Once and for All(31)

“Oh, she’ll be fine. She loves animals.” The dog finished off the water, then sat back and shook its jowls, sending droplets flying. “And anyway, she won’t have to deal with him. He’ll go everywhere with me.”

“On foot,” I said, clarifying. He nodded. “What’s going to happen when you crash at people’s houses, like last night?”

“This is a small dog,” he replied. “Compact. Won’t be a problem.”

“You’ll have to feed it. And take it to the vet, make sure it’s healthy. And what about in the fall, when you go back to school?”

He looked at me then. “You think way ahead, don’t you?”

“No,” I said, although I couldn’t see why this was a bad thing. “I just think. I don’t just take a dog and deal with the consequences later.”

“Right now, there aren’t consequences, though,” he replied. “There’s just a happy dog. What do you think about the name Jerry?”

The dog leaned down and began licking the empty bowl hard enough to make it scrape against the pavement.

“Why didn’t you ask me about what Mrs. Kirby said?”

It was like I’d both planned to say this, and totally had not. My discomfort earlier, when this discussion had seemed inevitable, had passed with all the excitement of the abduction and ensuing ride home. Now I didn’t feel like I just wanted to get it over with: instead, I was genuinely curious. Ambrose clearly had no problems traversing or outright bursting over any other boundaries in conversation or otherwise. So why not this one?

“You mean about your boyfriend?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Did you want me to ask?”

“No,” I said. “I never do. I hate talking about it. But that’s never stopped you before.”

“Are we already at a point where our relationship is in nevers?” he asked. “That was fast.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I do.” He stood, the dog watching him, tail still wagging. “Look, Louna. I might be a dog stealer, as far as you’re concerned, but I am able to follow the basic rules of civility. If I was going to talk about a bad breakup, I’d want to be the one to bring it up. You did not.”

A bad breakup? I thought. Then I said, “I don’t always have the choice.”

“Clearly. So why would I make it worse by then pushing for more details? People will tell you what they want you to know. I’m annoying, not an asshole.”

I had to admit this was not what I was expecting. But as I went back over what Mrs. Kirby had said again, I realized it made sense he’d drawn this conclusion. Everyone had breakups they didn’t want to talk about. Why would he assume it was anything else?

As if to punctuate the moment, the dog burped, spitting water. I opened my mouth to say something, to respond, but realized, again to my surprise, that I had a lump in my throat. I swallowed. “I don’t think he’s a Jerry.”

“No?” He squatted down, giving the dog another scratch. “You might be right. No worries. He’ll tell us his name when he wants us to know it.”

“He’ll tell us?”

“Well, in his way.” He patted his head. “Stay here. I promise I’ll come back. Okay?”

In response, the dog wagged its entire back end. As we walked away, it was still going full speed.

It was the shortest of walks back to the conference room, not nearly enough time to explain what I’d been thinking when I asked him about what Mrs. Kirby had said. The truth was, I felt I owed it to Ethan that he not be just a boy I once loved, much less one more face in a news story you dreaded having to hear. He was more than that, and yet talking about him to others felt, too often, like appropriating something. What did it take to claim a person, really? One perfect night? A few weeks of phone calls, hundreds of texts, all of them full of future plans and promises made? I’d spent less than a day with Ethan, but still felt he knew me better than just about anyone. You can’t measure love by time put in, but the weight of those moments. Some in life are light, like a touch. Others, you can’t help but stagger beneath.

This was on my mind all afternoon as Ambrose and I rinsed mason jars, packed them with flowers, then put them in lined boxes to be transported to the armory for table décor at the rehearsal dinner. Occasionally he went to check on the dog, bringing him snacks, more water, an old dishtowel I’d found under the sink to curl up on, but otherwise we worked in silence. People will tell you what they want you to know, he’d said. If that was true, I would have brought up Ethan right away, not just with him but everyone I met. That’s what you do about the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Unless, I guess, it is also the worst.

At six p.m., Mom and William left for the venue, releasing us to our respective evenings. I was expecting to be asked to transport Ambrose and the dog to wherever their next place might be, but then, as I was locking up, a black VW Jetta pulled up at the curb. A pretty redhead with seriously ripped shoulders, wearing yoga clothes, sunglasses perched on her head, was behind the wheel.

“Hey,” she called out to me. “I’m looking for Ambrose?”

“He’s around back,” I replied. “Should be out in a sec.”