“What’s the best dog breed?”
“The best?” I ask, confused by the sudden change in tone. I was sure I was about to be asked to weigh in on some sportsball thing or worse, on something to do with dating women.
“Yeah, which one is the best dog?”
I’m still lost. “What are the criteria? Best for families, best for hunting, best for pulling a sled?”
“It’s an overall best dog contest. Which breed of dog is the most dog?” The one on the edge says as though that’s supposed to clear up all my confusion. I’m not getting out of this discussion until I pick one.
“A lab.” It’s a safe bet. People love them, and they’re literally the picture of several examples of dogs in children’s books.
“Okay, but which color?”
Aaron groans and puts his head down on the table. It’d be amusing if I weren’t so lost.
“Chocolate?” Honestly, I’m not sure I even know all the options here. We were never allowed to have a pet. Apparently, six children was enough chaos in the household without adding anything extra. The most we ever got was the goldfish my youngest sister, Anne, won at a carnival. I wasn’t old enough to remember, but family lore says it only survived six weeks before it died to get away from the noise.
“See? I told you so.” Dude-bro number one is very excited. “I like you,” he says, holding his hand up in front of my face. Reluctantly, I give him a high five. This is almost worse than being stood up.
“You should go now,” Aaron says, his head on the table between his hands.
Shit. I knew I should’ve picked a poodle.
“Save yourself from this madness.” He sits back up, a big grin on his face. It melts every ounce of hesitation in my system.
“And leave you here to fight for yourself? Never.”
I know it’s stupid, but I’d rather be here, next to him, even if it does mean spending the evening with the rest of these guys, too.
“What was your vote?” I ask, curious how far apart our suggestions are. Picking the same breed of dog for some imaginary game wouldn’t mean anything, but it would be nice to know we’re on the same wavelength.
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
I shake my head. There’s no way I’m agreeing to something like that, especially if he picked something ridiculous like a Yorkie.
“A dachshund.”
“Seriously? A wiener dog? I’m not sure if we can still be friends.” It’s a joke, but I do seriously question his sanity.
“Don’t laugh. They’re super cute and very recognizable.”
I can’t help the laughter that bubbles up. “They’re ridiculous.”
“All dogs are ridiculous.” Aaron gives me a look.
“Aaron’s a spoil sport. He doesn’t like that you agreed with me,” the guy who high-fived me says.
Shit, I can’t believe that he’s the one I agreed with. If I could do it again, I would be on Aaron’s side even if he picked the worst option.
“Can we change the subject?”
“Fine, fine.”
The guys change the conversation from dogs to work. Since that doesn’t require my input, I let my mind wander. It’s weird to see Aaron in this environment. It’s different from the version of him I get when we’re alone. Even different from the version I see with his other friends. I’ve only met them a few times,mostly when he invites me to Matthias’s house. They’re all great, but I can’t seem to relax. Maybe because I can tell Aaron’s not comfortable. Perhaps it’s because I’m there. I wish there was something I could do to help him, especially this evening when he seems particularly uptight, his back stick-straight against the chair.
Instead, I sit quietly, occasionally interjecting with awoworreallyso they think I’m following along in the conversation.
An hour later, I’m exhausted and ready to go home and curl up under the blankets in my bed, hiding away until tomorrow morning. I mentally check my calendar and let myself sleep in until eight. That still gives me plenty of time to get my work done and be online when people expect to reach me. I never know when Haskell will be up and working. It could be four AM or it could be noon. After several years, I’ve mostly trained him that he’s not going to hear from me until nine, unless we’ve previously agreed on something.
