by Claire Adams
“Oh no,” she says, physically walking backward, her hands up and in front like I’m holding a gun on her or something. “I didn’t mean—it wasn’t, just sometimes—I don’t know. I just hear things, you know.”
“You hear things?” I ask. “Have you been listening in on my phone calls?”
“No,” she says, shaking her head and smiling entirely too big. “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that sometimes I’m walking from one room to another and, while I’m just minding my own business, I overhear conversations or bits of conversations.”
“So you’ve been eavesdropping on me?” I ask.
“You’re not listening—it doesn’t matter,” she says. “This one’s different, though, right?”
My phone starts ringing in my pocket.
“Yeah,” I tell Jackie, pulling my phone out. “This one’s different.” I answer the phone. “Yeah?”
“Hello, is this Ian Zavala?” a woman asks.
“Who’s this?” I return.
“We have you down as a part-time volunteer, is that correct?” the woman asks.
“Oh,” I answer. It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten to expect the call.
Jackie’s just standing there in front of me, listening in unrepentantly. There’s something vile about gossip, but I’ve got to respect her willingness to fly her busybody flag so brazenly.
PART TWO
Chapter Seven
Gerald
Mia
“I’m still mad at you,” I tell my father. “You need to stop treating me like I’m some precious antique that can’t get any fingerprints on it.”
“Has he been putting fingerprints on you?” Dad asks.
I don’t have to think about it: my eyes just roll on instinct. “I’m not even sure I know what that means,” I tell him. “This is some apology.”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
Dad’s been trying to “apologize” for the way he behaved with Ian. He’s been trying for about the last 15 minutes, but every time we seem to be making a little headway, he jumps right back into Looming Father Figure Man—a superhero I doubt will ever have a movie of his own—mode and then we’re right back where we are now.
“I wanted to do something to show you how sorry I am,” he says.
“You’re cosigning a lease on an apartment for me?” I ask, though I’m smart enough not to expect such a thing.
“No,” he says, looking down at the ground, his hands in some strange fidget war with one another. “It’s a surprise,” he says.
It kind of weirds me out when my dad is all contrite and reasonable. Usually, he’s the guy he’s been apologizing for, not the guy doing the apologizing.
“I’m supposed to meet him again tonight,” I tell him. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“You’re not doing it here, are you?” he asks.
“Thanks, Dad,” I answer and grab my jacket from the back of the couch. “I’m going to go out for a walk, maybe into a body of water and, you know, not stop until I’m floating.”
“Hold on,” he says. “Before you go all Virginia Woolf on me, would you at least get in the car so I can take you to pick out your surprise?”
“That was distasteful,” I answer, then look at the door and back at him. “What do you mean, ‘take me to pick out my surprise?’ You’re not trying to win me over by taking me out for ice cream, are you? I am 20 years old.”
“It’s not ice cream,” he says. “You’ll see when we get there. When are you meeting your tattooed friend?”
I scoff. “His name’s Ian, Dad,” I tell him. “You know his name is Ian. You’re really bad at seeking forgiveness, you know that?”
“I know,” he says. “Just get in the car, and I promise it’ll be worth it, all right?”
I look at the clock.
As long as he’s not trying to take me out of the city, I should have time for whatever his surprise is before I meet up with Ian. That said, I’m not sure if I can really stomach too many more of my dad’s half-apologies.
“Is there any way you can leave your little comments about my class partner while you’re trying to buy me off?” I ask.
“I will do my best,” he says.
“I’ve seen your best,” I tell him. “It’s not very inspiring.”
“Fine,” he says. “We won’t even talk about it. Come on, I want to get there before they close.”
It’s pretty early in the day for a store to be closing. What kind of stores close early in the day?
With that, he’s got me. I cannot abide unsatisfied curiosity, even with something as trivial as wanting to know what kind of store closes at 4 o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.
It’s a crack in the armor, but there hasn’t been much I’ve been able to do about it.
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’ll go. Just remember that you’re going to play nice and not end up having to apologize anymore because that really defeats the purpose of the whole thing.”
“Agreed,” he says. “Come on, let’s get down there.”
We head out to the car, and as I’m getting in the passenger’s seat, he has to rub it in.
“It was the comment about the place closing that did it, wasn’t it?” he asks.
“Why would a store close at 4 o’clock?” I ask. “Some places close at 5, but those are usually banks and other corporate entities which seek the domination and eventual destruction of the human race, but you’re taking me somewhere out of contrition. I don’t think you’d take me shopping at a bank or a post office,” I tell him. “Why would they close at 4?”
It’s not until we’re pulling away that he tells me he made up the thing about the place closing to get me to quit arguing and get in the car. I’m not sure whether to be madder at him for exploiting a known weakness of mine in order to achieve his goals, or myself for actually being sucked in by something so stupid.
I decide not to fret about it so much and so I ride in the passenger’s seat with a more generalized hatred toward everything.
“Close your eyes,” he says.
“What?” I ask. “Why?”
“I told you,” he says, “It’s a surprise.”
I close my eyes.
