Walk the Dog

by Isabel Jolie

  He fingers my hair then gently rubs his thumb across the edge of my lower lip. “How was that?”

  “Good.” I curl up onto the sofa beside him. “You are so sweet with your daughter.” I rub the stubble on his jaw and stroke his hair. “She’s wonderful.”

  He smiles. “She is. She likes you.”

  “I like her.”

  “It’s not too much for you?” His forehead wrinkles as he asks the question.

  “What?”

  “All this. Family life. We don’t bore you?” His hold on my hips tightens.

  “Not at all. I guess I might have a thing for older men.” He pinches my thigh, and I squirm. “No. Art is my shindig. And I have fun with kids. I’ve always enjoyed spending time with them. That’s probably why I was a camp counselor for so many summers. This is good. I had fun tonight.”

  “Yeah, but she can be exhausting. When she’s awake, she’s non-stop.”

  “Unless she’s watching a show.” I place a soft kiss on his knuckle. His hands are weirdly fucking hot. Those long fingers.

  He sighs, and guilt flashes across his face. “I try to keep the electronics to a minimum.”

  “You’re a good dad.”

  Mason dimmed the lights when we re-entered the den after putting Kara down, and the reflection glows on the posters of puppies, kittens, and horses intermixed with Kara’s artwork. The walls are an unfettered declaration of his love for Kara. A weight presses on my chest, a stark contrast to the lightness and almost giddiness of the last couple of days.

  Mason pulls me close and tilts my head up for a kiss. As the kiss deepens, my need for release grows, but then a colored Winnie the Pooh taped on the wall behind Mason’s head enters my peripheral vision. I break the kiss.

  In a whisper, I ask, “Should we be doing this? She’s right there.” I point where I can see the visible gap below her door, meaning there’s a space where nothing blocks noises from in here, or from his bedroom, for that matter. I glance at my watch. It’s after nine p.m. I’ve got at least a thirty-minute cab ride to get home.

  He caresses my hip and thigh. “You can stay the night, but if you think it’s too soon, I get it.”

  “It’s just, don’t you think that’s a lot for her? She just met me today. Aren’t there guidelines we should follow? How would you explain a friend sleeping over?” Kids have friends sleep over. But would she see it the same way? And I told him my life was complicated, but I haven’t fully downloaded. This whole thing between us, it might feel good for right now, but it’s not going to go anywhere.

  A low chuckle rises from his chest. “Are you asking what the parenting rulebook says? As opposed to the Magic 8-Ball?”

  That comment deserves a tickle. I grab for him, and we laugh.

  When he has me in check, he continues. “There are about a million parenting books on the shelves, and they all say different things. I stopped reading them somewhere around year two or three when I realized no one recommends the same nap schedule, but they are all quite firm in their beliefs.”

  His fingers play in my hair as he stares off somewhere over my shoulder. I relax into him and revel in the tingling sensation dancing along my scalp as he toys with my hair. He seems to have a thing for my hair.

  A long, loud exhale flows out of Mason. It sounds like he’s thought things through, and he doesn’t like his conclusion. “As much as I want you to stay, it might be confusing to her in the morning. I’ve never dated anyone since...well, since Amber.”

  I lift my eyebrows. Amber. Yes, I had wanted to ask about her, but we’d been entertaining Kara for hours.

  He answers my unspoken question. “Kara’s mom. Amber is Kara’s mom. Dating. It’s new. For me. For Kara. Let me do some research on this. