Phoebe’s sad face returns, as do the paws to her heart. “He was so cute. But so chubby.” Then she laughs, blushing. “But not anymore.”

“Nope. Underneath the costume I’m rock-solid.”

They fold over laughing again.

Oh. “Guys,” I say. “Let’s have this conversation another time. Like when you’re both not so high.”

* * *

Upstairs, I slip into bed, making sure to carefully stay on my side. In the dark, once my eyes adjust, our two separate figures under the blankets, peaks and valleys, look like one of those special sectioned plates where all the food is separated so that it can’t touch.

“Teddy won’t go with me on the trip.”

Gary turns toward me, leans up on an elbow.

“I thought it would be fun,” I say. “The old Teddy would have jumped at the chance to have an adventure and miss a day of school, to eat out at diners along the way, but he refused. I’m kind of devastated.”

“I’m sorry. That sucks.”

“I miss the old Teddy.”

“So do I.” In the dark I know we’re both thinking about how perfect he was then—the skinny skater jeans he used to wear, the long hair that always covered one eye and almost reached his shoulders; the willingness to do anything to make us laugh, including running around with his pants off.

I sigh. I’m so lonely I think I might die. I could reach out to Gary, but the divide between the past and the present feels too far, too deep, too wide. It is too late for us. It’s been too late for a long time. And besides, the dog is there, sprawled between us. I pull the blanket to slide her closer to me, then put my arm around her, tucking my hand under her paws and chin and bringing my knees up around her until we’re spooning. I instantly feel better. Which isn’t surprising, given what I’ve learned since starting to wear the sling. (“Newsflash: new study shows that women who interact with their dog for twenty-five minutes have a 58 percent increase in oxytocin, also known as the ‘hug hormone.’” “‘An Examination of Adult Women’s Sleep Quality and Sleep Routines in Relation to Pet Ownership and Bedsharing’ is the study we’ve been waiting for, proving that women have higher-quality sleep when they share their bed with at least one dog.”) But I don’t really need scientific studies to tell me what is already so obvious and intuitive, like the fact that women who sleep with their dogs may actually be disturbed as often by the dog as they are by the human they sleep with, but they self-report being less bothered or less aware of the dog-disturbances than the human disturbances. Though sometimes I do wonder what all this forced human affection feels like to the dog. If Charlotte were interviewed and could talk, what would she self-report about sleeping or slinging with me? Does she also get a boost of oxytocin and higher-quality sleep or does the dog-human closeness make her feel more claustrophobic than comforted?