by Max Monroe
You did lose a hundred-and-fifty-pound dog in a completely contained house, my mind reminded me.
Shit. Shut up.
“Can I speak with her?”
“Thatch, why do you want to talk to my daughter?”
“I just have a question for her. You know how fucking smart she is. I’m sure she’ll know the answer.” It was mostly the truth. That was the reason I was calling. The problem was just a little different than some form of advanced calculus dilemma.
Begrudgingly, he agreed. But I could tell he was questioning why the fuck we were friends in the first place. “Okay, fine. Here she is.”
“Hello?”
“Hey, Lex. How’s it hanging?”
“How’s what hanging?”
Lexi, one of the coolest people I’d ever met in my life, was considered high-functioning on the autism spectrum. She saw life in facts and figures, and she did it better than anyone I’d ever encountered. Still, opening with slang wasn’t going to help our communication.
“Right, sorry…I mean, how are you?”
“I’m fine. What’s your question?”
Right. In other words, enough bullshit. And she was probably right. I did have a goddamn dog to find. Kline’s statement rang loud in my head. He tears apart the house if I leave him alone without Evie.
But, fuck. I really didn’t want them to know that Stan was missing, so I’d have to skirt the subject.
“Hypothetically and statistically speaking, do you know where, say, a missing baby would most likely be in a house?”
“Statistically, most missing babies are with kidnappers. Whose baby is with a kidnapper?”
“Shh. Jesus. No. It’s not a—”
No. NO. God. Not a baby. I still had the baby. It’d be really fucking awful if I’d lost the baby. On impulse, I ran toward the nursery with the phone pressed to my hot ear just to double-check.
“Jesus’s baby is with a kidnapper?” she interrupted before I could clarify.
“No, fuu—dge. God. Shi—sh.”
“Jesus himself is with a kidnapper? That’s impossible.”
“No, Lexi, listen—”
“You’ve got Wes. What the fuck is going on?”
Fuuuuck.
“Nothing.”
“Thatcher Kelly. What in the fuck is going on?”
“Goddamn. You’ve gotten good at being a father, you know that?”
“Thatch!”
“Okay, Jesus. I kind of, sort of lost Stan.”
“You what?”
“Ow, fuck. You just burst my eardrum!”
“You lost Kline’s child! I think that’s worse!”
“I didn’t lose his kid! I lost his dog.”
“Oh…shit. Sorry, I heard baby. But the dog thing is bad too. Georgia’s gonna flip her shit. Remember when you lost Walter while they were on their honeymoon?”
“I didn’t lose Walter,” I protested, plucking a now awake Evie from her crib, holding her tight to my chest, and making a conscious effort to soften my voice. “Crazy Cassie did.”
“Same thing,” he hedged.
“It’s not!”
“Whatever. It’s definitely you who lost the dog.”
“The house is locked, man. Nothing’s been touched. He’s gotta be in here somewhere. I just can’t find him. We’ve gotta be just missing each other or something.”
“Missing each other? Like he’s just in constant motion?” he asked with a laugh, and I imagined choking him.
“I don’t know! But he’s got to be in here.”
“Did you call Kline?”
“No,” I rejected. “He’s busy. I don’t think I should bother him until I have to.”
“Well…I guess you better start making flyers.”
“To post inside my house? Julia and Ace already know he’s missing, thank you very much. They’re on the hunt.”
“Julia and Ace.” He laughed. “I guess at least you didn’t lose them.”
The line clicked dead, and I pulled the phone away from my ear slowly.
Good Christ, thanks for nothing, asshole.
Ten minutes into our lunch and Stan appeared content by his dog mommy’s side. His giant head rested on Georgia’s lap while his eyes never lost focus of our food. Beef jerky or not, I had a feeling Stan the Man was probably getting a little hungry.
“Here, buddy,” I whispered and held out a piece of my chicken salad croissant. Stan lifted his head off of Georgia’s thigh and opened wide, smacking his jowls together in absolute delight once the creamy goodness touched his giant tongue.
