by Megan Green
I’m not sure how long I was out in the car before the woman—Diana, I’d later discovered—found me. She’d helped me get all five puppies inside and into the waiting room. She had softly explained to me the vet and his other assistant were getting Maggie ready for surgery.
“The x-ray showed something obstructing her intestine. We weren’t able to discern exactly what it was, but it was cutting off oxygen to the lower part of her stomach, causing the swelling and discomfort. It’s good you got her in here as quickly as you did. She likely won’t have any long term side effects. They’re going to go in and remove the blockage. In a few days, she should be good as new.”
I slumped in relief. After asking her a dozen variations of the same question—are you sure she’s going to be okay?—I finally relaxed. Diana sat beside me the entire time of the procedure. She played with the puppies, asking me questions about their training and doing her best to keep my mind off Maggie. After an hour, the vet finally came out into the lobby. He held a piece of mangled fabric in his hand.
“Recognize this?” he asked.
I squinted, confused as to why he was asking me if I recognized a piece of garbage, when it hit me. Maggie’s plush ball. Or what was left of it.
I nodded, unbelieving. She’s had that ball for years. How in the hell did it end up in her stomach? I quickly brushed it off. It wasn’t important right now.
“How is she?” I asked him, anxiety returning to my voice.
He smiled at me. “She’s good. Still asleep. We’re going to want to keep her here for the next couple hours, just to watch her, but she made it through like a champ. I don’t anticipate any problems.”
He’d told me I was fine to leave and come back for her in a few hours, but there was no way I was leaving her here alone. So instead, they’d allocated a room for the seven of us to reside in until they cleared her to go home. He’d already rescheduled his other appointments to do Maggie’s surgery, and I could hear how busy they were now that things were back in full swing, but they never once complained about me unnecessarily occupying one of their exam rooms. You can bet they’ll be getting a glowing review from me on Yelp. And every single staff member is forever going on my Christmas list. I’ll never be able to express my gratitude to them for being so patient and kind with an erratic dog mom.
When they were getting ready to close up, the vet came back in to give Maggie one more look. By then, the sedative had worn off and she was awake, if still a little groggy.
“There she is. Looking good, Maggie. You gave Emma here quite a scare, didn’t ya girl? But you’re going to be fine. Yes you are.”
I thanked him over and over, apologizing for the inconvenience I’d caused. He waved off my apology.
“Don’t you even think twice about it. I understand. My dog is like one of my children. I’d be a nervous wreck if something happened to him. Some people don’t understand these animals are more than pets to us. They’re family.”
I smiled at the truth of his words. I’d said different variations of the same sentiment ever since Maggie came into my life. I wholeheartedly believed my life would be vastly different today had I never found Maggie. I surely wouldn’t be running a service dog training program.
Now that we’re home, I settle her onto the large dog bed she has in the corner of our living room. I pull it over to the couch and sit on the floor next to her, my back resting against the cushions. They’d released her to come home, but told me to keep a close eye on her and call their emergency line if anything seems off. I know I won’t get any sleep tonight. So I grab a throw pillow from the couch, stuffing it behind my back, trying to get as comfortable as possible here on the floor next to her.
I decided to let the puppies stay in here tonight too. Mostly to keep me company, but within minutes of our arrival, every one of them is fast asleep. All day long, staff members had taken turns playing with them. I should’ve known they’d crash as soon as we got home.
Maggie is asleep again as well, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Seeing as how I’ve done enough thinking and worrying today to last me a lifetime, being in my head is the last place I want to be. I pull out my cell phone, checking to see if Joey has called. In all the turmoil today, I haven’t even looked at my phone once. I see I do have a missed call from Joey, along with a voice message.
“Hey, Em. Just calling to check in. I got here about an hour ago. Dad’s doing okay. He won’t admit it, but I can tell he’s in a lot of pain. I’m going to go run some errands for him and then make him some dinner. Pray for me. Or maybe for him. You’ve had my cooking before. Maybe I’d be better off ordering a pizza. Anyway, give me a call when you get a sec.”
