Unleashed

“Rusty slipped his collar again.” Liam says this as I’m at the kitchen sink washing Brussels sprouts, marveling at their tiny cabbage-like perfections. My back is to him so he can’t see the look on my face as I picture our two-year-old goldendoodle, a last-ditch attempt to make our relationship work, racing through Central Park. This isn’t the first time Rusty has played Houdini. It’s been at least three times in the last month, and only with Liam.

The man is an idiot. A good-looking, great-in-the-sack, idiot. Our profile said we’re 98 percent compatible. Does this mean I’m an idiot as well?

I bite my tongue. There’s no time to get into it. “Where were you?” I ask as I turn off the water and dry my hands.

“Over by the 85th Street entrance. I tried to go after him. Little bastard just ignored me.”

I’m already edging past Liam in the tight space. Hurrying. He wraps his arms around me. His breath is hot in my ear.

I peel his arms from my waist. “Where’s the leash?”

“The leash?”

“Yes, the cord that you hold in your hand that connects to his collar.”

“I know what a leash is, Courtney.”

“So where is it?”

He rubs his head as if deep in thought and it’s all I can do not to laugh. “Don’t strain yourself,” I say. “I’ll get him.” I know Rusty’s favorite spots. The last time this happened he was romping by the duck pond.

Liam checks his watch. “Could you? I’ve got a call coming in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll text.” I wave my phone at him hoping the visual will reinforce my words.

In the living room I grab my sweater from the couch, slide my feet into boots and pick up the leash from the floor. The collar dangles from the end like a noose. Then I’m out the door. I push the button for the elevator and count. At ten I decide to take the stairs down the eight flights.

Why can’t I leave Liam? I think this at the fifth floor landing. I imagine the Libra scales, on one side, leaving, on the other, staying. There’s nothing of Liam on the staying side. My reluctance to move out keeps it somewhat balanced. Finding an affordable apartment in NYC isn’t easy. And I don’t want to admit I’ve hooked up with a Neanderthal.

An imaginary hand places the tiny silver dog from the Monopoly game on the leaving side and it tips down, dropping the negatives into a tangled heap. The missing dates and waiting at airports, or the time Liam “forgot” to get me at the dentist’s office after I had my wisdom teeth pulled. The scattered toenail clippings and the assumption that I’ll clean up after him, do his laundry, his fascination with breasts.

I guess I’m an idiot too.

My thoughts travel along with me on the eight-block sprint to the park. I stop in the bike lane to catch my breath. The fading light plays with the gold and red leaves and there’s crispness to the air as the evening sky and shadows creep in. I head toward the pond scanning the path for Rusty. There are just enough people around that I feel safe. A minimum amount.

Liam had laughed when I said there had to be a minimum amount of people for me to feel safe in the park. It must have been our second or third date. “More than one person or group,” I’d told him. “In case someone tries to hurt me there’ll be an ally or at least a witness. You don’t know what it’s like to be a woman.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Liam replied.

I’d believed him.

That was almost two years ago.

“Rusty,” I call into the purple sky. I wonder if I’ll be able to afford an apartment that allows dogs or if I’ll have to move to Queens. Maybe I’ll move to the country. Rusty can have a yard and I can have a garden, grow tomatoes and green beans. Or Brussels sprouts. I wonder if Liam will miss Rusty, or me. Then I wonder if I will miss Liam.

And there is Rusty on the other side of the pond.