“Stop. Feeding. My. Dog,” Georgia admonished, and I just smiled.
“I think he’s hungry.”
“He’s always hungry.”
“You think we should get him a cheeseburger or something?” I asked and glanced around the terrace for our waiter.
“For the love of God, no. He didn’t need beef jerky earlier, and he definitely doesn’t need a cheeseburger now.”
“He’s not a fan of burgers?”
Georgia snorted. “Uh…he’s never had one.”
“Really?” I asked in surprise. Philmore ate cheeseburgers all the time. Hell, he was even really fluffing picky about it. If we’d tried to hand him one without pickles and ketchup, he’d outright squeal his refusal.
Don’t worry, we’ve never given him bacon cheeseburgers.
Morals, remember?
“What exactly do you feed your pig?”
I shrugged. “He usually eats whatever we’re eating.”
“Pigs, and most animals for that matter, aren’t supposed to eat people food, Cass.”
I scoffed. “Says who?”
“Uh…Veterinarians.”
“Meh.” I waved her off with my free hand. “Half the time we just take Philmore to The Little Clinic up the street for his checkups.”
“Isn’t that a pediatric urgent care?”
“Yep.” I took a bite of my food and nodded. “Talk about convenient if Ace needs a checkup, too.”
“Good Lord, isn’t that illegal?”
“No,” I refuted. “I’m pretty sure Nancy would have told us that.”
“Who the fluff is Nancy?”
“Philmore’s nurse practitioner.”
Georgia sighed. “Sometimes, I wonder how you and Thatch manage to talk people into doing sh—stuff like that.”
“It’s all Thatcher.” I grinned. “He’s very lovable. Like a giant toddler inside of a sexy-as-fluff body.”
She laughed and shook her head. “One day, I swear to God, I won’t be surprised by some of the things that come out of your mouth.”
Before I could offer a retort, her phone buzzed across the table. We both glanced down to find Wes calling flashing across the screen.
“Jesus.” She looked up at me with annoyance in her eyes.
“Just play it cool,” I instructed and took a quick sip of water. “He’s probably not even calling about work.”
When the third ring vibrated her phone, signaling she wouldn’t be able to put off answering the call much longer, she groaned audibly. “Fine, but I’m putting it on speaker just in case you need to take over and tell him you made me leave work early,” she said and finally accepted the call.
“Hey, Wes,” Georgia greeted with nervousness more than apparent in her voice.
Her sweet innocence just wasn’t built for subterfuge.
“Listen, Georgia, I tried to call Kline, but it went straight to voice mail. I just got off the phone with Thatch, and I don’t want you to panic, but it’s very possible that Stan is missing…” Wes paused, and Georgia’s eyes went wide in confusion. And then she looked at me.
Uh-oh…
“What?” she questioned. “Stan is…Stan’s missing?”
“Yeah,” he answered with uncertainty in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Georgia. But don’t worry, we’ll find him. Lexi and I are getting ready to head over to Thatch’s house now to help search.”
“No…it’s j
ust…” Georgia stopped, her eyes hardening as she scanned my beautiful face. “Wes, Stan is with me. I took a break from the office to grab some lunch.”
“What?” he questioned in disbelief. “Stan is with you?”
“Yeah. He’s right here. Eating the rest of a chicken salad sandwich as we speak,” she updated through gritted teeth and gestured dramatically for me to stop feeding her horse.
“So, everything is okay?” He let out a huge breath of air. “Wow. That’s a relief. God, I felt real fucking bad that I was going to be the one to break the news to you,” he said, but she didn’t really hear him. She was too busy staring daggers into my soul.
I think it’s safe to say the cat is out of the bag…or the horse is out of the barn?
Sneakers. I didn’t have time to come up with quippy sayings, I had to think quick.
Just play it cool, Cass, and remember, you are the prankster queen of cool.
“Yep,” I chimed in quickly before Georgia could start asking questions. “Everything is great.”
