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Addiction

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chase

By

Rufus Quentin

July and August, 1999

"Paper or plastic?" I asked for the umpteenth time that day. Perhaps the first one-hundred and ninety-nine times the question may have come across as if with genuine curiosity. "What do you prefer? The homely crinkle of a paper bag, or the efficiency of a plastic sack? Trust me, I need to know. I'm performing a study on the packaging habits of discount department store customers in my head." That eagerness didn't last long. It was week two of this torture. My foot-paws hurt. I was starting my third trimester, and frankly, I felt embarrassed to be there. The unflattering uniform chafed and the "trainee" pin seemed to give everyone the right to treat me like shit.

My lupine customer looked at me as if I'd just called her an expletive. Clearly my sudden absence of enthusiasm was offensive. How dare this pregnant little, domestic bitch speak to me without the fullest respect, she must have thought. I saw the glare on her face and knew I was in deep shit. I forced a smile and hoped that would suffice as damage control. This wolf smiled in return, hopefully at ease enough not to complain to my manager of my glaring lack of courtesy. "Plastic," she said, "and oh, don't forget to take these," she continued in an authoritative manner, handing me her food stamps.

One of the worst things in life is to feel useless, at least in my opinion. When I was younger, it didn't bother me so much. Kids are useless, that's their job. The older I got the more I realized I needed a purpose. Control. School usually filled that need. In the summers I suffered. Sure the first few weeks were fun. I'd read things I actually enjoyed reading. I'd write things I wanted to write. I'd relax with a glass of sweet tea in hand on the sofa and catch up on basic cable. After that I'd go insane. That's why I trudged to one of the fast food restaurants in Wayne, application in hand. I actually had fun. Bryn and I usually spent our summer doldrums at DQ. The work was banal, but who cared? I was with a friend, and well, what else is there for a high schooler with no skills to speak of?

Two weeks in North Carolina was all I could take. I arrived at Nate's place in late June. He and his wife greeted me with open arms. The place was amazing. I'd never even set foot in a place so new before. The walls were white and the ceilings high. The appliances were all modern and the furniture plush and expensive. It felt so open compared to the wood-paneled, browns and avocados of our dad's place. Chloe gave me the grand tour. Their house looked huge, a mansion by secluded West Virginian standards. Sheer proof of what a doctor could do with his money. Their only expectation for me was to relax and carry out the last trimester of my pregnancy in comfort and care. Easier said than done.

"What do you need me to do?" I asked Chloe after my first supper there. I held my plate in my paws, ready to do the dishes.

"Just set that down over there. I'll load the washer in just a bit," she said, holding her and her husband's dishes, plus a casserole dish in her arms.

"You sure?" I asked. "Can't I help out?"

"That's why we have the washer," she said, deftly setting down half the table's contents down by the sink.

I walked back to the table, but saw little left to take care of other than a salt and pepper shaker. Chloe gracefully beat me to the worst of the damage.

"Is there anything I can do today?" I asked on Monday morning. Nate was asleep transitioning to a night shift and Chloe stood dressed in a pant suit, making lunches for us both.

"Well," she said, genuinely thinking. "You can probably vacuum, preferably after your brother is up and about, but that's all I can think of. We pay the maid, after all."

"Okay," I said, and nodded eagerly. "Let me know if there is anything else I can do."

"Take it easy," she said, painting a side of toast with homemade jam. "I'll be home from work by six. If you need anything, just call me. The number is in the address book over there," she nodded to the cordless phone.

"Okay," I said. "Will do."

She was out the door, off to her law offices by eight AM. I was left alone. Nate wouldn't be up until three. I did my rounds around the house in search of anything worth doing. Other than cleaning a patch of dust here and a bundle of fur there, I found myself bored. By eight fifteen I lay on the couch, silently watching "The Beverly Hillbillies" on their huge television set. This would be harder than I thought.

