What the Dog Ate (26 page)

“Now, don’t feel obligated to go.
Why don’t you sleep on it?”
Doesn’t he want to ponder this
a little? I know
I
sure lost sleep over thinking
about inviting him
. “Let’s talk about it more tomorrow.” She kissed him
goodnight and rolled back over onto her side.

She lay thinking, listening to the
steady sigh of his breathing.
Was that a mistake? Is it too
soon? Oh well, the deed’s done. Can’t uninvite him. Kona wouldn’t give it a
second thought. Must remember to have no regrets. No regrets
. She
repeated her mantra until she drifted off.

When she woke, Brian was gone. With
the shutters closed, the room was still dark. She looked at the clock: 8:30. She’d slept later than normal. Then she noticed the tray by the bed. It held orange
juice, a white china bowl bursting with fruit, a single red rose and the
newspaper, along with a note from Brian that he’d taken Kona for a run. There
was a P.S. that read: “I thought about it again this morning—I do want to go
with you for the wedding. Let’s look up flights when I get back!”
OK, I guess he’s going
. She fluffed her pillow, and sat up
in bed. Her stomach growled. She picked up the tray and noticed a small empty
plate in the back corner, with a little smudge of... butter?
Hmmm. Something’s missing. Maybe he made toast for himself before
he left. Anyway, breakfast in bed! How sweet. And there’s no reason to regret
inviting him. He’s adorable, and everyone will like him. It’s going to be fine
.

She wondered, as she popped a
raspberry into her mouth, if she should wait and share the fruit with him, but
she was too hungry. She’d make it up to him with a smoothie. Hopefully there
was some fruit left. And maybe some yogurt. She’d have to see what he had.

She sat in bed eating (
He even sliced the grapes in half; how cute is he?
) and
perused the Business section. BioHealth chugged along. Some days it would be up
a bit, some days down. It moved with the general whims of the market; nothing
to get excited about. She tried not to think about Dave getting half. It is
what it is and there’s nothing I can do about it, she told herself, tossing the
paper aside.

When she finished, she put on
Brian’s lavender shirt from the night before and padded out to the kitchen in
her bare feet. His spotless fridge contained a wonderful representation of the
food pyramid: an abundance of fruits, lots of leafy greens, lean meats. She
peeked in his cupboards, which were the same as the fridge. Everything was
multi-grain, no trans-fat, preservative-free.
Doesn’t he
have any vices? Where are the PopTarts? The Mac n’ Cheese? Well, it’s good that
he’s so healthy
. She just hoped he wouldn’t look in her cupboards,
although they weren’t
too
bad. There were a few
boxes of Girl Scout Cookies, but come on. How could she not buy those?
Who can say no to a little girl dressed as a Thin Mint? Guerilla
marketing at its finest
. And there was that five-pound bag of mini
chocolate bars, but she could explain those too. Those were for Halloween. Of
course, she’d have a hard time explaining why the bag was open when Trick-or-Treaters
weren’t due for another three weeks...

The door opened. She was caught
standing on her tiptoes, looking through his cupboards.

“You already finished going through
my drawers, I suppose?”

She slammed the cupboard door shut
and spun around dropping to her heels.

“I was just...”

“I’m teasing. I’m an open book;
poke away.” He walked into the kitchen, glistening with sweat, hands on his
hips. His T-shirt clung to him. Kona dropped, panting, to the tile floor.

“Seriously, I wasn’t poking. I
wanted to make you a smoothie. I was looking for your blender. And hoping you
maybe had some wheat germ. How was the run?”

“Perfect. There’s wheat germ in the
pantry and fruit in the fridge. And yogurt or juice; use whatever you need.”

“It’s funny to see you in a
T-shirt,” she said as she opened the pantry door.

“My formal running gear is at the
cleaners. Speaking of attire, I like you in my shirt.” He filled Peaches’ water
dish, then set it down for Kona. Peaches ran in and Kona waited like a
gentleman, or a dog afraid of being snapped at again, until she was done
drinking.

“Doesn’t Peaches get jealous when
you go out with another dog?” Maggie asked as Brian pulled the blender out and
set it on the counter for her.

“No, we have an open relationship.
She’s fine with it.”