We’re driving for a few more minutes, and then the car comes to a stop.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he says. “Open your door.”
I open the door and it immediately slams into the car parked next to us. My eyes spring open, but it’s too late. The dent is already made.
“That’s my fault,” Dad says. “I should have thought that through a little better.”
“It’s all right,” I tell him and look to see where we are. “A kennel?” I ask.
“It’s a shelter,” he says. “They take in strays and other unwanted pets and find them new homes. I was thinking, if you’d like, you could pick out a dog. No cats, though,” he says. “You know I’m allergic.”
“You know,” I tell him, “for someone trying to cover verbal assault with bribery, you’re a pretty amiable guy, Dad.”
“I appreciate that, sweetheart,” he says. “Now, let’s go pick you out a pet.”
“I’m going to need a little money for his care,” I tell him. “Or, you know, you could let me get a job.”
“No job,” he says. “I don’t have that much more time with you in the house and I want to be able to spend as much of it with you as possible.”
It’s a nice thought in an overbearing, Kathy Bates in Misery kind of way.
“So, you’ll be shelling out some money, then?” I ask.
“Isn’t it shilling?” he asks.
“I’m pretty sure it’s shelling,” I tell him, but now that he’s asking, I’m not so sure myself. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him and with that, we head inside.
We’re greeted at the front by a woman who looks like she’s late for about a dozen appointments, but still manages what I’m assuming is a smile.
“Welcome to Pet Haven Sanctuar
y for New Friends, Pets, and Companions,” the woman says. “How can I help you today?”
“That’s a pretty impressive name,” I tell her.
“You wouldn’t believe how much it costs in business cards,” she says. “The boss wants the name on one line and so we’ve got to use different paper.” She reaches in front of her and grabs what I had simply assumed to be a smallish bumper sticker and holds it out to me. “Not really wallet-friendly,” she says. “Anyhoo, what can I do for ya?”
“We would like to look at your dogs, please,” Dad says.
My dad really likes to come across as the old-fashioned gentleman type, especially in public, but it’s a particular quirk of his I’ve never quite gotten used to. It’s not that he’s a bad guy or a mean guy, he’s just so over the top on so many things, hearing him asking a question like a Boy Scout doesn’t quite strike the ear right.
“Follow me,” the woman says. “We’ve got some beautiful dogs, all of which are spayed and neutered, shelter policy.”
She leads us into the back, and from there, we just follow the barking.
I love animals, especially dogs. I have never liked shelters like this. I’m sure they do great work and help a lot of animals, but walking down rows of cages, knowing that any dog I don’t pick is that much closer to…
“How many can I get?” I ask my dad.
“I think just one for now,” he says with a chuckle.
“What happens to the dogs I don’t choose?” I ask.
“You’re concerned they’ll be euthanized?” the woman asks, pulling her glasses down her nose a little with the tip of her thoroughly chewed pen.
I look at my dad and back at her. “Yeah,” I answer.
“We’re a no-kill shelter,” she says. “Nobody here is going to point a gun at animals’ heads just because they haven’t found the right family after a couple of weeks.”
Suddenly, the cages don’t seem quite as confining.
“Do you have a particular breed in mind?” the woman asks.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think we caught your name,” my dad says.
I never know if he’s flirting or just being awkward the way dads everywhere are awkward with women in public.
“I’m Tonya,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you. We have some older dogs and some puppies and just about everything in between,” she goes on, returning to her preferred subject. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“What about this one?” my dad asks, but I don’t even look over.
Standing, facing the bars of his cage and looking up at me is a little furry guy with a grey beard and dark brown eyes and my heart is sold.
“How much is it for the miniature schnauzer?” I ask.
“We charge a $40 licensing fee,” Tonya says. “Also, we do offer full vet services here if you need to bring him in for anything, but he’s current on all his shots.”
“Forty bucks?” I ask.
“Forty bucks,” she answers.
I look at my dad. He smiles.
“What’s his name?” dad asks.
“That is Gerald,” Tonya says. “He’s a charmer. You’d better keep your eye on that one.”
“Is he, uh, trained?” my dad asks.
“He gets a little excited sometimes, but he’s usually very good about going outside,” Tonya says. “I’d say just work with him a little bit over the next couple of weeks and try not to get him overexcited when he hasn’t been out to do his business in a while, and you shouldn’t have a problem.”
“What kind of things would cause him to be overexcited?” dad asks.
“Come on,” I tell him. “I’ve got to meet with Ian, and I want to make sure this little guy’s all comfy cozy in his new home before I go.”
“For a lot of puppies, visiting new places, meeting new people, these can be some triggers,” Tonya says.
“So basically the environment that is our home will unavoidably cause him to pee on the carpet?” Dad asks.
“Not if he’s gone to the bathroom recently enough,” she answers.
“Pee on the carpet or no pee on the carpet, Gerald and I are about to become fast friends,” I coo. “Can I let him out of the cage?” I ask.
“Sure,” Tonya says. “Just remember, he’s a puppy and he’s going to be thrilled to be out, so try to keep him close or he’s liable to start us all off on a high-speed chase through the building.”