Day in, day out that's how it went. Believe me, I felt grateful, but something seemed missing. Chloe got in the habit of giving me approximately five minutes worth of chores. I did those more than gladly, but before I knew it, I lay in front of the television set, watching the dumbest shit ever created. Between naps I watched Chloe get dressed, manage the household and Nate, shamelessly presenting her equally distended belly to the world. She went to work, even though she was seven months pregnant, perhaps a mere week behind me. Nate too didn't pay me much heed. I'd bring him coffee in the mornings. I'd hand him the lunch his wife set aside for him and say goodbye to him at the door. Then I was left with a spic and span house and not a fucking thing to do. My uselessness began to feel more severe.

'Useless' was a word of slander my friends and I used to throw around. Useless, next to gay, or faggot, was one of the worst things you could be. I felt pretty useless there as the long summer days dragged by. I missed Dustin. I missed having a purpose back home, even if it was just the simple task of bringing home good grades. With my brother and my dad around, I always had a ton to do. Free time was only a concept I relished when it was filled with romance and incest. Now I had none of those things. I was alone. Just a single mother abandoned by a deadbeat dad.

By the fourth of July I had applications out. I figured I'm smart. I'm Ivy League material. I have chances out there on the job market. Charlotte isn't Manhattan or LA. I'm gonna rock this town. I was a fucking idiot. I was a pregnant girl from West Virginia with a high school diploma and nothing else. Who the fuck is going to give a high school grad a job? Even in the late nineties, I couldn't get as much as a call back. The few interviews I got, when they saw me pregnant, well what incentive did they have in hiring a single mother and her soon to be born squealing kid? I got two offers. A fry cook at a burger joint and cashier at a discount department store, and those came with such reduced hours, I'd never receive benefits. Yea, that's what a high school degree means in the real world. It's shit.

Nate and Chloe seemed surprised when I told them I was job hunting, but they played along. I earned maybe three figures a week, if I was lucky. My first paycheck almost moved me to tears, but it was enough to start a bank account along with the dollars I'd saved over the year, and the proceeds from selling some of my possessions. Then the numbers rolling in every two weeks were dismal. Dustin on the other hand made pretty good money. I didn't talk to him much, but when I did, he readily informed me how much he had saved for me and our darling pup. It dawned on me that my brother possessed an actual, employable skill. He was vital in his little, ultra-conservative, roadside organization. What was I? Expendable. I sighed and went back to work scanning groceries, to the sound of parents my age or younger, and the squeal of spoilt children.

I lived out of their guest room, a small, white room with blue trim on the east side of the house. Of course I was given free reign over the whole place, but for the most part I kept to myself when no one was around. With my reduced hours I found myself home alone quite frequently, and woefully bored. It was hard to sleep in such foreign surroundings. With the exception of our few vacations and camping trips, I'd always fallen asleep in my own room. To be in a different environment skewed things, made sleep scarce. Waking up startled me. All of a sudden I was back from my dreams someplace uncanny. A look down and I saw my belly.

"Good morning," I whispered, talking to my son. I yawned, stretched and caressed my distended fur bump. I'd gotten in the habit of talking to him. There was no one else around. Sometimes it was only me and him. I felt crazy for it, but it seemed comforting that I wasn't alone.

"Day off today," I said. "Just you and me. How about we shower, eat some oatmeal, then see about doing some laundry? Okay?"

I got no reply of course.

"Maybe we'll call your dad today. He misses you. He tells me about it all the time. He'll see you soon. Just a few more weeks away, whenever you're done in there."

I groaned and forced myself to get out of bed, a quick stop by the bathroom, then off to figure out breakfast. My appetite had been increasing quite a bit but I managed to avoid most of those weird pregnancy related food combo cravings. As I sat in the kitchen with my oatmeal and tea, I oddly felt old. My bland breakfast, constant body aches, and somewhat loneliness made me wonder if this was my future from now on. A shower somewhat eased my physical pains. I threw my laundry into the washer, just to feel like I accomplished something. Then the loneliness grew complete. I figured now was as good a time as any to call Dustin.

"I miss you," said Dustin on the other end of the line after well over an hour. His voice sounded different and distant over the receiver.

