The second bedroom was perfect for Jillian’s studio. She stood in the middle of the square room, a fingertip between her teeth, and studied each of the walls. She’d painted them a creamy Navajo white, nice and neutral and calming. Deciding on the wall to the left, she used a small level to help hang one of her own paintings, a small abstract in hues of blue and green that had been an experiment at first, but ended up being a piece she was rather proud of. She marked a spot for the nails, tapped two of them in with a hammer, and hung the large canvas.
“Perfect,” she said softly to nobody.
The late October sky was growing dark beyond the two windows that during the day let in copious amounts of natural light. Jillian frowned at the twilight, already missing the long days of summer. Winter would be here in no time.
With a sigh, she checked to see if anything else needed adjustment. “What else could I possibly want to do with my Friday night than arrange things?” she asked the empty room. She’d unpacked everything over the past few days and the room felt good to her, inviting. She could be creative here. Canvasses, paints, charcoal, paper, easel, desk, everything had fit. It was a bit crowded, but it felt warm and cozy, which was what she’d hoped for. She didn’t have a lot, just the basics, because she didn’t consider herself an artist—more an aficionado who liked to dabble. She would never sell her work because, honestly, she wasn’t all that good; she simply enjoyed creating it.
Jillian didn’t love spending this much time alone, but Angie was doing well with the Solomon account, and word of mouth from the Solomon higher-ups was bringing her new clients. That was the beauty of the kind of sales job she had; if she pleased a client, they told their friends. More clients meant more business meant more money. It also meant more schmoozing. She often took clients to lunch, dinner, drinks, insisting that this was all about image. A successful, friendly, generous image. She came home exhausted, but happy.
There were days, though, when Jillian didn’t want to forgive the late nights. Yes, Angie was working her butt off. Yes, Jillian was proud of her, but sometimes all she wanted was Angie home, sitting across the dinner table from her, the two of them talking about their day. That was the partnership she wanted. That’s what she’d signed up for.
She hadn’t embarked upon this relationship so she could spend this much time by herself while her girlfriend wined and dined people she hardly knew.
She tried not to feel like this.
Mostly, she managed.
It was nearing 7:30. Dinner had been a tuna sandwich, since Angie had told her that morning she’d be running late tonight. At the sound of the door downstairs, Jillian peeked out the window and saw Angie’s car. A wave of relief washed through her, warm and comforting, as it always did when Angie came home.
“Where’s my woman?” Angie’s voice boomed up the stairs, low and comical, bringing a grin to Jillian’s face.
“Up here, babe.”
Following her footsteps up the hardwood stairs, Angie appeared in the doorway. Her black suit still looked fresh—or at least fresher than it should have after a twelve-hour workday—but Angie looked decidedly tired. A faded darkness underscored each eye, and she didn’t lean on the doorjamb so much as fall against it. But her dark eyes sparkled, and her smile was genuine. “How’s my girl?”
Jillian set down her tools and walked the handful of steps into Angie’s waiting arms. “Better now.” She snuggled in, burying her face in Angie’s neck. “How was your day?”
Angie squeezed her tightly. “Brutal. Guelli was on the warpath. God, he’s getting cranky in his old age. My jacket order for Matt Jones is still not done. I asked Ivan to show me some art three days ago, and he has yet to get to it. I’m sorry, but after three months, you’re not the new graphic artist any more. He has not impressed me. He’s disorganized, arrogant, and slow.” She shook her head, annoyed. “I’m beat,” she said and blew out a breath. “However…” A mischievous grin appeared. “I have something for you.”
“For me?”
“Is anybody else in this house having a birthday this week?”
“Hmm.” Jillian scrunched up her face, a show of thought. “No, I can’t think of anybody.”
“Well, then, I guess the little surprise I have is for you. Come with me.” Angie led her by the hand down the stairs into the living room and stopped. “Okay. Stay here. Close your eyes.”
Jillian did as she was told.
“No peeking.” Angie waved her hand in front of Jillian’s face.
“I’m not.” Jillian listened as Angie moved away from her into the kitchen. There was some rustling of some sort, then what she was sure was a whimper. She furrowed her brow, trying to figure out from the sound what her girlfriend was up to. Finally, she heard Angie come back and stop in front of her.
“Okay. Open.” Angie stood with a small, white puppy cradled in her arms. “Happy birthday, baby.” The dog turned its head toward Jillian, its eyes a clear hazel color.
“Oh, my god,” Jillian said quietly. “You are beautiful.” She let the puppy smell her hand, get used to her scent, then leaned her face in. “Hi there, sweetheart.” Glancing up at Angie, she said, “You’re sure?”
“I just wanted it to be the right time,” Angie told her. “Here. She’s all yours.” She handed the puppy over to Jillian, who immediately cuddled her. “She’s a pit bull-terrier mix, so she won’t get very big. I was going to get you something purebred, but I went to the Humane Society and saw this one and her siblings, and I just couldn’t walk away.”