“Cassie?” Wes asked in confusion.
“Hey, Wes,” I greeted. “How’s it hanging?”
“What is going on?” he questioned. “Why are you with Georgia? I thought you were working.”
“Yeah,” Georgia said, and her eyes narrowed. “What is going on, Cassie?”
I shrugged. “Oh, you know, not too much… Just eating lunch with Georgia and Stan the Man.” I tried to play it off, but the steam seeping out of Georgia’s eyes told me I wouldn’t be winning any awards for my performance. Goddamn these pregnancy hormones. They were stealing the brain cells I needed to execute pranks.
Georgia quirked a perfectly plucked brow in my direction. “Why does Thatch think my dog is missing?”
“Hmm.” I feigned confusion. “Maybe I forgot to tell him I took him with me?”
“Cassie,” she spat out in irritation.
Uh-oh, Wheorgie is using the mom tone. This might not end well.
“Yeah?”
“Why didn’t you tell Thatch you took Stan?”
I shrugged again. “I guess it just slipped my mind.”
“It just slipped your mind to tell your husband that you left the house with my giant dog? Did he see you take him?”
“I’m not sure,” I lied. “I was in and out, you know. Plus, I think he was busy with Julia and Ace.”
“Did he even know you were there?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Cass, for the love of God, tell me you’re not using my dog to prank Thatch.”
“Well…I can definitely tell you that if you’re okay with it being a teensy bit of a lie.”
Her jaw dropped open wide enough to catch flies. “Oh my God.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Wes muttered from the phone.
Georgia slapped her hands down onto the table with a thud. “Cassie Kelly! You kidnapped my dog?”
“Geez Louise, Wheorgie, calm down,” I whispered in an attempt to avoid a scene in the restaurant. I mean, the last thing we needed was the cops to be called over a pretend canine kidnapping. Well, borrowing. Because let’s face it, Stan wasn’t locked inside of a padded cell at the moment. No, he was currently finishing the last of my potato chips. The man was living the life right now if you asked me. No babies to worry about. No possessive demon cat following him around everywhere. If anything, I’d done Stan a solid.
“Calm down?” she questioned, and her voice grew louder. “Calm down? Are you out of your mind?”
“Yeah…” Wes chimed in. “I think I’m gonna go now. I literally want no part of this. I’m just glad Stan isn’t actually missing. Take the rest of the day off, Georgia. I’ll see you ladies tonight,” he added and quickly ended the call.
She pointed an accusing finger in my direction. “Cassie, start explaining before I lose my shit.”
“Well… I mean, you’re on the right track with the whole prank idea…”
“Jesus Christ in a cherry tree,” she muttered.
“But,” I continued, “in my defense, he deserved it.”
“Deserved it?” Her eyes looked ten seconds away from shooting laser beams straight into my skull. “He deserved you executing a fake kidnapping…with my dog?”
“He acted like he lost Ace this morning, Georgia,” I defended. “I mean, I nearly had a heart attack over it.”
“You need to see a doctor,” she said with absolute shock in her voice. “Seriously, Cass, I think you have too many pregnancy hormones. This is completely and totally f-u-c-k-e-d.”
She had a bit of a point about too many pregnancy hormones, but I was surprised she wasn’t seeing the situation from both sides of the coin. “If I were you, I’d probably be more focused on the fact that Thatch hasn’t called you to tell you that your dog is missing.”
Georgia stopped. And then she stared.
She stayed like that for a few quiet moments until she muttered, “That motherfluffer.”
“I know, right?” I questioned, even though I didn’t necessarily think Thatch needed Georgia’s wrath. I just kind of needed her on my team for the rest of the day. A pregnant lady could only handle navigating a horse through the city sidewalks for so long, and my husband was just going to have to take one for the team. The marriage team, not the prank team. On that, we were clearly on opposing sides.