My ears sank. This confession of longing usually signaled the end of our phone conversations. Indeed it had been a long one. The cordless device had already beeped twice, lamenting the near end of its battery life. "I miss you too," I said, feeling as though I was giving in to the dastardly demands of real life.

"Keep me posted as to how the pup's doing. You can call me at Sam's if you go into labor and I'm not home. Most likely I'll be there. Say hi to Nate and Chloe for me."

"Most likely?" I asked.

"Well, I do need to go grocery shopping and shit. Fuck, that's another thing I miss about you. There's no one here to make me fucking sandwiches. The fridge is always empty. I'm wasting away here."

I chuckled. "I guess. Just don't let anyone else make you sandwiches while I'm not around."

"I wish I had someone to make me sandwiches. I could go for a sandwich right about now."

"Don't you dare," I warned.

Dustin huffed on the other end of the line. "Trust me. Ain't no one making me sandwiches. And even if there were, I'd probably turn 'em down. I'm kind of sold on your sandwiches. They're the best. So well timed. Satisfying. Always there when I need them. So easy to get."

"My sandwiches are not that easy to get," I contradicted with some indignance.

"Are too. All I have to do is say, hey woman, go get me a sandwich and presto. Instant sandwich."

I sighed, "Yea. Forget it. I don't miss you."

"Aww," Dustin whined. "That's not what you said when we had our goodbye sandwich."

"Shush," I said, eyes sweeping to the door, ears perking to make absolutely sure I wasn't being overheard. "Our goodbye sandwich was wrecked by dad, remember?"

"Fuck, I really want to bury my muzzle in your sandwich right about now, sis."

"Oh for fuck's sake Dusty, don't call it that."

Dustin laughed out loud. That laughter really made the distance sink in. "Anyway," he said. "I need to do a grocery run before it gets much later if I don't want to eat out of the garbage again."

"God, I bet you do eat directly out of the garbage," I said.

"Just when I'm desperate. Oh, and you'll be pleased to know, that cheerleader, whatsherface is the cashier down at the market."

"Carolyn? That would be more satisfying to know if I weren't doing the same damn thing over here."

"She'll be there forever. You're going to be in college after the pup comes out, doing all sorts of smart science stuff."

"Be nice to her okay? This shit sucks."

"Will do," Dustin said. "Anyway, I love you. Missing you tons."

"I love you too," I said with all honesty.

"Talk to you soon," he said and hung up before I could get another word in.

I sighed and stared at the receiver. I already longed for our next conversation. It stressed me to even think he might have access to other sandwiches, him being a cute guy and all. This distance thing sucked.

"Dinner's ready," Nate said, suddenly standing in the doorway to the guestroom. His sudden presence startled me.

"Oh! I'll be right there," I said, ears backswept. I felt my skin warm with embarrassment. I hoped beyond hope he hadn't heard that later part of my exchange with Dustin.

"Who were you talking to?" He asked as I stood and padded after him down the hall.

"Oh, just calling home," I said.

"Been meaning to talk to you about that," Nate said. "This month's phone bill is awful high. Don't mind you calling home and all, but maybe not so much."

"Sorry, I'll chip in," I said, flinching. This was not a conversation I wanted to have. That, and by chipping in I knew I was promising a double digit percent of my meager paycheck.

"Don't worry about it. Just cut back a little, or keep your convos short. One hundred and twenty minutes on the 29th. Who you even talking to, anyway?"

"Just Dustin," I said.

"Just Dustin?" Nate asked with surprise. "Fuck, I knew you two got close this year and all. He's not your boyfriend is he?"

"No!" I said, before I figured Nate wasn't being serious. "It's just that he's been really helpful after this happened to me," I continued, referring to my pregnancy. "I just need a friend who isn't judging me."

"Fair enough," Nate said. "Still, these are a lot of minutes, boyfriend or not. God, do you remember what dad did to me back in high school when I racked up that phone bill when I was dating that one fox chick?"

"Barely," I said. "Dad made all of you work so much."