I immediately hang up and dial his number. After a few rings, it goes to voice mail. Not wanting to leave what I have to tell him on a voice message, I hang up before it clicks over for me to leave a message. He’ll see I called and call me back when he’s able.
I check my email and Facebook for a few minutes, scrolling past post after post, not really taking in what I’m seeing or reading. I need something to take my mind off the day. But this isn’t cutting it.
I try calling Haylee, but there’s no answer. Amanda answers, but I can tell she’s busy by the tone of her voice. And though I know she’d drop everything if I needed her, I figure I’ve been enough of a nuisance to people today and decide not to inundate her with my problems. I tell her I’ll talk to her later and disconnect the call. And with that, I’ve exhausted my friends list. Calling my mother will result in her panicking and trying to catch the first flight out to be with me. She knows how much Maggie means to me, but I don’t want my mother to unnecessarily spend hundreds of dollars so I don’t have to spend the night alone.
I randomly scroll through my contacts, cursing myself for not keeping in better touch with most of these people for times like this. My eyes flash across Isaiah’s name. He’d given me his number after a few of his visits out here, just in case I needed to get in contact with him. You know, if I needed him to stop and grab something for the dogs on his way out. Or to tell him we’d cancelled training for the day. Stuff like that. He surely didn’t give it to me thinking I’d call him at seven on a Friday night because I’m alone and scared and too exhausted to sleep. My thumb hovers over his name for several moments.
Screw it. I’ll blame it on my exhaustion tomorrow when I’m finally thinking clearly again.
I press his name and put the phone to my ear. He answers on the first ring.
“Emma? What’s wrong?”
The concern in his voice has me sagging in relief. He doesn’t sound put out I’m calling. If anything, I think I’m able to detect a hint of pleasure in his tone.
“Maggie is sick. Can you come over?”
The words are out before I’m able to stop them.
My phone rings as I’m sitting down with my delightful dinner of two Hot Pockets and a Pepsi. I’ve got a full night of Netflix planned, along with about four more of these sad, non-alcoholic beverages lined up in the fridge, thanks to Kevin and his insistence I give up alcohol all together. I guess I can see his point, but still. I can’t help but think this night might be a little more tolerable if I at least had a couple beers waiting for me. I pop the top on the Pepsi, taking a giant swig. Living the dream, Wright. You’re living the dream.
The ringing from my pocket interrupts my little pity party. I pull it from my pocket, expecting to see Kevin’s name flash across the screen, probably to ask me to come in and help at the bar. But, Kevin, how will I find out what happens to Walter White if I’m stuck at the bar all night?
I snicker to myself as I look at the screen. My face falls. It’s Emma. I glance at the clock, checking the time. Yep, seven o’clock. Friday night. There’s only one reason a girl like that is calling me on a Friday night. Something’s wrong.
“Emma? What’s wrong?” Though I’m worried, I still can’t help the slight elation I feel upon seeing her name on my screen. Fuck. Get it together, man. Sh
e sure as hell ain’t calling for a booty call. So pull your head out of your ass and find out what she needs.
Her voice cracks when she speaks. “Maggie is sick. Can you come over?”
I bolt upright. “Is she okay? Do you need anything?”
I can hear the tears thickening her voice when she speaks again. “She’s okay. Joey’s out of town, and I really don’t want to be alone tonight. I hate to be a burden, but I didn’t know who else to call. I understand if you’re busy.”
“No, no,” I say, already scrambling for my boots. “I’ll be right there.”
I speed across town, cursing every stop light I hit. Surprisingly, it’s not just my need to be there for Emma that has me rushing. Concern for Maggie fills my thoughts. Over the past several weeks, even I have to admit that damn dog has grown on me. Watching her and Emma together is fascinating. Emma talks to her like she would an actual person. And Maggie seems to understand everything she says to her. Half the time, she seems to know what Emma wants before Emma even opens her mouth. I’ve never been a dog person before, but I’m beginning to see why people get so attached to them. They’re more than furry, troublesome inconveniences. Now, I’m not saying I’ll be getting one anytime soon. I just mean I can see the appeal. You know, for other people.
