Page 4 of I Will Always Love You (Maybe)

Besides, Leo doesn’t understand. He’s twenty-five, beautiful, loves his family, his girlfriend, and quiet nights in with conversation and wine. We may share the same lineage, but we are built completely different.

The next hour flies by as I file and scan in lab results. Today is actually one of my days off, but sitting at home doing nothing sounded miserable, so I picked up this receptionist shift. Being a vet tech, I’m normally in the back with the doctor, so this feels like an entirely new change of pace. And today, it just so happens to give me a front-row seat to Colby.

Does she remember meeting me? It was such a quick moment last year, a blip really, but something about that interaction left a lasting impression. But if I’m being honest with myself—which is kind of a miserable thing to do—it might have been all the other events that led up to that moment on the sidewalk that contributed to that evening being so memorable.

I like to refer to that time as the Avalanche of the Misguided and Terrible Decisions Era. The year I spent making one bad decision after another, like some weird, tangled snowball that grew bigger and more powerful the further it rolled down my shame hill. Truly, the amount of things I screwed up in such a short amount of time is damn near impressive.

After a decade together, I left my girlfriend Zoey—who just so happens to be the only legitimate baker in town, which sucks on a whole different level as I now have to drive thirty miles to get a decent pastry—to find myself.

I’d been unfilled and unhappy in our relationship, in myself, in my life. So, I moved out of our place and into a small apartment in North Minneapolis, and worked at a vet clinic. That first year, I spent my time joining every organization, club, and singles event I could think of. I went out, on dates, met women, went home with women, danced, sang, lived. And then when that didn’t fulfill me the way I thought it would, I spent the following year trying to win Zoey back.

So embarrassing.

Every month for a year, I sent her a letter, and she never responded. Determined to turn whatever life I had around, I decided to move back to Spring Harbors, sure that my destiny was to win Zoey back. Thank God, she had the sense to kindly turn me down. At that time, even after a few years apart, she knew me better than I knew myself. She knew that deep down I was lost. I probably still am, and getting back together wouldn’t fix what is broken in me. But it just so happens that the night I met Colby was also the night I made a mortifying grand gesture to win back Zoey. Maybe it’s a good thing that Colby doesn’t remember me, because I really don’t want to explain the circumstances around why I was on the sidewalk with Zoey the day we met.

As I type into the screen, I see Colby approaching the desk from the corner of my eye. She removes her hands from the front pocket of her hooded sweatshirt, and cracks her thumb knuckles. “Any updates?”

“No, sorry,” I say and shake my head. Just like the six other times I said no. Obviously, she’s nervous, and I can totally understand that. I’d rather have a nervous dog mom in here than ones that don’t care at all. But unless the dog, God forbid, passes on the table, there will not be an update until it’s all done. Although I haven’t said those exact words, because I’m not heartless, I’ve alluded to it enough where I’m surprised it hasn’t sunk in.

“I’m sure Kona is doing just fine.” I keep my smile as bright and disarming as possible, even though this is getting annoying. “This is such a routine surgery.”

Her nostrils flare at this and she stomps away. Literally, boots against the floor, stomping with a heavy thud. What the hell? I glance a side-eye at Leo. “What did I say?’” I whisper.

The clicking of the keyboard doesn’t slow as he peeks at Colby and shrugs. A few moments pass when he stops, and cracks open a pop. “Emma and I are talking about heading to Mall of America this weekend. You wanna tag along?”

Leo’s a dude, not always the most emotionally intelligent, and his invite is genuine. But that’s exactly what I’d be doing—tagging along. Besides Leo, I have mostly a sprinkling of what I like to call acquaint-ends. Lots of people that I see, that I chat with, that I engage with at whatever activity that happens to be my flavor of the month. But none that I’d feel comfortable enough to ask to come with me for a day trip to the Mall of America, and certainly none that I would be comfortable enough sharing anything even remotely personal.

“No thanks. I’m trying pickleball this weekend.” Yep, pickleball. I’m heading down to the local senior center, hand to God I’m not joking, to join some retirees in a fierce game of whatever the hell pickleball is. Yes, friends. This is where I’m at in my life. But living in a town of a few thousand people, the options for local activities are running low, and beggars cannot be choosers.

