Tara asks if we should think about moving to a one-bedroom place to save on rent. “Absolutely not,” I say. “We can’t surrender the fort now; we’ve got to hold the line.”
Tara’s relieved at that because she doesn’t want to leave this bunker either.
I try to negotiate lower rent since it’s just the two of us now, but the landlord isn’t having it. We’re already getting a steal of a deal, he tells us, making some lippy comment about how he’d double the price if it wasn’t rent-controlled.
“Not to worry,” I tell Tara. “I’ll just ramp up my Uber shifts, and I’ll sell a script soon too. I’ve got so much material to write about, what with Hal’s betrayal and all.”
After getting married, Hal assured us that she’d still come by every Friday for a Redstocking dinner. But she misses the first two weeks, and that’s all the proof I didn’t need that she’s gone for good. Tara copes by throwing herself into casting calls while I hurl myself into more bottles and bodies. The goal is to overstimulate myself with distractions, and it works pretty well.
One morning I’m doing a walk of pride back to Bushwick, after waking up in the bed of someone I met the night before. My low-battery phone rings. It’s Chris.
I haven’t seen him in a while now, and it’s pretty clear he’s missing me and wants to set up a time to see each other again. I might as well indulge him.
“Yes?” I say, all cold and expectant when I answer the phone. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea that I’m just waiting on his beck and call. He’s going to have to grovel for it; that’s the fun part.
His words rush out in a panicked slur. “There’s been an accident,” he says. “Arnold got hit by a car and I’m just leaving my work meeting in Connecticut, but I won’t be back for a couple hours. Is there any chance you could get to Reade Street Animal Hospital in Tribeca and see how he’s doing? Please, Emily Jane.”
It feels like I’m being stabbed by ice picks from all sides. And all I can think of is how Arnie’s little paw reaches up onto my back when we’re cuddling on the couch. He’s teasing when he does it but also kind of serious. It’s just the sweetest thing in the world and now I might lose him forever.
I order an Uber straight there. There’s not much traffic and no time to play around with subway delays, so it’s worth whatever it costs. I keep Chris on the phone on the drive over; he says it makes him feel like he’s doing something. I prefer it too because I can’t sit alone with my fears or they’ll paralyze me.
“What happened?” I ask Chris. He says he’d hired a dog walker and just got a call that Arnold had been clipped by a car on the West Side Highway.
Twenty-six minutes later, I get to the animal hospital. I’m watching the clock; it’s excruciating. Hopping out of the Uber as it’s still moving, I storm inside and demand to see Arnold the Australian shepherd. “I’m his surrogate guardian. Now tell me where he is.”
The woman at the front desk asks too many questions, so I walk away mid-conversation and start pushing open all the doors in theplace until I find Arnie. He’s sitting up on a medical bed, getting a splint put on his paw. He barks when he sees me. Such a mischievous bark that I could cry with relief, but I don’t. I just kiss his ears and then his snout too. It’s all there, as perfect as ever.
The vet says he’ll be fine: It’s just a broken paw, and there’s no sign of a concussion or internal bleeding, which is very lucky given the scope of the accident.
On speakerphone, Chris starts asking the vet all kinds of follow-up questions, and I get this rush of affection for Chris and how detail-oriented he is. It makes me feel bad about how I haven’t really been there as his friend recently, even if it was for my own good.
I FaceTime Chris so he can see for himself that Arnie’s alright. Arnie doesn’t quite get the concept of FaceTime. He can hear Chris’s voice, which gets him all riled up, sniffing at my phone, trying to locate Chris. It’s adorable.
“Where’s the criminal?” I ask, noting that the inept dog walker who nearly killed our little Arnie is nowhere to be found. My mind races forward to how Chris and I can prosecute the villain and use the profits to take Arnie on a tropical vacation. Somewhere he can run free on the beach and not have to worry about cars.
Chris tells me to let it drop. The important thing is that Arnie’s okay.
“Lesson learned not to hire a dog walker who’s not me,” I tell him. A faint smile tickles his face, and mine too. I nearly ask why he didn’t ask me to dogsit, but I don’t want to add any more tension to the day so I let it slide.
“Lesson learned,” he agrees and says he’ll be back as soon as he can, but would I mind bringing Arnie back to his apartment to get him fed and situated? “Olivia’s home,” he drops casually. “I’ll call her now and fill her in on the accident and how you’ll be swinging by and everything.”
There’s a wonderfully rotten stench about all of this. It justdoesn’t add up, how his girlfriend is just a few blocks away and yet he had me come over from Brooklyn instead. “Why didn’t you call Olivia to come check on Arnie?” I ask. “Why did you call me?”
Chris doesn’t have a good answer to that, which is the very best answer there could be. He just babbles on with some lightweight excuses about how Olivia has grad school finals coming up. It’s all so frothy that I turn the camera toward Arnie because I don’t want Chris to see me and my huge grin.
I hate to be benefiting in any way from Arnie’s accident, but it’s a pretty spectacular feeling to be the person someone calls when their dog is hit by a car. It reveals a lot about their subconscious priorities. Freud would have a field day with it.
Chris has already been through enough, so I don’t give him a hard time about it. I just tell him that it’s no problem, that I’ll get Arnie home and fed and everything. The vet says he can walk normally, but I carry Arnie anyway, the whole five blocks back to Chris’s apartment. I’m not taking any chances with the cars. Arnie’s too big for me, but I’m stronger than I look.
Once I can tell that he’s the same old Arnie as always, I start giving him a stern lecture about not running out in traffic. “I know you’re probably just trying to be like your rebellious mom EJ, but there’s a time and a place to be wild, and running across a four-lane highway isn’t one of them. You hear me, you beautiful little pup, you?”
I let myself into the apartment. This is why I still keep Chris’s spare key on my key chain. Olivia is there doing Pilates in the living room like it’s just a regular day. Not meeting my eyes, she thanks me for taking care of “the situation.” That makes me growl because Arnie’s accident isn’t just a situation to be handled. It’s a family catastrophe—not that she’d understand.
She says she can take it from here, but I tell her that I’m staying until Chris gets home, that he asked me to. That last part isn’t exactly true but it’s close enough. I get Arnie the filtered water from thefridge and a full bowl of food, plus some treats to help him recover from the trauma. After he’s done eating, I keep him on my lap on the couch, trying to explain the concept of rest to him. How sometimes we just need to lie low for a while before we can play tug-of-war again.
Olivia says she’s going out for brunch with a friend and that she’ll be back in a bit.
“Sounds good,” I say. “If you want to bring back some pancakes for me, that would be most appreciated. I could use some carbs right now. What a day.”