"Learned my lesson," he said, almost with pride. "After that I kept my phone calls down to twenty minutes, tops." He paused. "Dad was easy on both of you."

I chuckled, "Easy for you to say. You moved out when we were twelve."

"He never made you or Dustin work."

"Bullshit. I worked my ass off at the DQ every summer if I expected a dime of spending money. If he ever cut me any slack, it's because I folded his fucking underwear and cooked his dinner. You're the spoiled one. As soon as I grew tits, you boys started treating me like a housewife. Fuck, if I knew then what I know now, I'd wouldn't have touched your boxers with a ten foot pole."

"The fuck?" Nate said.

"Let's just say your younger brother did a piss poor job of hiding your porn stash," I said and beamed a defiant smile.

"Fair enough, Alex. We were all kinda dumb back then."

"Horney and dumb," I corrected.

"Guilty as charged," he said. "You'd be surprised as to how little you change when you get older."

"That's why this country is going to hell in a handbasket."

"I thought it was because of the internet," my brother said. "Speaking of which."

"What?" I asked.

"We're finally getting it." He said.

"Great. You'll be able to download the porn you want."

"Shut up Alex," he said and swatted my ear, or at least tried. I dodged the anticipated swing. "You'll be pleased to know you're getting something out of it too."

"All those shiny AOL CDs?"

"Chloe is giving you her old laptop," Nate corrected. "Her work is giving her a new one, one with a built in modem. Hence why we're picking up internet service. She wants you to have the older one. It's only somewhat obsolete."

"Wow," I said, truly shocked. I felt bad for the recent digs at my brother, but only slightly. Constant mockery was the way we were raised.

"Consider it your graduation present. You'll need one in college anyway. Meanwhile you can figure it out. You'll need to learn how to use these things, no matter what you do. It's the way of the future," he sighed.

"I'm actually pretty good at these things. We had one at school. How do you think I sent in my applications?"

"Figures. If you were born after 1980, you were pretty much born holding a mouse."

"Thanks," I said, with sincere generosity.

"Thank Chloe," he said. "She's the computer geek."

"I will," I said, and did so profusely as soon as we sat down for dinner.

That evening they brought me a black nylon satchel. I eagerly opened it and unpacked Chloe's old 1996 Compaq LTE Notebook. I tenderly laid out all the accessories and hooked it up. Obsolete as it was, it was probably the newest computer I'd ever worked on. It actually had a color screen, Windows 98, and even came with the original version of SimCity. It didn't really do much else, but all I really needed it for was word processing anyway. Aside from Dustin giving me the Crown Vic, it was probably one of the most life changing gifts I'd ever received. I hugged Chloe and thanked her profusely, clinging to her for longer than she would have preferred.

If only I had access to technology at a younger age, I probably would have become a computer geek. I loved it when I got to sit down and let my finger-pads glide across those old mechanical keyboards. I always tried to push the school computer to its limits, hacking and programming the brave new world according to my desires. Alas, my brother and I had to watch idly by as the rest of America progressively unpacked and set up huge beige desktops in their homes and tip-toed onto the internet. The closest we got to the consumer electronics trend was a Super Nintendo. I can't complain. This was more than most of my neighborhood had. I still wished, and unexpectedly found my desires fulfilled.

Before Chloe gave me my first computer I relied on notebooks to create my world. For some reason I preferred the old, black and white speckled composition books I could buy at the gas station for under a dollar. They fell apart within a few weeks. My skill with a sewing needle and a bit of duct-tape kept mine in circulation a bit longer, until every page was filled. I made the mistake of making three of them my journals for the academic year of 1998-1999. I hate to admit it, but I kept a diary of sorts. Otherwise the contents of these pages would never appear as vivid.

