“He’s a dog. You can’t fool a dog.”
“I can’t fool you either, apparently,” I point out, throwing the ball across the yard. Rambo bounds off to get it, but as his big jaws sweep it up, he gets distracted, running off to sniff something in the corner. “He’s terrible at fetch.”
“He is.” She laughs, leaning on the fence above me. “So, what’s on your mind, Wes? Something at work? Something with your friends? Something here?”
“No…” My voice trails off, the letter burning a hole in my jacket pocket. I’ve carried the thing around with me for nearly a week now, not sure what to do with it. “It’s … It’s complicated.”
“I can understand complications,” she urges, poking the side of my head. “You just gotta start explaining yourself. Your energy is all off; it’s gonna affect the dogs.”
I let out a sigh, then pull out the letter. I hold it out for Maria to take from me, and she does, but not without a confused expression on her face. “It’s a long story,” I begin, waiting for her reaction.
“Yeah, I don’t get it?” She tilts her head at me once she finishes. “It’s confusing. It’s an apology, and very much a made-up holiday.”
“It’s a real holiday,” I counter, sighing. “I checked.”
“Of course you did.” She laughs. “But that’s not the elephant in the room.”
“I know.” I swallow the knot that forms in my throat, then spill it all. Everything from the way I’d noticed her when we were younger, to the birthday party where we kissed, to now, with me contemplating what to do.
“Hmm,” Maria says once I finish, handing me back the letter. “That’s a lot, but it doesn’t say much about her feelings.”
I furrow my brow. “What do you mean? I think her feelings are pretty clear. She just wants to be friends—or pen pals. Something like that. I don’t think she wants anything more from me.”
“Then why wouldn’t she just get a new one? You can get a pen pal from anywhere; they have websites for that kind of thing. And it’d be a lot more exciting than writing to someone who lives in the same city as you.”
I shrug. “Yeah, but I don’t think that means much. It’s not like she went looking for a pen pal.”
“No, she was wanting to write toyou.”
“Yeah, don’t make this into something it’s not.” I scoff, shaking my head as Rambo finally returns, dropping the tennis ball in my lap. I wipe off the slobber on my jeans, then rear back, launching it to the far side of the pen. “Besides, her brother wouldn’t be happy about any of this.”
“Right, because the two of you aren’t grown adults who are capable of making your own decisions.” The sarcasm dripping from her tone shocks me, and I whip my head around, surprised to see such sass from the woman.
“You sound like that hit a personal nerve.”
“The only kind of nerve you can hit is personal.” She winks at me, her bubbly laugh louder than the city around us. “But yes, it does. I married my brother’s best friend. He was six years younger than me, and it was quite a mess there for a little bit. It was worth it, though. We’ve been married thirty-five years now—four kids and eight grandkids. Seems like it was worth it to me.”
“I’d say.” I chuckle, a smile stretching across my face. “That’s the kind of life I want—a big family full of love and stability. My parents were too busy for me. They just pushed me off on a nanny for everything. The nanny was great and all, but I want better than that. I want to be a present father and husband.”
Maria’s expression softens. “And now you’re out trying to find someone to build a life with in this impossible city.”
“Yeah.” I snort, giving Rambo a pat as he once again returns with the ball. “I just keep thinking it’ll happen one of these days. Parker wants me to go on a double date with him and Amy, and she wants to bring one of her friends for me.”
“Are you going to go?” Maria asks.
“I don’t think I can do it,” I say, watching Rambo chase a butterfly across the yard. For a dog with such a name, he sure doesn’t have a matching personality. Maybeheshould be named Herbert. Or Buddy.
I’ve always liked the name “Buddy” for a dog.
“You can’t do it because you’re hung up on your pen pal, Wes. That’s usually what happens when you stop wanting everyone and start only wanting one person. It changes how the rest of it feels.”
I open my mouth, then close it again.
She gives me a look. “You and your pen pal are stuck in this little push and pull. You need to sort that out before it sortsyou.”
“It already has,” I groan, raking my fingers through my hair. I cringe as I feel the saliva and dirt from Rambo’s mouth glide through the locks.Oh well, better to smell like a dog than a bar.“She’s not interested.”
A flick to my temple has me jumping. “Ouch!”
