Page 107 of Left-Hand Larceny
Howl flops over with a dramatic groan and kicks his legs like the weight of the world is crushing him. There’s stuffing from the couch pillow still caught in his fur. I pick a piece off his ear.
“You tore open the good one,” I mutter. “The one Amma sent from home.”
He offers a half-hearted tail thump in apology.
I step over the pillow guts and sock carnage—my compression shorts are somehow in the sink—and gather what’s left of the shoe into a garbage bag. I will not entertain cleaning it. Howl watches me the entire time with that soulful, slightly guilty expression that always makes me second-guess my frustration.
“You miss her, don’t you?” I ask, crouching beside him.
He whines softly. Presses his nose into my hand.
I rub behind his ears. “Me too.”
We’re texting again. Not as much as before…everything. But again. Her brain runs wild. When I’m with her, I can catch the spin out before it takes off. When I’m not, I’m playing a waiting game until she’s ready.
Ever since our moment in the rehab room, I’ve been letting her lead, but not vanish. It’s hard not to reach out every minute of every day. To ask how she is. To tell her I saw a purple car with the license plate “people eater” over on Second Ave. To see if she’s okay. To see if she’s still mine—in whatever soft, undefined way she was starting to be.
I rinse my hands, towel off, and sit on the arm of the couch. The house feels too quiet despite the destruction. Howl sighs dramatically from the floor.
I scroll to Sadie’s name in my phone. She’s at girls’ night, but I miss her. I won’t text, because I don’t want to bother her, but I will scroll through my socials. Send her a meme or a reel or whatever they’re called. She sends them to me constantly. A dog that reminded her of Howl even though it’s a chihuahua and my pup’s a GSD. Something about Vikings, red hair, snow.
I’m staring at her profile picture, or what I can see of her, pink hair, the curve of a smile, when there’s a knock at the door. Three sharp taps. Then one softer, more hesitant. I’m not expecting anyone, and my heart skips. I stand too fast, almost trip on a squeaky toy, and cross the room in a blur.
When I open the door—
“Sadie,” I smile.
Her hair is loose and a little wild. Makeup smudged at the corners. A slinky black top that dips between her tits and hugs her body like a dare, low-rise jeans that emphasize her hips, and heels that she looks ready to collapse out of. Her expression is one I’ve never seen before.
Dazzling.
Frantic.
Buzzing.
“Hi,” she breathes. “I hope it’s okay that I didn’t text first.”
“Always.” I open the door wider. “Come i-in.”
She steps over the landing, and Howl lets out a noise I’ve only ever heard when he’s watching me prep steak. He lumbers up and immediately presses himself to Sadie’s leg like he’s gluing her in place.
She pets him blindly, not even looking down. Her eyes are glassy, her hands trembling just enough that I only catch it when she smooths them down her front like she’s trying to ground herself.
“Sadie.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m okay, I’m—”
She isn’t. My brave girl.
I pull her into my arms without another word and she melts. All of her slumping into me, trusting me to hold us both upright. It’s an honor I don’t take for granted. I rock us slowly, making soft shushing sounds into her hair as she presses her face to my chest. Her hands fist in my hoodie like she’s holding onto something real, and I slide one hand up to the back of her head, gently threading my fingers through her curls.
I bend slightly, pressing her mouth to my collarbone like I can tether her there.
And I let myself feel it—how perfectly she fits in my arms. How the chaos calms the second she’s against me. I want to burn the world for whatever did this to her. And also thank the gods she came to me.
She hasn’t let us go.
Even as I back us both toward the couch, her arms stay locked around my waist like she’ll float away if she lets go. Howl plunks down beside us, head resting on her foot. I sit with her still in my lap, wrapped around me like a question she’s too scared to ask.