Today is busy. The lobby area is filled more than normal, which is never a great thing for a vet clinic. Not all animals are friendly or comfortable around other animals. Colby moves from the bench so someone can have her spot, which is kind and all, but now she’s pacing like a caged zoo animal. I can’t exactly kick her out of the place, but any more of her dark, anxious energy, and I’m pretty sure the dogs in the exam rooms are going to start howling.

The automatic door opens, bringing in a breeze and an elderly man, a cane in his left hand and a shar-pei attached to a leash on his right. The dog seems to have more control over the man than the other way around, and I leap from my chair to make sure that no catastrophes occur.

“Oh, hey there, sweet thing,” I say as I approach the barking dog, using my calm voice and demeanor to sooth the canine’s nerves. Too bad I can’t have treats in my pocket to hand out, but we never know what the animals are in here for and the very last thing I want to do is mess up a lab or flare an allergic reaction. “Are you okay if I take the leash from you?” I ask the gentleman.

When his liver-spotted hand reaches over with the leash, I squat at the side of the dog and let him sniff my hand.

“Are you here for an appointment?” I ask, keeping my eyes focused on the man, who’s trying to dig out a paper from his pocket while balancing on his cane. My attention goes to Colby, who’s still pacing, then dashes to a cat that’s meowing and pawing against the metal bars of its crate so much that the clanking sound screeches across the room. A dog barks fiercely in the corner, and then… no, no, no. The shar-pei cocks its leg and pees all over me. And not even a little spray. That leg is lifted like a missile and lands a direct hit right down my shin.

Are you kidding me?

I jump back, the liquid seeping into my bare leg, so freaking gross, right as the doors swing open again. In stumbles a very frantic mom, a barking chihuahua, and a toddler that gets loose from her grip and begins running, screaming, in a circle. “Ah, wait… one second…” I say to anyone who will listen as the shar-pei that just decimated my clothes starts barking at the chihuahua.

“Charlie! Stop!” the mom yells, over the growling shar-pei and barking chihuahua and ringing phones. I scramble backwards, hands up like I’m a soccer goalie. The kid launches one hell of an impressive temper tantrum on the floor in front of the products, kicking his legs like he’s fighting a demon, and lands a foot on the stacked cans of wet cat food.

The crash of metal cans hitting the floor terrorizes the eardrums of everyone in the place, and makes the dogs outbid each other in a ferocious barking contest. Leo leaps from the desk to help wrangle the humans, or dogs, or cans. I can feel the trickle of dog pee dripping down my leg and getting my sock soggy, which might even be a worse feeling than my leg being wet.

In less than two minutes, Leo and the mom have taken control of the situation, and I’ve escorted the shar-pei to a room. I return to the desk and start stuffing paper towels in my socks to soak up as much urine as I can, when Colby marches over to the desk.

“Please, it’s been five hours,” Colby says as she tugs on her ponytail. “Can I have an update?” I hear the desperation in her voice, I really do, but for God’s sake this is the seventh, maybe eighth time she’s come up to the desk. I have pee seeping into my shoes, I haven’t eaten for a few hours, the phones are ringing off the hook, the lobby is jam-packed. And I’m sorry, but she is not the only person in the world needing an update. The doctor is good here, but strict, and only comes out when ready to address the caretaker; otherwise, they’d be cornered in the lobby for half the day.

The quietness, stillness, that I thought Colby had before is quickly shifting. I’m beginning to think that she’s just the type of woman who is used to demanding things and getting her way, and does not take kindly to people telling her no.

My patience is hovering slightly above zero, and I think if she asks again, I might lose my shit. “Seriously?” I say, a little harsher than needed, but my God. This is probably why we tell people to leave and come back when their animals are ready to be picked up. Colby’s beautiful brown eyes narrow at me with a deep fire. “I have pee all over me. We are crazy busy. There are products all over the floor that are both a human and animal trip hazard, and I told you before, there is no update.” The constant ringing of the phone is piercing my ears. “I’ll let you know when she’s done. Please, can you go outside or something? Maybe go grab yourself a coffee or pastry or something at the coffee shop?”

Her mouth drops open, her huge eyes going even wider. “I absolutely will not go outside or go grab a coffee. I have every right to be here, to check on the health of my animal.”

Jesus. This feels a little reminiscent of me—dramatic, over-the-top, and a bit attention-seeking. Did Colby grow up in a home with six siblings, an absentee father and overworked, exhausted single mother, too? Tightness spreads in my jaw, but I breathe it out. “Your dog is receiving excellent care. Our veterinarian is one of the best in the state.”