I needed my journal. It was my confessor of sorts. I wrote down what became too heavy to keep to myself. No shrink. No confidant. No sympathetic ear, except for the written word. It started off as a story of redemption, of two teens entering adulthood, making amends, and discovering their singularity. Then it became rather sordid, as they broke convention to explore each other's needs. Then it became sexual, pornographic even. Then it ended tragic. The protagonist discovered her lusts had led to the generation of an inbred pup. An uncertain future lay before her. It wasn't a very good plot, but it was mine. I'd scribed it with loving detail for no eyes other than mine to read. I bound it and took it along with me. I held it, for it kept my downfall. I made the mistake of leaving it on an antique letter desk my brother and his wife kept as a decorative living room furnishing, the place I'd set up as my workstation. In retrospect transcribing my journal into a word document out in the open was perhaps the most daft thing I could do.

"Alex," Chloe said on a sweltering southern August afternoon. The central air struggled to keep us cool. "We need to talk."

"What?" I said, having recently come home from work, one of the last work days I'd do before giving birth. I lay on my guestroom bed, giving my foot-paws a rest.

"You shouldn't really leave stuff like this around," she said, producing the last and perhaps most confessional volume of my last year from behind her back.

My heart skipped a beat. I recognized it immediately. I knew damn well what kinds of secrets were in there, ones catastrophically damning. "Fuck," I said, forgetting my etiquette.

"It's quite good, in parts. Needs some editing. You have a way with words, but I don't think this is fiction," Chloe said with palpable sadness.

"Please say you didn't read that!" I said, in near panic. I leaned up, forgetting my aches and pains.

"I did," she said as if she wished she hadn't.

"Holy shit, please don't tell anyone," I said, bolting to the edge of the bed.

"Did he abuse you, ever?" Chloe asked, herself dreading the answer that would come, no matter what it was.

"No," I said, tacitly admitting to the veracity of the text's contents. "Never. It was always consensual. Always."

"But it's true?" The older rough collie asked.

"It's true," I admitted. "All of it."

"Alex," Chloe said, disappointed but not entirely shocked.

"Oh god. You don't understand."

"You're right," She said. "And I don't think I want to."

"I didn't mean it to happen. It just did. Over time. All of a sudden. Dustin was there."

"Shush," she said. "I told you I don't want to hear about it. Whatever moved you, moved you, but that doesn't excuse it. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

The happiness and comfort I'd felt since I'd arrived was crushed. I felt month's worth of tears welling in the corners of my eyes. I wanted, more than anything, for this moment never to have happened.

"No, I'm sorry," my elder said. "Of course you don't." She sighed and sat down beside me. She was as pregnant as I, and I knew that standing pained her.

"I do," I said with back-swept ears. I felt like I failed, but in a deeply personal way. My journal served as an explanation, detailed account that I had indeed processed my actions and learned to understand them. I hoped that my writing would reveal my growth. That Chloe hadn't seen that trajectory hurt me as much as the painful revelation of my transgressions.

Chloe shook her head. She didn't even make eye contact with me. "I understand. To a degree. Boys happen. They're persistent. They get under your fur. They worm their way into your heart. When they're there, they're hard to get rid of. They erode you. They wear you down. Fuck, Nate did that in such a dorky way. I want to understand. I want to somehow think the same thing happened to you two. But I can't. You two are putting a child in this world. Do you have any idea of what can go wrong?"

I wanted to answer, but she didn't give me time.

"A lot," she said. "Maybe I'm a little harsh right now." She said, looking down at her own belly. "I've been taking care of this guy for, oh, almost eight months now. As soon as I learned, I just wanted to protect him. I get nightmares. Horrible shit. If something were wrong. It's driving me crazy. You guys knew what could happen. It sends a shiver down my spine. You knew, and let it happen."

"I didn't let it happen," I corrected.

"No, but you put yourself in a situation where it could happen. That's the risk you run with guys. As soon as you brought Dustin into the game, you opened yourself to that possibility. It's bad enough if it was just a normal guy, but you have to consider how close you are genetically. God. I'm not saying you don't love your pup, but shit. You put him in danger before he was even conceived."

"I know," I said. "Don't you think I didn't worry about that? I've been stressing about it way before things got serious."

