Our little girl doesn’t die. She’s strong, and we spend three weeks watching her around the clock. Today, Leyla decides to wean her off the formula to solid food.
“Is she out of the woods?” I ask as Buster, Leyla, and I stare at the pup who shyly takes one kernel of food and places it on the floor.
“I’m not sure,” she answers.
Buster pushes the plate closer to the puppy. This guy has been concerned about the little girl just as much as us.
“Maybe. I won’t say for sure until she’s eight weeks old. Tomorrow, I’m taking her to the animal hospital so we can run some blood tests. I want to make sure that she’s perfectly healthy.” Leyla looks at me and says, “Thank you for…humoring me.”
“I won’t lie. I thought she wasn’t going to make it, but I wasn’t humoring you. It’s more like having faith in you. I wanted her to live.”
She smiles at the pup and then at me. “I can’t believe the owner had no idea that her dog was pregnant. At least one of them survived.”
“Any ideas of what breed she is?” I ask, because this is too close to what happened to her. Everyone dying and her surviving. She has high functioning depression, which means that when she feels like the world is about to swallow her, she overworks, sometimes running herself ragged.
“The mom was a Golden Retriever. Her fur is soft, but her white and black coloring and those blue eyes make me wonder if she’s a mix with a Husky.”
“Are you calling the mom’s owner to tell her that this girl survived?”
“No, she told me that I should find her a home if she made it through. She didn’t want her,” she answers.
“She needs a name,” I suggest.
“I don’t want to name her yet.”
“She’s going to make it, baby. Look at her. We swore she’d be pushing up daisies soon, but this girl is strong.”
“Daisy,” Leyla says. “I like that name.”
“What do you think, Bust?” I ask because this should be a family decision. “Should we call our girl Daisy and keep her?”
He barks, and Leyla smiles at me. “And now we’re four,” she declares. “I love it.”
“We need a house,” I say what I’ve been thinking for the past couple of months.
Buster is a big boy, and he needs more space to run. This girl might be just as big. Leyla needs to see Poppy daily, and it’d be easier if we have a stable for her. Boarding the horses makes everything too complicated. With the storm, Daisy, and Leyla’s last days in the internship, we haven’t had time to visit the mare. Alistair needs to come to us too.
“What?” Leyla asks.
“These two will outgrow this place soon. I think we should buy a property on the west side of town, closer to the foothills. We can have a barn so you can see Poppy every day.”
Leyla’s face brightens, and she adds, “We could bring Alistair and add chickens to the family. I’m done with the internship. Depending on where we live, I can find another place where I can work.”
“While we’re looking at houses, we should go to the Motor Vehicle office,” I suggest.
“To get a new driver’s license?” She rolls her eyes. “We need a new address before that.”
“No, to get a marriage license,” I say, looking at my phone. “It’s Friday. It sounds like the perfect day to get hitched. Don’t you think?”
“You’re crazy.”
“For you.”
“We just met,” she throws another excuse, and I glare at her. “I can’t… Marriage is?”
“Marriage is the logical thing to do. We’re buying a house to get all the children under one roof.” I shrug. “Who knows, with a bigger house and enough room, we can have a bigger family.”
“You want a family?”
“We’re a family already.”
“Yes, we are,” she confirms, and the happiness she radiates is all I need in my life.
“We’ll fill the place with more children,” I add.
“I love you, Pierce,” she declares.
“Well, then let’s go to the DMV,” I state and head upstairs to change. “I’ll call the realtor to see if we can start looking for a place today.”
Chapter Nine
Pierce
Probably acquiring a marriage certificate and asking Nyx, one of my friends and colleagues, to meet us at the parking lot to marry us isn’t romantic. It’s definitely unorthodox. We aren’t the only couple who decided to marry on a whim. It’s almost like eloping, but without going to another state or country.
How many people do it daily in Vegas?
A shitload.
This isn’t the most romantic way to get married, but I think it fits us. I still owe Leyla an engagement ring—or some solitaire diamond that she can wear even when she’s taking care of her patients. At least we have wedding bands. That might be as traditional as we get.
We skip our honeymoon. Daisy is too young to be left with a puppy sitter. I don’t feel bad. We travel often. One of those trips could pass as our honeymoon. Just before the blizzard, we went to Hawaii. Another tradition we didn’t skip was having sex all weekend long. Then again, that’s the way we like to spend most Sundays when we’re in town.
On Monday, when I arrive at work, Mom is waiting for me in my office. I sigh because she only does that when someone is in trouble.
“What did I do?”
“The workweek is from Monday to Friday. You have to be at the office every day. We don’t have new dog-owner leave in this company. That’s not even a thing,” she says furiously. “The past month, you’ve been working mostly from home. Your excuse is the new dog you got back in May. That’s completely unacceptable. You have a responsibility with this firm and your clients.”
There are so many things I should tell her, starting with the fact that my clients are happy. I haven’t lost any cases, and my work hasn’t suffered just because I’m not in my office every fucking day of the week. The company should be more lenient about working hours, trusting our lawyers, taking cases worth winning, and not just grabbing everything that comes to our door because we can make more money.
“We should assess the pros and cons of creating a new pet-owner leave,” I suggest, half joking. Last week I convinced the senior partners that my team and I will only handle the corporate cases. I know which battles to fight with her, and this one isn’t worth my time or the aggravation.
To distract her, I pull out my phone and show her a picture of my girl. “Isn’t she precious? Her name is Daisy.”
She glares at me, and then her gaze focuses on my hand. “Is that a wedding ring?”
I look at my finger and grin. “By the way, I got married last Friday. You should be thankful that I’m here. Technically, I have a week off.”
“Please, tell me you are joking.” I’m sure her voice can be heard all the way to Colorado Springs. “You married that woman.”
“Leyla,” I correct her. “My wife.”