“You never let me have fun,” I yell after him, then limp toward Eli, who’s watching Rue carefully pet the dog we rescued. On his brow there is a deep frown.

“Where’s the vet’s office?” I ask.

“Just five minutes away. She’ll see us in an hour.”

“Nice.”

“The vet will be unpleasant,” Rue explains to the puppy. “But ultimately harmless. I advise you to just go with what they ask.” Some would baby-talk at an animal, but Rue? Not the type.

“Maybe, afterward, we should take him to the closest shelter,” Eli suggests. From his tone, not for the first time. Or the second.

“But it would break Tiny’s heart,” Rue points out. “They’re already close friends. They’ve been inseparable since Maya and Hark brought them back. We can’t split them up.”

“Baby, I get it. But we can’t just import a dog.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re about to get married and go on a honeymoon.”

Rue scowls, and so do I. I lower myself to the floor, joining the pile she’s been forming with the dogs. Taking sides. “I would like to remind you,” I whisper in her ear, “that if at any point during this week you don’t get what you want, it is within your sacrosanct rights to go full-blown bridezilla.”

“Is it?”

“Absolutely. In fact, I think it would be fun.”

Her wide, serious eyes study me. Then her mouth twitches. “Who would that be fun for?”

“Me? But also for Bitty.”

“Bitty?”

I shrug. “Wouldn’t Bitty be the perfect name for Tiny’s companion?”

She leans forward, eye-level with the stray. Holds his gaze for a few moments, then asks: “Do you like it? Bitty?”

Bitty licks her cheek in the sloppiest of kisses, and when I look at Eli, I know what he’s seeing: someone who until two years ago used to be distrustful of pets, advocating to get a second dog.

My heart balloons. I don’t know what Eli’s does, but I’m willing to bet that it’s about ten times more grandiose than mine, because he says, “I guess I’ll figure out how to bring Bitty home.”

Rue takes his face in both hands and presses a too-intense kiss on his mouth.

“Don’t worry about your honeymoon, guys. I’ll take care of importing him. I have nowhere to go in the near future.”

“Right,” Eli says jokingly, lips against Rue’s cheek. “You’re only moving to California or Boston, finding a place to live, starting a new job, getting acclimated—”

“Yes, yes,” I reply, but I’m already wobbling outside to avoid listening, climbing the stairs with that mouthful of shame rising in my throat. It reminds me of a time when Eli would look at me and see only failure. Of being fourteen and a tangle of grief and anger and regret. It weighs like iron in my stomach, the terrible knowledge that I’m again careening toward disappointing him—

“What’s wrong, Maya?”

I’m on the landing, and Conor is in front of me. I blink, taken aback by his sudden presence. When I touch my cheek, my fingers stay dry. How does he know that something’s wrong?