1
LEAH
“Benjamin Maximus Jellybean James, stop pulling me right now, or I’m going to tell your mom! I’m not kidding!”
I know it’s a ridiculous thing to say to a dog, but I've seen him quelled when my best friend used his full name. But today, there was no stopping the enormous Great Dane, whose head comes up to my chest. I hang onto the leash and dig my heels in, but he’s too strong, and I end up skipping after him, trying not to fall flat on my face.
Benji finally stops dragging me when he reaches his destination—a bush where he found half a slice of pizza months ago. This dog's eternal hope that the magic pizza bush is going to present him with another piece is on another level.
“Geez, what is up with you today? Are you upset because your mom left with her suitcase? That's probably it.”
The big, black Great Dane might look scary, but he's an enormous baby who falls apart when his mom takes out her suitcase and leaves.
“I promise she'll be home really soon. She wouldn't leave you, buddy. I promise.”
It occurs to me how ironic it is that I tell my daughter the same thing when she's clinging to me and doesn't want to let me go. It's gotten better as she's gotten older, but like this dog, she doesn't always believe me.
I manage to drag Benji away from the magic pizza bush, and we cross the street to the coffee cart that had been my goal all along. I suppose I shouldn't be mad at Benji—he had his goal, and I had mine.
“Good morning.” I offer a smile to the young woman operating the espresso machine.
“Morning. What can I get you?” She smiles back, brushing away a stray wisp of hair that's escaped the blue handkerchief she's tied over her head.
“Iced Americano with the whipped coffee thing on the top. With the amaretto flavor?” I twist my finger around like that will somehow show the barista what I’m talking about.
She doesn't bat an eye at my awkward exchange.“Got it,” she says, tapping the order into the tablet. “Anything else?”
“That's it. Well—” I glance at Benji, who’s so large, he’s sniffing the counter and menu like he's trying to decide what to order. “I'll take one of those dog cupcakes, if you have one.”
“One doggy cupcake for the giant gentleman coming right up,” the barista replies, finishes tapping in the order, and turns the screen around so I can pay.
“Thanks,” I tell her, feeding Benji’s leash through a belt loop so I can get my wallet out.
“Where's your daughter today?” the barista asks as she turns to the shiny espresso machine and pours a measure of beans into the top. She flips the switch, and the grinder starts up noisily.
“At the zoo with a friend from school. She didn’t want me tagging along.”
“Ah.” The sound is knowing. “Getting to that age, is she?”
“Yeah.” My sigh sounds melancholy to my ears, and I give up wrestling with the zipper on my pouch and just pull the damn belt bag over my head. “I just thought it would take a lot longer. Maybe sixteen years instead of seven?”
The barista gives me a sympathetic smile as she pushes the portafilter back into the espresso machine and turns it on. Sweet, sweet caffeine, a beautiful stream of burnt caramel colored coffee, streams into the small cup, the slightly acidic, slightly sweet aroma of a perfectly pulled double shot reaching my nose. Benji’s enormous nose rises into the air, too, and starts to twitch.
“I—”
My words are ripped from my throat as I'm wrenched to the side, and everything is suddenly happening in slow motion: the barista snapping around at the sound, her eyes growing wide, her mouth rounding into an “o.” The sight of Benjamin’s gigantic form in motion toward another dog, just coming out of the expensive boutique hotel, one storefront over. The sound of me yelling in my ears, along with the distinctiveripof my jeans, as Benji’s leash, with the help of physics, takes a huge chunk of my jeans and my dignity in one fell swoop.
“Fuck!”
The force of Benji’s movement and my jeans being ripped spins me around and deposits me gracelessly on the ground, pain exploding instantly in my knees.
The tears of embarrassment don't start until I realize I'm on my hands and knees, most of my leg and my underwear in view of everyone on the sidewalk, and I've let my best friend's dog get away from me.
“Shit!” I hiss under my breath, easing onto my backside to see the bloody scratches on my knees, regretting the ripped jeans I’d chosen that morning. “Ow, damn it.”
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
The barista is leaning over the counter of her coffee cart, staring down at me with eyes as wide as dinner plates. The expressions on the faces of those around me echo much the same.