“I see. Cuz she looks a little
jealous to me.” Peaches stood in the center of the kitchen, staring at Brian,
following his every move. Maggie put strawberries, raspberries, blueberries,
wheat germ and low-fat vanilla yogurt in the blender. “Hold on, gonna make some
noise.”

When she was done, Brian said, “No,
that’s her ‘where’s my food?’ face.” Then he spoke to the dog, “Sorry,
Princess. It’s coming right up. Um, speaking of food...”

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. I forgot to
thank you. That was so sweet. It was wonderful.” She gave him a kiss as she
handed him the tall glass of pinkish-purple goodness. “Here, try this; the
perfect recovery drink after a hard run.”

He gulped the thick liquid. “Wow,
that’s delicious. Thank you.” He set the glass down and dug in the pantry for
Peaches’ bag of food. “I wasn’t sure about the croissants, but, I reasoned that
if you were worried about the calories, I’d offer to help you burn them off.”
He winked at her and set two bowls of kibble down for the dogs.

“Croissants?” Maggie asked. “What
croissants?”

They blinked at each other, then
looked at Kona in unison. His muzzle was buried in his bowl, while his eyes
watched Peaches’.

After their Sunday ride, Russell
and Maggie sat on her patio with the peach smoothies she’d made. Although deep
into October, the Santa Anas dragged hot, dry air in off the desert and the
thermometer read eighty-six degrees. The wind tore the tissue-paper-petal
flowers of her bougainvillea loose, and they tumbled across the yard like
miniature magenta Chinese lanterns.

“Damn. I’m going to need to clean
those up before anyone else comes to see the place.” Maggie licked her chapped
lips. She hated this weather. The day they buried her dad, the Santa Anas had
raged. The wind had whistled, jeering at them, as they lowered his coffin into
the ground.

Russell asked how the Open House
had gone the previous week.

“OK, I guess. A lot of people came
through. Hard to say how many were Lookie-Lous.” Maggie hated the thought of
strangers pawing through her things, looking in her underwear drawer. “The
realtor said one woman loved the house. She was supposed to come back with her
husband, but no word so far.”
Realtor? What would that be
like?
She pictured herself in a designer suit and heels. She’d need to
spend a lot more time on her makeup and nails.
It meets the
non-office-job criteria, but nah. Too much competition out there. Besides, I’m
no sales person. Definitely not dream-job material
.

She slumped down in her chair,
throwing her head back against it. “What am I going to be when I grow up?” she
asked Russell, herself, the career gods.

“Still haven’t come up with
anything, eh?” She’d told Russell weeks ago about her plan to try and figure out
a new career while waiting to cash in on her stocks once the FDA approval came
through. “You’ll figure it out. And, whatever it is, you’ll be great at it.
You’re brilliant.”

“Thanks,” she said, sitting up
again. “But just because I can calculate the tip and everyone’s share when we
go out doesn’t make me brilliant.” She topped off his glass with the last bit
from the blender, then held the glass carafe down for Kona to lick. He tried to
stick his head all the way in to get every drop, but she frustrated his efforts
and pulled it away when he got too far down inside.

“Watch the blades, Buddy,” she
said.

Kona gave his lips a once-around,
looking for stray drops.

“Does it gross you out that I let
him lick the blender?” Maggie asked Russell. “Not that it matters, because I’m
still going to let him, aren’t I, Buddy.” She lowered her face so she was nose
to nose with Kona. He sniffed her, then threw his head back for her to scratch
under his chin, which she did after wiping away a smudge of smoothie. “Besides,
it’s green; saves water since I don’t have to rinse stuff before it goes in the
dishwasher.”

“Doesn’t bother me.” Kona went to
sit by Russell, who still had some drink left. “We used to have a beagle when I
was a kid; fed him stuff right off our forks.” He moved his glass away from the
edge of the table, out of Kona’s reach. “He’s sure a fan of your smoothies.”

“He’s got a sweet tooth. He loves
them.” She watched Russell scratch behind Kona’s ear. “You ever think about
getting a dog?”

“Nah. Too much work. I need to be
able to come and go as I please.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. Heaven forbid
you’d have some sort of commitment. But, come on; having a dog is great.” She
pushed a handful of hair back as another strong gust of wind blew.

