“Don’t freak out,” Addie says in a calming voice.
I lift myself up from my bed, fully awake now, and go straight into panic mode. Three simple words that cause my heart to start rapidly beating in my chest like a jackhammer. These three words could put me into cardiac arrest.
“What? What is it? Is it the machines?”
“The machines are fine.” Addie says nonchalantly.
I close my eyes and exhale through my mouth. A wave of relief washes over me, and my shoulders drop down to relax. I run a hand through my dark brown hair, pausing when my fingers brush the nape of my neck. It’s longer than usual. A change I haven’t bothered to fix, especially after Ellie mentioned during a video chat a few weeks ago how much she liked it this way.
“It’s actually the merchandise,” Addie says.
“What about the merchandise?”
“Well, the logo is wrong, the color is wrong, and they sent us wine glasses instead of beer glasses,” she says timidly.
“I’ll be right there.”
Addie sighs on the other end of the line. Meanwhile, I’m already out of bed, putting my phone on the nightstand and hitting the speaker button so I can get ready.
“What time did everything come in?” I ask, shuffling around my room for clothes.
“It was delivered at four this morning. I went through the items, and that’s when I called you.” I hear another sigh through the phone before she continues, “I knew you would freak out. I shouldn’t have bothered you with someone so miniscule...”
I tune her out while she continues to ramble on about responsibilities, trusting her, and for me to stop trying to control everything. I pull my shirt over my head and quickly grab a pair of black jeans.
“Rowan?” she calls out. “Don’t try to control this situation whenIhave it under control.”
“Keys, keys, keys…Where the hell are my keys?” I say to myself, patting my jeans pockets repeatedly as if they will magically appear.
My eyes drifts to the dresser, where my car keys and wallet sit next to a photo of me, Addie, and Mom.
“Milo?” I shout.
“Ro, are you even listening to me?” Addie shouts over the phone speaker.
I hear Milo running up the stairs, the sound of his nail’s pitter-patting on the wooden floor, his golden fur shining in the sunlight as he enters the room. Milo, my golden retriever, best friend, and constant shadow, barks in excitement.
“Yes, I’m listening. Trust issues, control freak, got it,” I respond while running down the stairs and toward the front door. Milo tagging behind me.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Addie chides.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be a big brother if I wasn’t.”
I grab my black Vans, tugging one on while balancing on the other foot, my phone wedged between my shoulder and ear. Milo looks up at me, tail wagging, letting out a soft whine of eager anticipation.
“I’ll see you in five minutes,” I quickly say.
“Ro, you don’t?—”
I hang up—fighting the urge not to be a dick—because if I keep talking to her, she’ll just slow me down.
Everyone, including my family, always joke that I need to be in control of everything–that I need to ensure things go exactly how I want them to. I don’t see the problem. I have expectations, I set them, and I follow through.
Especially when it comes to my business.
I built The Salty Dog from the ground up, and now it is one of the main tourist attractions in Dove Point. I put my blood, sweat, and a lot of tears into it.
I barely get the open the door before Milo walks out, holding his leash in his mouth, and doesn't wait for me to get to the car. I never planned on having a dog, but when I found him as a puppy on the side of the road just outside of town, that suddenly changed.
