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Ronan couldn’t remember what time Robert Parrish came home from work. A criminal oversight, now that it was staring him in the face: why on earth hadn’t he paid more attention back then? Of course he’d noticed Adam’s changing moods, his reluctance to get out of the car in the evenings, but the grim set of his mouth and the tensing of his shoulders only ever served to make Ronan angrier with the world, which in turn made him stupid.
He’d had a lot going on back then, but even so, the blind spot now seemed indefensible. He couldn’t even remember where Robert Parrish worked. Did he have a regular job, or had he been laid off? Was he part-time at the same factory where Adam worked?
It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t, except Ronan knew that Adam wouldn’t want him to have another confrontation with his father. Ronan wanted to have a confrontation; he’d welcome one, but he allowed the Adam in his imagination this one thing. He’d avoid it, if he could. Apparently, this was what it was to be in love.
Still, it was a strange, jumpy feeling, not knowing where Parrish Senior might be. Ronan didn’t give more than a passing thought to Adam’s mother, that grey-ghost bitch of a flimsy excuse. Not like she had ever managed to stop anyone from doing anything, back then. She sure as hell couldn’t stop Ronan doing what he was about to do now.
It had been a throwaway comment, the seed that sprouted this little outing. Ronan hadn't been asked to do this, and his belly clenched suddenly at the thought of what Adam might say—what if he hated it? What if it was all wrong? What if Ronan was being too much again?
It was too late now. Well, it wasn’t really, he could always just drive away and pretend he had never come, but he was already here. He might as well go through with it.
He stopped in the same spot Gansey always used to pick Adam up for school, where the pavement ended at a cluster of mailboxes and a drooping sign sadly declaring Antietam Lane. The June sun was beating down mercilessly in this parched and barren suicide of a neighborhood, and Ronan immediately regretted his black jeans as he shuffled down the dirt road. The turkey cold cuts he clutched in a plastic baggie were not going to stay cold for long, and wondered whether he was about to commit an accidental poisoning rather than a heroic rescue. Did dogs get listeria?
Ronan had only ever seen him—her?—racing the Pig down the lane in a fevered attempt to murder a tire, or else hanging around the Parrish carport, and only then when Adam was also around. He didn’t know if the dog had a lair or a nest somewhere, but he was hoping his turkey would prove a sufficient bribe. As an alternative option, he clutched an unwashed t-shirt of Adam’s that he’d stolen out of the hamper—weird and embarrassing to carry around, but maybe the dog would like it.
She was there; she liked it. Easiest heist Ronan ever pulled. The dog was pathetically happy to follow him down the lane and jump into the backseat of a stranger's car as long as she could keep chewing on Adam’s clothing. Unfortunately, the thing had no manners in the car as it started to move. Ronan cringed at the sound of claws scrabbling and tearing at the seats as she bounded back and forth between the rear windows. So, okay, he and Adam had probably done worse to the leather back there. It wasn’t a big deal. This was what it was to be in love.
*
Ronan set up shop in the doorway to the mudroom as Adam stomped in, shaking and slapping the clinging gravel from his shoes. It had rained a couple days ago; the shaded driveway still remembered the feel of it, and the evidence had already been tracked all over the hardwood and Italian tile of the ground floor. A lost cause, but Adam was courteous to a fault, even though Ronan had insisted over and over again that he should treat the house as his own.
Adam noticed Ronan waiting, and his face broke into a familiar smirk. “I’m home, honey,” he mocked. Though he’d only graduated a week and a half ago, already Adam carried himself like a grownup, heading off to work downtown with a coffee and a kiss in the morning and coming home to greet Ronan at the door in the evening. Ronan hadn’t yet admitted to anyone how much he liked it.
He rocked on the balls of his feet. Adam looked at him sideways.
“What’s up.”
