by Lila Monroe
I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. “Diane found out about Dog for a Day.”
“Oh,” he says and then shrugs it off. “Well, with all the dogs that got adopted—”
“She fired me,” I interrupt.
“What?”
I drop to the couch and wipe at my eyes. “She freaked out and fired me.”
Noah comes over and sits down, pulling me into his arms. “Aw, I’m sorry about that. I know you loved that place.” He rubs my shoulder. “I’m sure you can find somewhere else to volunteer. It’s not the end of the world.”
I pull back and look up at him, confused. “That’s not it. I . . .” I swallow back another round of tears. “She told me not to and I did it anyway. I betrayed her trust. And let her down. I let everyone down.”
“Now hold on a minute,” he says. “You got more dogs adopted out in the last couple of weeks than they managed to do in two months. You did not let them down. Diane is overreacting.”
“But I made a commitment, and now . . .”
“We’ll find you somewhere else that’ll appreciate your hustle and where you can help tons more dogs. If she doesn’t appreciate what you can do for the shelter, there are plenty of places that will,” Noah says, sounding like nothing is wrong. “Don’t beat yourself up about it—I mean, come on, Eve,” he says tenderly as he lifts my chin with his finger so I’m looking at him. “Sure, you bent the rules a little, but look at all the good you did!”
While I appreciate what he’s trying to say and that he’s looking at the big picture, he doesn’t get it. He’s so about the results that he’s lost sight of how we got them. I nod, too tired and heartsick to argue right now.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” he says. “I have it on good authority that it’s impossible to be sad while eating noodles.”
“I do like noodles,” I agree, sniffling. Maybe he’s right. Maybe things will look brighter on a full stomach. But even once I’m tucked in a booth at the noodle place, shoveling food into my mouth, I still feel that awful weight in the pit of my stomach.
“So . . .” Noah says, sounding awkward.
I look up.
“I . . . got a job offer the other day.”
“You did?” I try to put my own misery aside and feel glad for him. “That’s great. Tell me about it.”
“Well,” he says, still looking weirdly squirrely, “it’s from Perfect Match. That dating app? Even though our dog promotion didn’t work out, they think I’m the right guy to add to their in-house marketing team.”
“Noah!” I exclaim. “That’s amazing. Congrats!”
He pauses. “It is amazing . . . Except one thing.”
“Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out,” I say confidently. “You’re so good at what you do!”
He shakes his head. “It’s not that. The job . . . is in New York.”
I stop. “Oh.”
Noah looks reluctant. “The company is based out there, so they want me to relocate. You know, be a part of the team, at HQ.”
I take a deep breath.
New York. As in, the city all the way across the country. “Are you going to take it?” I ask casually, hoping all the emotion that’s roiling around in my stomach stays out of my voice.
“I’m thinking about it,” Noah admits. “It’s too good an opportunity not to take seriously.”
Ouch.
I stare at him, my head spinning. What does this mean for us? I want to ask him. But I know what it means.
He’s leaving.
Have fun, they said. See where it leads, they said.
It leads to right here. To an ache in my chest, trying not to let my feelings show—because clearly, they’re way stronger than his.
Dammit, I should have known this wasn’t real.
We finish eating and walk back to his place. My mind is whirling with everything that’s happened in the last few weeks—and where I’m supposed to go from here. No shelter job. No Noah. Back at frat central where I started from.
“. . . Eve?”
“Huh?” I look over.
Noah looks amused. “Have you heard anything I’ve just said?”
“Yes, of course!” I say and then deflate, my shoulders drooping. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve . . . it’s been a rough day. I’m tired.”
And heartsick. And waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He nods and then twines his fingers in mine. It’s confusing. Which is probably why I blurt out: “Are you really going to move to New York?”
He stiffens beside me. “I don’t know.”
“And if you do, what does that mean for us?” I ask, because I guess I’m a masochist.
“I don’t know that, either,” Noah says, his voice heavy.
“Right.” I exhale, then carefully un-twine my hand from his. “Well, any time you reach a conclusion, be sure to let me know.”
“Eve, don’t be like that.” Noah stops. “You know this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me.”
“I do know that,” I agree. But I was also thinking that we—us together—might be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, too. Not that he believes in that sort of thing, I remind myself sadly.
Noah takes a deep breath. “Look, this isn’t an easy choice for me. But you can’t expect me to make a life-changing decision based on . . .”
He stops.
I feel a pang.
“Based on what, Noah?” I force myself to look at him.
Noah swallows and glances away. “Based on whatever this is.”
“Whatever this is,” I repeat in disbelief. “So everything is all just interchangeable details to you. I can get a job at a different shelter. You can change towns. Get another job. Find another girl. Same shit, different whatever?”
“Eve,” Noah protests. “It’s not like that. I mean, you can’t . . . We haven’t even been seeing each other that long! I thought we were just having fun.”
Fun.
My heart sinks even lower.
“Is that all this is to you?” I ask sadly. “Just fun?”
Noah pauses, and that pause says everything I need to know. He’s not even trying to deny it.