"That's teenagers for you," Chloe said. She uttered a forced, anxious chuckle. "It really doesn't feel like that long ago when I was nineteen. I know you guys. There is something about you that is simply incapable about thinking about the future. It just doesn't exist for you. Actions don't have consequences. You're invincible. The event horizon of the teenager's ability to predict consequences from actions is right in front of your muzzle. Even now, I can tell you just can't see it. Just think about it. What's the end game here? Where are you gonna go with Dustin?"

"I don't know," I said, honestly, fully and utterly caught in the nakedness of my ignorance.

"If you're caught, it's jail time in this state. There is no place that this is safe. Your pup, healthy or not, will be taken away. You'll lose everything. Even if you make it in college, your success can be taken away from you. It can be taken away from Dustin too. You can try and hide it, go ahead, but then you'll slip up like you did with something like this," she said, gently placing the notebook beside me on bed. "I'm not gonna call the cops. But think about when this pup of yours is in school. What if a teacher finds out? A neighbor. One of the kid's friends? What if they find out when their older. How will they react to knowing?"

"I know," I said, grasping for a reply.

"You don't. You're just saying words now. You may have graduated high school, but you're still a teenager. You can't help it. Because of that I partially understand. West Virginia," she said. "Fuck, North Carolina ain't much better. The whole south's fucked up if you ask me, but then I'm not from around here. I'm a foreigner, by local standards. I'm willing to forgive you, in part. I know it happens. Guys. Go figure. I let it happen to me. I know the heart goes strange places, but for the love of your pup, for the love of yourself. End this."

"Don't you think I tried?" I replied, now with tears rolling down my cheeks. "I tried again and again and again."

Chloe sighed. She didn't have an answer, I could tell. Then again I was being defiant, obstinant. "I can only give you advice. Wisdom is the capacity to take advice, to seek out and identify the best sources. You can ask anyone, or you can learn for yourself. You need to break this off. That's all I'm going to say."

"But I need him, badly. Now more than ever."

"I know you do. And you better believe Dustin needs to help you too. But you can't do it as husband and wife, or whatever you were planning. I know it's going to be very hard. What you two did, this is for life. You're going to have to go back to the way things were. You're going to have to see him every day, knowing that you can't go through with what you're experimenting with. You're going to have to make this work, with emotional distance. I know you're not gonna give what I say the time of day, but please, I would really hate to see you two in any more trouble."

I really didn't have any words. My cheeks were soaked. The silent shudders twitching through my body were the only language I had.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this. I'm not really used to this position. I may not be your mother, but I am learning how to be one, and I care about you. Nate cares about you. Your father cares about you. I know what I'm saying isn't what you want to hear. We're both going to be a mom in a month or two. The first few years are going to be tough, but all they do is yap and poop and keep you up all night. Then they start getting into trouble, little things, but you have to set limits. Those limits show you love them and want to protect them. It gets harder when they get older, closer to your age. The things you're trying to protect them from are harsher, grayer, out of sight. You'll be powerless, like me, like your father, like your older brother. Still, from one adult to another, I can only hope that my words have some influence. They come from an honest instinct to protect you." Chloe said, stood, and began to walk away. "I'm here if you need to talk. Always."

"Please don't tell anyone," I said as she was leaving.

"I'm afraid of what would happen if I did," she said and exited the room.

That night was the lowest I'd felt since I watched the positive symbols slowly fade into existence on that pregnancy test back in March. It was another milestone on my path to hell, just as I thought I'd found a paw-hold on my climb back up from rock bottom. I learned the agony of an even harder, deeper abyss. I wanted to hate Chloe, but my progressive exposure to adulthood prevented me from that. That would have been too easy, too narcissistic. She was right. There was no end game. I knew that fact all along. My loathsome solipsism kept me dancing, jerking like the limbs of a corpse tortured in the perverse randomness of galvanic experiments.

