And that’s what Megan does. She performs surgery to untwist Swarley’s stomach while I make the phone call I don’t want to make.

“Hello?” Sydney answers.

“It’s me.” I bite my lips together and take a slow inhale to keep from falling apart.

“Avery, where are you? Would it kill you to check in a little more often? I get that you lost your phone, but clearly you can call.” She’s in mom mode. Worried. And angry because I made her worry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine.” I walk to the opposite corner of the waiting room to distance myself from Jake. I don’t want him to see more of my insecurities and shame. “We’re in Flagstaff.”

“Wow … that’s not exactly on the route to L.A. Listen, I don’t mind you spending your summer vacation camping with Jake, but we’d like our Swarley back. Ocean keeps asking about him.”

“That’s what I’m calling about. He …” I fist my hand at my mouth and swallow hard. “He ended up with a twisted stomach.”

“GVD? Avery, he has GVD? Where are you? Tell me he’s okay. Tell me—”

“He’s in surgery.” I wipe a tear that escapes as I stare out the window. “Jake’s friend is a vet. He’s in good hands.”

“Text me the address. We’ll get there as soon as we can. Don’t let him die, Ave.” Her voice breaks.

I choke on a sob and nod, but I can’t speak. So I end the call. Jake’s arms wait for me. What would I do without him?

Hours pass and we shift in a hundred different directions, fighting the stiff waiting room chairs. On a long sigh, I turn toward Jake with his head resting in his hands, hunched over with his elbows planted on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he says with complete defeat. “I should have taken you and Swarley straight home.”

Straight home.

Would that have meant a few long days of driving in awkward silence and a semi-amicable goodbye. Probably a good riddance on his part. Straight home wouldn’t have given us a chance to … what? Fall in love?

I inwardly laugh. Are we in love?

I know my answer, but I don’t trust it because I don’t trust myself. My life has been filled with terrible choices, chronic grief, and debilitating envy that everyone around me has found happiness, a meaningful life, and someone to share it with them.

Is Swarley suffering because I only thought about myself?

Yes.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” My fingers caress his hair.

He looks up with craters of pain lining his forehead.