She babbles and chats to Dr. Weasel, and my brain fogs like it’s being fumigated. When she hangs up and looks back up at me, I startle.
“Sorry about that. What were you saying? It seemed like it might be important.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you sure? I’m sorry I even answered, but he’s about to get on a flight to Aruba. Family vacation.”
Suddenly perkier, I ask, “He’s going on vacation?”
“Yeah. For a week, I think. They do it every year before school starts, and he says his parents say it’s nonnegotiable that he keeps going until he’s married.”
I don’t give a shit about any of that—other than the fact that I’m about to have Julia to myself for the next week.
Operation Lost Puppy is just the beginning.
If this doesn’t work, my next move is to fake a coma, request her as my emergency contact, and hire a George-Clooney-looking actor to play my doctor and tell Julia the only way to bring me back to consciousness is to kiss me and tell me she loves me.
But itwillwork.
I don’t know what phase of the plan this is, but it’s a big one. Maybe a slightlyemotionally manipulative pièce de résistance, but I have no doubt it will prove I’m responsible and kind and trustworthy and reliable and will one day make a killer anecdote in our wedding vows.
I casually guide Julia toward the exact place I mapped out yesterday in Central Park. It’s the perfect little spot, near thewest-facing path, that has the best view of the skyline because the trees part like the gates of heaven.
Golden hour is about to hit, and Finn is in the bushes with a goldendoodle puppy I bought off a woman named Felicia on Long Island. Thankfully, Julia and I are only a few minutes away.
My phone buzzes violently in my pocket, and then it pretty much keeps buzzing so much that I pull it out and discreetly look at the screen while I continue to guide Julia where I need her to be.
Finn: Where the fuck are you?
Finn: It’s hot. I’m sweating. And this dog is staring at me like he knows I have no plan.
Finn: This is insane, Ace. Like really fucking insane. You know that, right? I already have enough to deal with, preparing to have all three of my brothers at Dickson this year, and yet, here I am, with a fucking dog, waiting for you in the middle of Central fucking Park
Finn: I don’t know how the fuck I let you get me into these situations.
Finn: I swear, if you don’t show up in 2 minutes, I’m naming him Todd and giving him to Scottie.
I text back one-handed while pretending to point something out on the skyline for Julia.
Me: YOU CAN’T KEEP HIM. OR NAME HIM TODD.
Me: Just chill for like a few more minutes and release the dog when I text “sunset”
Finn: A few more minutes? I’ve already been standing here trying to keep this puppy hidden behind a fucking bush for like thirty minutes. This plan is UNHINGED.
Me: This plan is perfect. You’ll see. Just wait.
Next to me, Julia stretches her arms overhead and takes a deep breath. “This was a good idea,” she says, sighing like peace incarnate. “I always forget how much I love Central Park.”
“Same,” I say. “It’s even better when you’re not dodging tourists or rogue saxophone players or those nice ladies who are always trying to sell mangoes.”
She smiles, and the light hits her just right, and I swear to God I almost abort the mission just to blurt out, “I love you! Here’s a puppy and my soul!”
Instead, I keep my shit together and text Finn one word.
Me: sunset
Nothing happens.