I pull up in front of Keen Komrades twenty minutes later. The sun is setting, tinting everything orange. My gaze falls on the house before me. The light of a small lamp emanates from the living room window, but the rest of the house is dark. I’ve never been out here later than late afternoon. The look of the house with its large, mature trees and wraparound porch is a sight to behold in this light. I can see why Emma loves it here so much, even though it’s out of the way from all the conveniences of the city. There’s something almost magical in the air out here at this time of day. It’s sort of intoxicating.
I lift my hand to knock on the door, my knuckles not even reaching the wood before Emma pulls it open. Her blonde hair falls around her shoulders in tangles, as if her hands have run through it over and over throughout the course of the day. Her pale face looks up at me, stress clear in her bloodshot eyes. The look she gives me when her eyes meet mine exudes relief. My fingers twitch, aching to reach out and pull her to me, to give her any sort of small comfort. As if she can read my thoughts, she crosses her arms across her chest, leaning her shoulder against the door frame. Her eyes travel over my body, taking in my appearance. It’s not until then I realize I dashed out of the house in what I like to call my “Netflix and chill” attire. I look at my faded sweat pants and wife-beater tank top. Fuck. Is that pizza sauce on my shirt? That’s fucking wonderful.
She quirks an eyebrow at me, some of the usual sparkle returning to her eyes. Heat rushes to my face as she smiles at me. I thank God for my dark complexion so she’s unable to see the flush in my cheeks.
“Uh, it was Netflix and chill night tonight. I guess I forgot to change.”
Her brows fly up in surprise. “Netflix and chill?” She’s looking at me like I’ve grown a second head. And almost as quickly as her shock arose, it’s gone. Now it’s her face that’s flushing, to the extent that even the tips of her ears have taken on a slight reddish hue. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, her eyes fixed firmly on the porch below her as she traces a circle pattern with her toes.
I scratch the back of my head, my lips turning down in a frown. I have no idea why she’s acting so embarrassed. I look at my clothes again, thinking maybe there’s some sort of wardrobe malfunction occurring I’m unaware of, resulting in poor Emma having to take in far more of me than she bargained for. But everything seems to be in order. At least as far as scrubby clothes can be.
I clear my throat, making it obvious I’m waiting for her to explain herself. She continues to look at her feet, having moved on from toe circles to drawing the letters of her name. And then Maggie’s. And then Loki. Before she can start in on another, I grab her arm, startling her out of her preoccupation.
“What’s up? Why are we standing out here while you write out the name of everybody you know on the slats of the porch?”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. My eyes zero in on that lip, and suddenly I’m wishing like hell it was my teeth it was currently residing between. The pretty pink shade returns to her cheeks, and my imagination runs wild. Is this what she’d look like after I pulled away from her lips, having thoroughly explored her mouth with my own? What do her lips taste like? How would her tongue feel against mine, her breath warming my face? I’m glad I didn’t change out of my baggy sweatpants. Otherwise, that wardrobe malfunction I’d been worrying about would become a very real reality. I shift slightly, making sure the evidence is hidden.
God damn, Isaiah. What the fuck is this about? She’s way too damn good for you. And are you back in the seventh grade? Too bad you don’t have that handy math book to hold in front of your junk anymore. Get your shit together.
Emma’s voice cuts off my self-deprecation. “I’m sorry I interrupted your night. Please, I’ll be fine. Go back to what you were doing.”
My brows pull together, my confusion deepening. “Why in the hell do you think I’d rather sit home and watch Netflix than be here with you when you need a friend?”
Her eyes narrow briefly before understanding dawns on her face. “Isaiah, you do know what the expression ‘Netflix and chill’ means, don’t you?”
I’m seriously so confused by the last two minutes. And now she’s asking me if I know what it means to sit on a couch and binge watch a TV series. She must’ve had one hell of a day. Because she isn’t making any sense at all tonight.
