Chapter 7

“‘Toot my birthday horn’ isn’t exactly a reciprocal love call.”

I wince. No one wants to be reminded of bossy shit said in the throes.

“It was all about you, baby boy,” Andy says, laughing.

“Andy, take off their collars.” The pugs are wearing their matching lavender collars, studded with cubic zirconium. “The groomer will forget and then it’s a trip back.”

“The puppets are glammed for your birthday,” he dismisses me. “I’ll remember. The puppets have asked can they go in Mercy B.”

I roll over. “Daddy says sure if they’re on towels until their nails get clipped.” As Andy goes to get some from the master bathroom, I add, “Take the crappy ones!”

“They’re all crappy. Great Rooms! sells such plush ones. Are we poor?” Andy asks like a timid housewife.