“We said we wanted to be exclusive,” I say, swallowing back my emotions. “That’s more than just ‘having fun.’ This isn’t me being a hopeless romantic. If I got the wrong idea about us, it’s because you gave it to me, Noah! I was falling for you. I thought maybe this could be something real.”
“And maybe it could, down the road,” Noah protests, turning defensive. “But do you really expect me to turn down a job for you?”
“No, but I thought I would factor into the decision,” I exclaim, my emotions rising now. “But clearly, whatever this is meant more to me than it did to you!”
“Eve,” he says, taking a ragged breath. “It’s not about that. This is a big opportunity for me. I’m trying to build a real career. It’s not as simple as just volunteering at a shelter or house-sitting.”
Is he kidding me?
“I see,” I bite out, fighting tears. “So just because you’ve got it all figured out with your giant whiteboard and your big plans, and I’m just a loser with no skills or a real job, I can’t possibly understand.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he protests, looking hurt, but it’s too late.
I don’t understand it. If he’s the one for me—if this is more than just a casual fling—then shouldn’t he be fighting for us?
Shouldn’t he at least be pausing for breath before picking up and moving across the country?
Unless . . .
I was wrong about him. Or rather, right from the start.
He’s a player.
And I just got played.
I take a deep breath. “Do you want to break up so you can go to New York without any loose ends?”
Noah reaches for my hand. “No. That’s not what I want.”
A tiny glimmer of hope lights in my chest. “So, you’re going to stay?”
“N
o,” he says and then gives a reluctant sigh. “I don’t know, Eve. I just . . .”
He trails off, and that glimmer extinguishes.
Because I don’t want I don’t know.
I deserve more than I don’t know.
I want hell yes. And if he can’t give it to me . . .
“You’ve made your decision,” I say, sounding way calmer than I feel. “Have fun in New York.”
I turn on my heel to go.
“Wait, Eve . . .” Noah says—but then he doesn’t say anything else.
And the worst part? He doesn’t stop me as I walk away.
23
EVE
I WAKE UP, not knowing where I am. Then it all comes back in a rush.
The shelter. Getting fired. Noah. Getting dumped.
I don’t know which hurts most.
No, scratch that, I do.
It’s Noah. By a mile.Sitting up, I utter an involuntary groan. I’m crashing at Gemma’s on her couch, which explains the severe kink in my back.
“G’morning sunshine,” Gemma singsongs from the kitchen. “Coffee?”
“Please,” I sigh. Not that it will make me feel any better. Just more awake to feel crappy.
“Zoey’s on her way over with some emergency pastries. I know they won’t heal a broken heart, but they’ll sure come close.” Gemma comes over and wraps me into a hug, making me teary.
“I love you guys, you know that, right?” I sniffle.
She grins. “We do. And it’s mutual. Go have a shower. I put some towels and a change of clothes on the counter for you.”
Which reminds me that I arrived here with nothing. Most of my things are still back at Noah’s, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other than show up on Gemma’s doorstep, begging her to let me stay. Not that I had to actually do any begging.
Before I take her advice to hit the shower, I look at my phone. Nothing. Not a missed call or even a text from Noah.
It’s like we never even were dating at all. If that’s what it was.
“I’m confiscating this for your own good,” Gemma says, plucking the phone from my hand and giving me a gentle shove toward the bathroom. “No obsessive checking allowed!”
“Fine,” I gulp, managing a smile. I really do have the best friends.
WHEN I EMERGE, feeling slightly better after the long, hot shower, Zoey is there. Both of my friends look at me, and I almost can’t take their sympathy. I know they’re well-meaning, but they are settled and in love. They have their shit sorted out while I’m the odd girl out. The worst part? I thought I was going to be joining them in relationship bliss.
“Sit,” Gemma instructs, heading to the kitchen. “I’ll grab your coffee, you tell us what happened.”
As I unravel a cinnamon bun, eating it piece by piece, I fill them in on the sordid details. I start with the whole shelter scheme, to when Noah basically told me he was likely going to take the New York job. Because he and I were only supposed to be “having fun.”
“Are you sure it’s over, though?” Zoey asks. “I mean, you really like this guy, right? Can’t you work it out?”
I shake my head, reaching for another pastry—a chocolate croissant this time. “I was falling in love with him, and he only saw me as a convenient hookup. That’s not the basis for a real love, you know? I let my romantic hopes get the best of me, but I really thought . . .” I sigh. “Maybe I’m am a hopeless romantic, destined to die alone.”
“You are not,” Gemma says adamantly, so adamantly, she sprays out flakes of croissant. “Whoops!”
I manage a smile.
“I’m serious,” she continues. “You aren’t destined to die alone.”
Zoey nods, adding her two cents. “You are awesome and sweet and destined to fall in love with the right guy who will love you back even more. It’s out there, trust us.”
I know they’re trying to help, but it just reminds me what they have. What I thought I had, too, but lost before it really even went anywhere.
“Shit,” Zoey says, glancing at her phone. “I need to get to the food truck. Nikki’s freaking out that I’m not there already.”
“I have to run to a client, too,” Gemma says, apologetic. “Will you be OK? You can stay as long as you like. There’s food in the fridge.”