“Yes. I was planning on watching Breaking Bad all night while I attempted to eat my weight in junk food. Netflix and chill.”
Her hand flies to her mouth in attempt to stifle her laugh, but it’s pointless. It sputters past her fingers, and she doubles over, resting her hands on her knees as she struggles to catch her breath. Yep, she’s definitely cracked tonight. I need to get her inside and put her to bed.
Though using the words Emma and bed in the same sentence might not have been the brightest idea, the vivid pictures running through my head making me wish for that math book again. Emma finally seems to compose herself long enough to drag me into the house. I see Maggie sprawled across a large dog bed, the fur on her stomach shaved and the dark stitches clear even across the room. At the sound of our footsteps, all five of the puppies jump up and run over to us. We slowly make our way over to the couch next to Maggie, careful not to step or stumble over any of the tiny terrorists. As soon as I sit, Jasper jumps into my lap. I pet him absently as I turn to Emma.
“What happened to her?” I ask with a nod at Maggie.
“She had an intestinal blockage. They had to do surgery to clear it. An old toy. A stupid ball she’s had for years. I have no clue why she decided she needed to eat it now.” She shakes her head, but I can see the relief in her eyes. “I got home this morning and Joey was gone. His dad fell and broke his leg. His mom passed last year and his dad is getting up there in years. He had to take off and go take care of him for a few days. He left me a note. Told me Maggie was acting a little off this morning but he thought it was because she missed me—I spent the night with a few friends last night. So I went out to check on her, and she wasn’t even able to move. I rushed her to the vet, and they were able to do surgery immediately. They think they got it removed before anything was permanently damaged or any sort of infection or anything set in. But I’m still supposed to watch her closely tonight. And the thought of being up with her alone all night, just in case—” her voice cracks, and she swallows back her tears. “Well, just in case. I can’t do it alone. You were the last one I could think of to call.”
My heart plummets at hearing I was a last resort, but at least she thought of me at all. Of course I wouldn’t be first on her list. We’ve only known each other a few weeks. It’s just me and my stupid brain that can’t seem to realize it’s way too soon to form any sor
t of attachment. I tell myself to grow up and get over it. At least I’m here now and can help her through what’s obviously a difficult time for her.
I bend and scratch Maggie behind the ears before turning my attention back to Emma. “Well I’m glad she’s okay. But now I have something very serious to ask you.” I give her the sternest expression I can manage, and her face falls. “Care to explain what exactly was so funny about me watching Netflix on a Friday night? I mean, I know it’s pathetic for a single guy to be home alone watching back episodes of Breaking Bad, but I don’t think that warrants the reaction I got from you.” I wink.
She giggles again. “Where did you hear the term ‘Netflix and chill’ if I might ask?”
I shrug. “I saw it on Facebook once. Thought it was funny, so I decided to adopt it.”
Emma buries her face in her hands as she shakes her head. “Netflix and chill does not mean sitting on your couch watching Netflix and chilling.”
I huff. “Then what in the hell does it mean? Because it sure seems self-explanatory to me.”
“You’d think so, huh, but whoever coined the term meant for it to mean having sex. You invite someone over to ‘Netflix and chill’ as a sort of code for ‘hey, let’s bang.’”
Now I shake my head at her. “I seriously do not understand this generation. If I say I’m going to watch Netflix and chill, then that’s what I’m going to do. If I want to fuck, then I’ll say ‘let’s fuck.’ What is the point of all this stupid Internet lingo? Who decided it was cool to sound like a complete jackass?”
Her cheeks redden again at my use of the word ‘fuck,’ but she quickly recovers and laughs. “Hey, I didn’t say it made sense. I was just explaining to you why I was embarrassed.”
“So you thought I came over here dressed like this to tell you that you interrupted me getting ready to dip my stick?”
I know there were far more appropriate ways to phrase that statement, but I can’t help it. I want to see her flush again at my words. I know she’s no innocent flower. I’ve heard her and Joey say things to each other that would make even the men in my platoon blush, but there’s something about me saying it that rattles her. And that’s something I’m interested in exploring further.
