I’m surprised. He has enough money to eat at the most expensive and prestigious restaurants, and I was expecting the words ‘caviar’ or ‘lobster’ to be his response.
But it seems you can’t go wrong with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich no matter who you are—unless you’re me.
“I’m allergic to nuts, which sucks. I’ve only tried a peanut and jelly sandwich once, and it was when I was three. My face was so swollen I looked like a floating balloon on a stick.” I wish my parents had taken a photo so I could laugh at it today, but I understand they were far more concerned with the fact that their child was struggling to breathe than getting the camera out.
“Really?” Nathan releases a husky laugh, his eyes darting to Mr No Name, who is still rustling around near the trees, pawing at rocks and barking at mice who race away from him. “I’ll remember not to eat them around you, then.”
I offer him a smile. “Thanks. Do you think you’re prepared for the next game?”
His shoulders drop at the mention of football, that twinkle from his eyes now completely gone.
I realise I’ve never seen a football player so deflated at the mention of a game. I’d expect him to be excited, full of energy, but instead, he seems weighed down by it, like it’s a burden he can’t shake off.
I scan the field before Nathan can respond, my eyebrows collapsing. “Wait, where’s Mr No Name?”
His eyes dart from side to side. “I don’t know.”
I do a full three-sixty and still can't see him. There’s no sound or movement, either. We pick up the pace, weaving around trees and scanning the shrubs as we call out for him, searching through the tall grass. We find nothing but large boulders and rabbit holes, though, and I start to panic.
“We lost the shelter’s dog. My mom is going to fucking love this. What if he’s found his way onto a road and has been hit? Oh, shit.” I pick at my lip, and Nathan takes my hand away from my mouth and sets it back down by my side, fingers skating against mine.
The contact has my entire body tingling, eyes round.
He crouches down so we’re at the same level. “Mae, don’t panic. We’ll find him, okay? He’s probably just off exploring.”
I allow my lungs to expand as I breathe. “Okay.”
“Take a deep breath for me. We can’t look for him when you’re not calm.”
I do as I’m told, giving him a sharp nod, and I inhale, placing my hands on my lower belly.
“Good. Okay, so we’re going to—”
“Whose dog is this? What the fuck! Get off!”
The shrill makes Nathan and me push through the thick cluster of trees to see Mr No Name prancing through a small fenced field. His snout is coated in thick dirt as he dips into a greenhouse, exiting a few seconds later with a purple vegetable hanging from his mouth.
A farmer is stomping his feet, and once he spots us, he storms over to the wooden fence and wiggles his finger. “Your dog’s dug up my radishes inside of my greenhouse!” His sagging skin has mud splattered into the creases, his greying hair dishevelled from—what I imagine was— chasing Mr No Name.
“We’re so sorry,” I tell him with a frown, waving to try and gain the dog’s attention, but I see him rip another radish from a pot through the open doors of the greenhouse, throwing it up into the air as if it’s a rope toy.
“Sorry doesn’t grow me back my radishes.” The farmer gestures to the mess of dirt and deceased veggies.
“I know.” Nathan pulls a spare receipt from his wallet and scribbles on it using a pen from behind his ear. He hands it to the irritated farmer. “Here’s my number. Call me later, and I’ll sort out some form of payment for the inconvenience.”
Mr No Name spots us, and although he appears to be having a blast digging up the farmer’s livelihood, he trots over without a care in the world, allowing me to grab him through the fence and fasten the leash back onto his harness.
The elderly farmer doesn't seem convinced, but he grunts in agreement as he pockets Nathan’s number.
“We’ll get someone down here to clean up the mess, too.” Nathan speaks so calmly, and I honestly don't think you could put him in a situation that would cause him to freak out. “Don’t do it yourself. Again, we’re so sorry, but I promise you we’ll pay you more than double what you would have received for the radishes.”
The farmer’s face twists at the dog panting by my booted feet, his dirt-covered tongue lolling out as he releases a loud bark of pride. “Keep your dog on a leash,” he says as he shakes his head and waves us away.
I try to keep a straight face as we trudge back through the trees, but before I know it, Nathan and I have locked eyes, and a laugh is bursting from my mouth—with a huskier, calmer one coming from Nathan’s.
It’s not funny. It’s really not. But the sight of Mr No Name with a limp radish swinging side to side from his slobbery lips while he bounced around the field like a lamb is burned into my memory
He was having a blast.