I open the cage and Gerald jumps up on my leg, making high-pitched yipping noises. A moment later, I’m sitting on the floor and he’s jumping in my lap. He lies down on me and I scratch his back.
“It’s like the two of you are lost friends,” Tonya says.
“Yeah,” Dad mutters. “And one of you is going to get pee everywhere.”
“I’ll try to make it to the toilet, Dad,” I say dismissively, and I scratch Gerald behind the ears.
“Do you sell leashes and collars?” Dad asks.
“You can keep the collar he’s got on,” Tonya says. “Leashes are 10 bucks.”
Dad is naturally offended that a leash would cost so much and the two start haggling. By haggling, of course, I mean Dad complains and Tonya tells him there’s nothing she can do about it.
While blinking my eyes as Gerald licks my face, I spot something just outside this room. At first, it’s just a passing glance, and then I see what looks like one of the veterinarians talking to someone.
Gerald jumps out of my lap, and I’m trying to see who the veterinarian is talking to, but I’m just at the wrong angle. I’m not quite sure who I thought I saw, but whoever the vet’s talking to, they got my attention.
“Mia, would you mind grabbing your dog?” Dad asks. “He’s giving that look like he’s trying to find a nice place to—oh…”
I look over to see Gerald squatting down, peeing on the linoleum floor.
“He doesn’t lift his leg?” I ask. “I thought that was a universal male dog thing?”
“Some dogs come out doing it—well as soon as they have the leg strength and the coordination—other dogs, it takes a little while,” Tonya answers.
She’s saying something else, but the person talking to the vet just leaned forward again, and I see why my brain was telling me to keep looking.
“Would you mind going up to my desk and grabbing the blue spray bottle and the paper towels?” Tonya asks my dad.
“How often does he pee?” Dad asks.
“The dog got a little on his paws and I’m going to wash him off,” Tonya says. “If you could just go grab the blue spray bottle and those paper towels, I would appreciate it.”
I wait until Dad leaves before I ask, “Is that Ian Zavala talking to that veterinarian?”
Tonya’s got more pressing matters on her mind as she tries to get Gerald into the basin for a bath.
“What?” she asks as he wriggles his body in strange and hilarious ways in an attempt to break free and escape the coming b-a-t-h.
I get up and help her get Gerald into the basin.
“He’s not a fan of baths,” Tonya says.
“Yeah, I’ve heard most dogs aren’t,” I respond.
“Well, there’s most dogs and then there’s Gerald, here,” she says. “I’m sorry, what were you asking me?”
“I think I just saw someone I know from school, Ian Zavala?” I start. “Does he work here or something, or do you not know who I’m talking about?”
“Ian?” she asks. “He comes in when we’re overloaded and understaffed. Nice kid.”
“So he works here, then?” I ask.
“No, it’s more of a volunteer thing, I think,” Tonya says.
Ian Zavala, world-class skater, sexy and respectable guy—although I do have a few questions about what happened between him and Abby at that party—and apparently, animal lover’s on the list as well. Unless something pretty freaky went down between he and Abs, I think I might just be in love.
Well, okay, love here is just an expression, not an actual “I think I�
�m in love with this guy” thing. I am very attracted to Ian Zavala, especially given this new information. Let’s leave it at that.
It’s nice to know sometimes that, even when things aren’t going the way I want them to go, good things can still happen. I just met who I’m sure is going to be my best friend, Gerald, and I found out that my kind-of crush and project partner volunteers at an animal shelter.
I guess life isn’t so bad.
“Would you mind grabbing that soap?” Tonya asks. “You’re going to need to wash the area just above Gerald’s penis. I can’t reach from where I am and I don’t think he’s going to let us trade places.”
* * *
After the way my dad had acted toward Ian, we both agreed that it would be best to meet on neutral ground. That, and it’s about time Ian finally makes things right by buying me a meal in the café where he stood me up.
Call it karma.
After the row with my dad and seeing Ian at the shelter, I think I let my mind get a little ahead of itself. He’s attractive and he’s talented, but he still went behind my back with the professor in pushing his topic through, and I still have another question I’d like to ask him.
“What happened with you and Abs?” I ask.
“Me and who?” he asks.
“You and Abs,” I respond. “Abby. You know, the chick who was standing next to me at the competition and then a little bit later at a party where the two of you took off to have some kind of alone time. What happened with the two of you?”
“Are you sure that’s an appropriate question to ask your class partner?” he returns, laying out two thick lines of condiments on the thin paper on his tray: ketchup and mayonnaise.
What he’s planning to do with them is beyond me, and who orders a burger and fries at a neighborhood café? The whole point of these places is to walk in and order something that sounds pretentious so people will think you’re the classy type.
Myself, I’m having the bruschetta and the prosciutto. I just hope it’s not too obvious that I got both of them because I can never remember which one of them I like.
“I think it is,” I tell him. “If we’re going to be working together, I don’t think we should have to be uncomfortable around one another. I’m not going to freak out or anything. It’s not like we’re married.”