It wasn’t framed as a question; things rarely were with Adam Parrish. Ronan wondered, sometimes, back before he knew Adam all that well, whether his trademark suspicion was a consequence of circumstance. Well, maybe it was, but it was something he’d probably never shake. Or else it was just the way he’d been wired. Surprises had never been good in Adam’s experience, and were thus to be treated with wariness rather than excitement. Ronan felt that telltale clench in his gut again.
“I...have something.”
Adam continued to look at him. Finally, “You gotta give me more to go on. Something...to tell me? Or you caught something? Do you have a disease? Did you dream up another night horror?” He narrowed his already narrow eyes further. “Did you break that antique coffee table, god, Ronan, I told you not to slam your boots down—”
“Brought,” Ronan amended. “I brought something. Home.” He shifted on his feet again, then decided it was better to just get it over with. He was terrible with words; better to just show him. “Come see.”
The barking reached them long before they came around the side of the house, which Ronan thought was a bit of a giveaway. Adam shot Ronan a quick, curious look, and then a longer one. The corner of his mouth turned up. “That can’t be…”
As they turned the corner to the backyard, the dog gave a screechy sort of yelp and launched herself at Adam, nearly bowling him over.
“What the fuck!” Adam gasped, but he was laughing. God, thank god, he liked it. “How did—Did you dream…?”
“She’s real, Parrish,” Ronan assured.
The mutt was nearly in convulsions now, yipping in a way that sounded nearly painful and wagging her stumpy tail so frantically that her whole body was wracked with the shakes. Adam laughed helplessly and crouched down to scratch her ears properly. She took the opportunity granted to slobber all over his face. Ronan couldn’t really blame her.
“Dan, Dan, calm down, okay pretty Dandy, I’m here,” Adam crooned in his most devastating drawl. He looked up at Ronan, who wasn’t quite sure how much longer he could stay on his feet with this sort of scene going on in front of him. “Did she—”
“She’s been fed, she’s got a giant goddamned water bowl out here, I’m pretty sure Opal’s been riding her around the garden like a pony, which might not be the greatest idea for either of them, but they both fucking loved it, so…”
Adam stood up. “You went to—you went and got her? From…?”
Ronan nodded. “Smooth sailing. Didn’t see anyone around. Sneaky as shit, you’d have been impressed.”
“So what you’re saying is you’re great at thievery. Comforting.”
Ronan tched. “Come on. One, you knew that about me. Two, she’s a stray. I didn’t steal her from anything but a life of ticks and mange and empty bellies.”
“God, Ronan,” Adam said again. “How’d you even remember, I mean, I never even asked, I never thought to—”
“Dandy?” Ronan asked, to cut his spiral off at the knees. Adam Parrish needed no additional responsibility, and Ronan could stomach no additional guilt. It wasn’t his job to save every stray around. It had only ever been his job to save himself.
Adam said, “When she first started showing up around the house, I kept calling her Daisy, because she was always nipping at the flowers by the side of the road. But my mom said that was stupid, we didn’t have daisies around there, only the weedy old dandelions.” Dandy aroooed and flopped onto her back as Adam scratched her belly. He went on, looking at the dog so he didn’t need to look at Ronan, “My dad said it was fag shit to name a stray bitch after a flower, but at least Dan didn’t sound like anything.”
“She can be Daisy if you want her to be,” Ronan said. “We’re all about that fag shit here.”
Adam laughed. “Oh, sure. Naming your pets after power tools is definitely gayer than flowers. But nah, I dunno. Dandy fits.”
“Dandy,” Ronan tried out, and the dog woofed absently, as she returned to shredding Adam’s t-shirt.
Adam looked at the ragged pile, now covered in dirt and slobber. “You lured her with my dirty laundry?”
“Hey, at least I didn’t give her your underwear to chew on,” Ronan pointed out.
“Yeah, I know you save that shit for yourself. Freakshow.”
Ronan laughed and pawed at Adam’s hair, mussing it as he pulled him into a rough hug. “So, what’s the verdict? Can we keep her?”
Adam kissed him. “You did good, Lynch.”