoring.”

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