I point at the box Zoey brought that’s still filled with pastries. “I should be fine. I might slip into a carb coma, but maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
Zoey gives me a hug. “Text if you need anything, OK?”
I nod. “Carbs and Netflix—what else could I need?”
Other than a time machine for a do-over.
And my heart to feel a little less broken.
Simple, right?
DESPITE WHAT I told my friends, a morning on the couch with food and movies just isn’t working.
I need to do something.
I want to talk to Noah, but the fact that he hasn’t reached out at all tells me all I need to know about where I stand with him. I will not be a desperate woman whose guy is just not that into her. Saw the movie, read the book, don’t need the live version.
So, I take my restless butt to the shelter. Maybe now that she’s had the night to sleep on it, Diane will have calmed down and be ready to hear my very sincere apology.
But when I get there, Karen tells me she isn’t in. “I don’t know what you did,” she says, shaking her head as she looks at me over her glasses, “but she is still fuming about it. Anyway, she’s gone for the day.”
Maybe just as well.
“I need some puppy therapy,” I beg, nodding toward the kennels.
Karen shrugs. “Have at it.”
As I get to the back room, there’s a woman standing at the kennel next to Fred’s. She’s looking unsure so I approach her.
“Hi there!” I say with a smile. “Looking to adopt?”
The woman—about my age—nods. “I think so. I just . . . how do you choose?”
I instantly go into adoption-helper mode. “It depends on what you are looking for in a dog. There are many here with all different personalities. You just have to find the perfect match.”
“Perfect match!” she laughs. “Just like dating. But the app does all the work for that. This is so much harder!”
“I know,” I agree. “If only there was an app to match up people with dogs.”
“Right?”
“Anyway, let me help you,” I say, leading her over to Fred, who has come to the front of his kennel for some love. “This guy is adorable and is looking for a quiet home. He’s older and is low key, but will be the most loyal friend ever.”
She looks at Fred, but by the way she screws up her face, I can tell right away she doesn’t see in him what I do. She turns back to me, apologetic. “What about a puppy? Like, one I can train and take to puppy classes?”
I ask her some more questions about her lifestyle and what she wants from her companion. In the end, she decides to put in an application for Weezer, a young Italian greyhound who will be the perfect match for her. Of course, I am working in an unofficial capacity, but still, I feel good about it when I leave the shelter. Another dog finds its forever home.
I get back to Gemma’s and nearly scream in terror when I discover a man bent over, rooting through her fridge. But that man straightens up and turns to grin at me.
“Oh shit!” I press my palm to my chest. “Zach! You just scared the bejeepers out of me!”
“Sorry,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the fridge. “Just rummaging around for some food.”
I glance over at the bakery box I left on the coffee table. “Did you finish the stuff Zoey brought over?”
His eyes light up. “I did not even notice the box!” He goes over to the couch and sits down as he opens it up and hums in appreciation. Before he grabs a pastry, he holds up the box toward me.
“No thanks,” I say as I drop into the big club chair with a sigh. “I ate more than my share this morning.”
/> He grabs an apple fritter. “I . . . uh heard about what happened,” he says sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear it, Eve.”
“Thanks,” I say.
The donut halts halfway to his mouth, his face serious as he looks at me. “Do you need me to grab Martin and Brody to go beat the guy up? Because I’ll do it. I’m ax-throwing champion of the world!”
“No,” I laugh. “But thanks. Really.” That he’s so sweet and has my back makes my heart twist. I’m so freaking happy for Gemma that she has him. But at the same time . . .
“You know what?” I say. “You’d better give me one of those fritters.”
He happily hands the box over. After he takes another pastry for himself.
As I’m chewing the doughy, appley goodness, something occurs to me. “Hey, Zach,” I say. “You know about technology, and apps, right?”
“Sure do,” he says.
“So something like Perfect Match, and other dating apps. Are they complicated to make? Or, program, or whatever?”
He grins. “It depends,” he says, licking icing off his fingers. “I mean, they’re not complicated if you know what you’re doing with the code. You just need to tell it what you want to do and then test, test, test. Did I mention test?” he asks.
I smile. “But what about if you’re trying to match people—or things up. You know, with a profile?”
“It’s pretty much the same thing—doesn’t matter if there are two variables, or two dozen.” He replies. “The really hard part is finding something people want or need. A lot of apps fail because they’re stupid or don’t fulfill a real need. People download them and then the interest fades and then they tank.”
“A real need . . .” My mental gears start to whirl.
“Do you have an idea for one?” Zach asks.
I’m about to say no, that I was just curious. But then I figure what the hell. Zach’s a great guy and won’t judge—just look what he’s done with Gemma’s donation work. He made an app for that.
“Maybe,” I say. “What if there was a matchup app – but for pets, instead of people? Like if you were looking to adopt a dog? You could put in if you wanted an older dog, or a puppy, or even different breeds, and then it would show you pictures of all the shelter pups in the system nearby? Plus, unlike real-life dating, because dogs will never let you down or love you less than you love them,” I add with a sigh.