“A dog would be great. But then I’d
have to be home every night.”

“But a dog plays right into your
Twelve-Hour Rule. A dog’s an iron-clad out. You’ve got to head home because
you’ve got to let Fifi out. The ladies can’t argue with that.”

He held up his forefinger, “Except
when the ladies want to spend the night at my place. Then what?”

“So you get a mastiff or a Great
Dane and you tell them the dog sleeps on the other half of the bed, so there’s
no room for three.”

“Hmmm. You might be on to
something. I might have to rethink my position on getting a pooch.” He held out
his empty glass to Kona who poked his long tongue into it, trying to reach the
bottom. “So, what did you guys do last night?”

Maggie had convinced Russell to
make their rides later so she could spend the night at Brian’s on Saturdays,
sleep in a bit and have some breakfast with him, then race home in time to hop
on her bike and meet Russell.

“We went to the symphony. And
cooked. It was nice.” They’d had a lovely evening, even though Maggie could
tell Brian didn’t think the symphony compared to the Philadelphia Orchestra,
but she figured that was only natural given the connection with his mom. “What
did you guys do?” she asked as she got up and carried the dirty blender and her
glass into the kitchen.

“We broke up.” He followed her with
his own glass. Kona trooped behind.

She spun around to face him. “You
broke up? Last night?”
We just spent the last three hours
together and he waits until now to tell me? Isn’t this big news? He acts like
he just told me the weather forecast
.

“Yeah, but really I shouldn’t even
call it a breakup. There was nothing substantial enough there to break. It was
more of a ‘snap up.’” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

“I can see you’re really torn up
about this.” She dropped her glass in the dishwasher. “So, what happened? No,
wait, let me guess, she had the nerve to actually start caring about you.”

“Are you mad at me for some
reason?” He held his hands up in question. “Because, I didn’t even think you’d
care. I got the impression you didn’t even like Natalia.”

“I liked her fine, as a person. I
just... I’m not mad.” She knew she was talking louder than normal.
I’m not. I am
not
mad. I just can’t
believe he can be with someone for months though, and then act like it means
less than nothing. I swear the man has no feelings. I bet he’s got a
Three-Month Rule in addition to that stupid Twelve Hour thing
. She kept
her back turned to him and busied herself at the sink rinsing the blender, even
though she’d just told him she didn’t need to rinse things after Kona licked
them. “So... what happened? You dumped her?”
Your
relationship passed the “use by” date?

“No, she dumped me.”

Oh. Well,
that’s... surprising
. “Why?” She looked at him over her shoulder.

“She started talking about us
moving in together. And she got mad because she said I didn’t have enough
enthusiasm for the idea.” He made air quotations with his fingers as he said
the last phrase.

“Well, I’m guessing she was right.”
She put the blender in the dishwasher and shoved the door shut. She looked at
him, leaning against her kitchen counter in his spandex shorts and Arrogant
Bastard Ale cycling jersey. She knew he and Natalia had toured the local
brewery the previous weekend and Natalia had bought him the jersey as a
present.

“No, she was dead wrong.” He’d
taken his cycling shoes off and left them by the front door when they came in
and she noticed now, when he crossed his legs at the ankle, that he wore
matching Arrogant Bastard socks.

“Really?” She gave him a sidelong
look as she reached for a towel to dry her hands.
OK, maybe
I jumped to conclusions a little too fast there. Hear the man out. Maybe he is
upset about this. He’s just having a hard time talking about it
.

“Yeah, really. I didn’t have
any
enthusiasm for the idea.”

“I knew it.” She made a tsk sound
and put her hands on her hips.
Should have gone with my gut
instinct. Mr. Shallow here isn’t going to get serious about anyone. This is the
same man who broke up with a woman over her belly button!

“You knew what?”

“I guess I should say I know you, Mr.
Eternal happy-
get
-lucky bachelor.” The volume had
crept up again in her voice.

“You
are
mad. I swear I don’t understand women.”

“Speaking on behalf of women
everywhere, let me say that we understand you. It’s not hard to figure out a
guy who has a Twelve-Hour Rule. A guy who can’t even commit to a dog. Clearly,
this is not a person looking to establish a connection with another living
soul. Where do you stand on house plants?”