It was just what Jillian would have done herself—adopt instead of buying—and she loved Angie even more for it. She held the warm body close. The puppy’s fur was almost nonexistent, but what was there was white, thinly layered over soft, pink skin. Her feet and her head were too big for her little body, all out of proportion, which made Jillian smile as she brought a paw to her lips and kissed it. The puppy watched with big, clear eyes. “You look like a little ghost, you know that?” she said to her. “I think your name should be Boo. What do you think? Hmm?” When she looked up, Angie was watching with a big grin.
“I knew she was the one for you.”
“I can’t believe you did this,” Jillian said, and was surprised when her eyes welled up. “Thank you. I love you so much.”
Angie gathered the two of them in her arms. “I wanted to do something special for you. You’ve been so great about work, but I hate that you’re here alone. Now you won’t be.” She touched her lips to Jillian’s. As she did so, Boo stuck her nose in, as though wanting to be a part of the kiss. Both women broke away laughing. “I got everything we need, I think,” Angie said, and led Jillian to the kitchen. On the floor sat dishes, a bag of dog food, a crate, and a plastic grocery bag filled with toys. “We can get more stuff, but this should tide her over for a bit.”
“Tomorrow we can take a ride to the pet store.” Jillian shook her head, still a little bit in awe. “You’re amazing, Angie. Really.” She looked into Angie’s eyes. “Thank you.”
They spent the rest of their evening letting Boo wander the house and the fenced-in backyard. Angie put the crate together, and they set it at the far end of their bedroom, filled with soft blankets, towels, and a couple dog toys. By the time the clock read 11:00, they were all exhausted. Once their nightly routines were finished, Angie fell into bed.
“Okay, sweetie pie of mine,” Jillian cooed to Boo as she put her in her crate and shut the door. “You get some sleep.”
Boo whined her disapproval, but Jillian stayed resolute and crawled into bed next to Angie. They cuddled up and turned off the lights.
Boo continued to whine.
“It’s okay,” Angie whispered as she felt Jillian stiffen. “She’s just missing her litter. She’ll be all right; she just needs some time.”
The whining went on.
At 11:27, Jillian clamped a pillow over her head.
At 11:43, Angie did the same thing.
At 12:19, the whining became a loud scraping/scratching/rattling sound that made Jillian sit straight up in bed.
“What the hell?” She clicked on the light on her nightstand. “Oh, my god.”
Angie blinked in the light, squinted. “What?”
Jillian pressed her lips together, not sure if she felt like laughing or crying, and pointed.
Boo had messed in her crate. Not only that, but she’d then acted like she was digging with her front paws and there was dog poop everywhere. On the walls, all over the towels and blankets, and all over Boo. She sat still, looking to her new owners like a white dog with brown spots.
“Boo! What did you do?” Jillian stood before the crate in her boxers and a tank top, hands jammed against her hips, head shaking slowly back and forth. The dog blinked at her, all innocence.
Angie came up next to her. “She obviously thinks this is going to get her a spot in our bed.”
Jillian sighed. “Do you want laundry duty or dog washing duty?”
“Duty or doody?”
Jillian laughed. “Either. Both.”
“You bond with your puppy in the tub. I’ll wash this stuff up.”
Jillian reached in and carefully wrapped the dog in one of the least spoiled towels. “You are a piece of work, Miss Boo. Come here.” She held the puppy at arm’s length and strode to the bathroom. “God, you stink.”
By 1:15 a.m., the pup had been taken outside for a pee and Boo was clean (and not all that happy about it), the walls were clean, the crate was clean; there were new towels and blankets lining it, and air freshener had been sprayed liberally.
“Okay,” said Jillian, aching for bed. “Let’s try this one more time.” She put Boo back into the crate. “This time, go to sleep, little one.” She kissed the soft head and shut the door, then fell into bed next to Angie, who was sprawled on her stomach.
“Thank god it’s the weekend,” Angie mumbled, her face half in the pillow.
“You got that right.” Jillian clicked off the light and settled in next to Angie, exhaling in relief.
The whining began almost instantly.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jillian said.
Angie pulled the pillow over her head and screamed into it.
The whining continued.
“I can’t take it,” Jillian said, sitting up.
“What are you doing?”
“I can’t take it.” Jillian padded across the room, opened the crate, and pulled Boo out and into her arms. “Come on, you little baby. Mama needs her rest.” She brought Boo to the bed, ignoring the stink-eye aimed at her from Angie.
“She shouldn’t be in the bed with us,” Angie stated, so tired her lips barely moved when she spoke. “It’s a bad habit. I’m telling you.”
“Yeah?” Jillian asked. “Do you want to be right or do you want to sleep?”
Angie looked at her for a beat. “Sleep.”
“I thought so. Me too.” Scooting down under the covers, Jillian turned on her side and pulled Boo close against her belly so they were spooning. She tucked her hand up along Boo’s warm stomach and kissed the top of her head. “Now go to sleep, you bad girl.”
Boo was asleep and snoring loudly by 1:23 a.m.