I'm still not sure where adulthood begins. Some of my friends still live like they did when they were twenty-one ten years on. I figured it began with eighteen. I was wrong. Some say it begins with college graduation, but no. Others say it begins with taxes, a job, a mortgage, maybe the first failure of the body and surgical intervention. Childbirth, said Bryn, and I believed her. Now I believe it's not any of those milestones. It's something invisible, insidious. You slowly begin to realize nothing is owed you. You have no entitlements. You can fail. Failure is real. Moral grey exists. The notion of your innate goodness becomes as stable as a house of cards. Accepting that is adulthood.

I dwelled on Chloe's advice for weeks. It's not like I could have acted on my temptations anyway. Dustin lived three hundred miles away. I told him about the notebook, about what Chloe told us to do. He dismissed it of course, after scolding me for my bird-brainedness. Of course he would. He was still a teenager. Just like me, but at the periphery. I asked him what the end game for us was. Silence was his reply, followed by a concoction of overly optimistic predictions. I loved him, but Chloe's advice was now as tattooed upon me as my history of incest.

I gave live birth to a healthy baby boy on August 27th of that year; a bit earlier than expected, just days after my nineteenth birthday. I don't remember much of the experience, nor do I care to tell about it. I spent much of that time in a pain and drug filled haze. Things became clear again the morning after, when I woke up surrounded by my brothers, Nathan's wife, and of all people my own father. I began to cry. He asked me why. He said he was happy I'd given him his first grandson, a fact that made things feel worse.

I never told anyone, but I'd spent months fretting. I'd read that some mothers have a hard time bonding with their children. I was worried that the unconventional circumstances around his creation would make it hard for me to forge that maternal bond. I know, it's a grim thought, but at the time it was real. I'd heard stories of mothers delivering their children, only to be given this screaming, bloody thing that couldn't possibly be of any relation. I tried everything in the months leading to his delivery to make sure that didn't happen, but it all felt artificial. Luckily, when they first gave my son to me and let me hold him, I saw myself in the infant's features. In the pain and the exhaustion, I found my son.

I think everyone was surprised when they brought me Chase, the name I gave our cub. Everyone expected a mutt, some original combination of fur patterns and body features, part rough collie, part whatever else. What they saw poking out of the swaddled blanket was nothing other than a purebred rough collie; a perfect one. Chase even bore my brother's blaze stripe on his forehead, a detail that made it easy for me to fall in love with the little critter at first sight. Perhaps I was the only one to notice that damning mark. I hoped the fact that my very own brother, Dustin, who stood in the very same room, was the father, was too outrageous a conclusion for anyone other than Chloe to jump to. Perhaps it was another breed of collie she mated with, they must have thought, someone close enough to us that it didn't radically affect the pup's traits. No one asked about the father. My family was supportive, elated even that I brought the first new member in a generation into the world.

It was the first I'd seen Dustin in months. He looked older, far more mature than three months ought to render a teenager. Perhaps I'd just forgotten his details. I badly wanted to talk to him, confess my love, and share a peaceful little moment of togetherness. That privilege was denied for far too long. My family stuck with me in shifts. I had to wait a day and a half before I got my alone time with Dustin. By then another shocking conversation took place, one I still reeled from.

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better," Dustin sang, borrowing from The Beetles to keep our little one asleep. The late August sunlight poured in through the blinds, illuminating my brother in zebra strips of amber.

"Are you singing 'Hey Jude' to our son?" I asked, still in my hospital gown. With the painkillers worn off and nothing more than Tylenol to go by, everything hurt, even speaking.

"Damn right," he said. "Hey Jude, don't be afraid You were made to go out and get her The minute you let her under your skin Then you begin to make it better."

"Dork," I said, between verses.

"I read it's good to sing to pups," he said, giving the little pup a tour of the hospital room.

"Not telling ya to stop. It's cute. That's all."

"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude," Dustin continued. "Don't carry the world upon your shoulders."

"I thought you hated The Beatles?" I said.

"You like them. Figured I'd make this guy a fan from the get go. I'd sing Nirvana, but I figure I'd give this guy the chance to enjoy life, before convincing him everything about it sucks," Dustin said, returning to my bedside. "This guy's too cute."