Luckily, Georgia reeked of determination. The smell was so potent, I knew I’d just forced a crossover. “He thinks my dog is missing, but he doesn’t call me to tell me my dog is missing… Is this a joke right now?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I mean, I’d be a little pissed if I were you…”
That’s it, Cass. Stoke the fire.
She snagged her phone from the table and tapped her fingers against the screen in rapid succession. Once she set it back down on the table, the sent text message shone like a beacon.
Don’t tell Thatch we have Stan. I’m handling it.
Wes’s response came a minute later.
Wes: Jesus Christ, Georgia. Don’t tell me she pulled you over to the dark side…
Mwa-ha-ha.
Welcome to Team Cassie, Wheorgie.
Like a fresh beat in a club, “Thong Song” started to play on my phone.
Okay, so the last time “Thong Song” was fresh was in 1999. But I think I mentioned that I’m coming up on forty. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle that birthday, to be honest.
I reached for it quickly, hoping to see Wes’s name on the screen, calling with a plan. I’d finally resigned myself to the fact that I’d lost Kline and Georgia’s sweet, precious monster dog, and I vowed to kill the person responsible with my bare hands. As long as that person wasn’t, you know, me. Because I still hadn’t figured out the logistics of how this was possible.
My door lock company would be receiving a strongly worded phone call when this whole ordeal was over, hopefully with a safe and sound Stan back in Walter’s arms. He was straight up losing his shit. Hissing and clawing and making bold moves toward me to threaten attack. I’d ended up locking him inside of the nursery after Evie and I just barely escaped with our skin intact.
But God, as I saw the name on the screen—not Wes—big, manly bouts of hyperventilation wracked my body. And they were masculine because, come on, it was me, but I smothered them quickly as Ace and Julia came running. I didn’t want to alarm them.
“Hey, Thatch!”
“Uh…hey, Georgia girl.” I tried to keep my voice as even as possible. She deserved to know what was going on, but I was a little scared of her. Not really her directly, but her husband and the life algorithms he would recalculate in his wife’s name. I wasn’t sure how it all worked, he was too smart for me, but I was certain he could destroy me with just one click of a mouse. “How’s work?”
“Oh, I finished up a few minutes ago. I could be there in a half hour or so if you want me to come pick up the four-ring circus before dinner. With three kids and just as many animals, you must have your hand
s full.”
A fresh wave of panic overwhelmed me as I pictured Georgia arriving to the news that her dog, the one she’d fought valiantly to adopt and raised to monster-size—the one that was the only antidote to the possessed nature of their cat—was missing.
I wasn’t proud of it, but on instinct, the totally fucked version of me jumped back into action and straight into a lie.
“Actually, why don’t you go do something for yourself? You’ve got two kids now, the feline spawn of Satan himself, Stan, and a deadbeat husband, so you could probably use the me time.”
Kline’s not a deadbeat, my mind said on a panicked whisper.
You’ve got to play the game, hater, I silently shouted back.
“Really? You don’t mind keeping them?”
Tears threatened. I want to keep all of them forever. STAAANN.
“No, no. Not at all. And take your time. I’ll bring them to dinner with me, no problem.”
“Wow. Thanks, Thatch!”
She didn’t know what I knew, but in reality, she was thanking me for losing man’s best friend. Fuck me sideways, I was an asshole.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” I nearly choked on the words.
“But I kind of miss their sweet faces. Do you think you could let me FaceTime with them real quick?”
“FaceTime?” I asked, trying to tamp down the panic.
“Yeah. I’ll call you back right now.”
“Wait! Uh…Georgia?”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve actually got my hands full. Maybe you can just hop on the phone and say hello? Evie’s right here.”
“Evie can’t actually speak, Thatch.”
“Really?” I teased. “Then who have I been having an in-depth conversation with about The Carbonaro Effect?”
“I’m guessing yourself.”
“Oh, well. I guess she can’t say hi then. Julia’s here, though. You want to say hi to her while I’ve got you on the phone?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, hold on a sec.”
I covered the microphone and got down close to Julia. “Hey, sweetie. Your mommy wants to talk to you.”
