“A part of me wants to demand answers, you know? I get it; we’re no longer together. But what about what happened last year? I thought it meant something. It meant something to me, at least.”
I point a weighty finger at him. “You know I haven’t been with a single woman in years. And all I’ve done since last year is work on this plan.” I pull at the ends of my hair with a fist. “This fucking plan that may be fucked because she’s fucking someone else!”
Bob can’t appreciate the many different ways I’ve used the same word in one sentence. Instead, he flops on the ground again, dragging his treasured bra—a constant reminder of my ex-wife—over his ear with a paw, looking like he needs a smoke.
“Fuck it,” I declare, clipping on Bob’s leash and grabbing a ball cap to place over my head. “We’re going over there.”
Tongue hanging out, Bob jumps to all fours, finally giving me a look of respect.
With the box in one hand and my dog’s leash in the other—him leading, of course—the walk across the street feels like the longest one of my life.
I don’t pause to admire her warm-toned stucco home with its broad driveway, oversized windows, and patio that looks like something out of a home and garden magazine, with ivy-wrapped stone columns, hanging lanterns, and enough potted plants to be considered a rainforest.
Instead, I march forward with my heart hammering inside my chest. My heart didn’t even beat this hard when I jumped out of a plane for my last film.
Bob, meanwhile, is as calm as a cucumber—bra in mouth, nose to the ground in full-on inspection mode, and tail wagging. When we reach Nisha’s front patio, he immediately does a forensic exam of the potted plants and anything else within sniffing distance.
With one hand gripping his leash, I ring her doorbell just as Bob starts circling one of her potted plants that looks like a rare and expensive tropical monstrosity.
My stomach drops, and I immediately tug on his leash, bracing for impending calamity.
“Bob, no!”
But I’m too late.
Because right as Nisha’s door swings open, my beast of a dog lifts his leg and starts to take the longest piss of his life.
five
nisha
I Love a Good Peach
Grabbing the three beanies I knitted this week from the drawer in my closet, I place them into the large tote I’m carrying. I also pack my knitting needles and the work-in-progress sweater for Hector, just in case I get a chance to work on it between clients. It’ll be light blue with a dark gray neck and hem that will make his piercing blue eyes pop.
Going over to the drawer next to the one with my knitting supplies, I throw in a few travel-sized deodorants and bottles of SPF. I remember someone—was it Janice or Becker?—said they had run out.
My eyes land on the time displayed on my phone. It’s still early, but sometimes the traffic to the shelter can be unpredictable on the weekends. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s being late to anything.
Okay, it’s one ofmanythings I can’t stand.
Like people who speak too loud, too close—or, hell—just too much. And if any of that talking is done while they’re eating, say, a banana, making that smacking-slurping sound like they’re trying to give oral to the fruit, I will self-detonate.
A shudder goes down my arms as I shake off a violent case of the heebie-jeebies at the mere thought.
I’m just walking down the hallway toward my living room when the doorbell rings.
I frown, checking my watch again before adjusting the strap of my tote bag over my shoulder. Who could it be at this time of the morning?
The sound of a man’s deep and admonishing voice fills my ears as I turn the lock and swing open my door, coming face-to-face with . . .
Wait.
Why am I coming face-to-face with my ex-husband?
Again.
My eyes take in the scene before me. Patton, with eyes as big as saucers under a Bay Area Blazer’s cap, is holding a cardboard box in one hand and a leash that leads to what can only be classified as a large bear in the other. Said bear has one hind leg up, slightly shaking in mid-air, and is now peeing directly into my Thai Constellation Monstera—the same plant I’ve nurtured for the past four years with as much care as one would give a newborn.