"He's asleep. You weren't here last night when he was fussy. I had to have one of the nurses help."

"I'm sure I'll know that pain soon enough," Dustin said. "Fuck, this is surreal."

"Language, Dusty," I scolded, swallowing the next bombshell, for now.

"Sorry, sis," my brother said. "Still getting used to this. It's really weird. You're fifty percent me, tiny dude."

"Fifty percent me, too," I said.

"You want him back?"

"No, keep holding him. This is fun to watch."

Dustin hummed more of the song. His eyes were cast down into the face of our sleeping offspring. "I feel like I'm gonna break him," he said.

"Yea, me too. God, there's a whole science as to how to hold these things, feed them, put them to bed. It's overwhelming, but luckily everyone's helping, especially Chloe," I said, swallowing after uttering the name of my sister-in-law.

"Can't wait until you're a little more resilient. I'll teach you all about .22s. You'll be able to pack your own ammunition, yes you will."

"Dusty," I said, "I think it's time to tell you, I've been talking to Nate and Chloe. They asked me something this morning, something important. I wanted to ask you."

"Chloe? She still planting ideas in your head?"

"It's a different topic, but it's an idea. I'm not sure what to think about it," I said.

"What?" Dustin asked, sitting down in the armchair beside the hospital bed.

"They," I said, pausing. "Visited me this morning," I continued, stalling. "They had an idea. They asked me. I told them I'd think on it."

Dustin kept looking at me, our child cradled in his arms.

"They said they were willing to adopt Chase." I said and looked at Dustin.

My brother took his eyes off me, he looked down at his pup. "Wow," he said, deadpan, rocking Chase ever so gently. "I didn't expect to hear that news today, or ever."

"It's a surprise. I know." I said, watching Dustin's every slight reaction. His absence of any emotion seemed strange. "They're expecting any day now. Nate said it really wouldn't be a big deal to raise two over one. Chase is family after all."

"You've made up your mind, haven't you?" Dustin asked.

"Far from it," I said. "I wanted to ask you."

"What did you think I'd say?"

"I don't know what to think. Maybe this morning I'd have thought you'd be gung ho about it. It would give us our freedom back, our future, or at least it would make everything easier, but now I'm not so sure."

"I've had, what, seven months to get used to this," Dustin said, observing the sleeping rough collie's little nose and facial patterns. "I'll admit, this is not what I expected. I feel good. Confident. I can do this." He said.

"I know you can. That's why I'm with you." I said.

"We'll figure this out." Dustin said, gently rocking our cub and not taking his eyes off him. "Love you sis."

"Love you too Dustin." I replied, feeling the pain of an unknown source within me as I watched the two before my muzzle.

I found myself resigned to the fact that the future I planned needed to be indefinitely postponed. My duty for the moment was to be mother, a better mother than mine was to me. I'd be there for this one, always. Then the unexpected happened. Chloe and Nate came to visit me when I was still in the hospital. They had a proposition. They offered to adopt my son. Chloe was expecting any day now. The house was already child-ready. All they needed was a second crib and another car-seat. What difference did it make if they raised two instead of one? My child was family after all, which would make the transition easier. He offered me my future back, except for the radically high price of my first born son.

I broke down again. I was so ready to do the right thing, but in those moments I couldn't figure out what the right thing was. Every choice I had was gray. As they drove me home, Chase crying in the back seat and I in the front, it became clear what I needed to do. Things were talked out and documents drawn up. Notarized signatures taken down, and finally I drafted a letter. The letter was more a formality, a note to my son for when he turned my age. It explained why I let my brother and his wife adopt him, and wished him well in life. We talked it through and we agreed we would tell Chase the truth or at least, the modified truth when he got old enough and asked. I could even be a part of the child's life, should I see fit. It was the best possible outcome. I would go to college after all and Nathan and his wife would get to have "twins." They were more ready than I was, by a long shot. She was twenty-seven, nearly a whole decade older than I, and oh so beautiful and wise. I had no qualms with her being a good mother to my child.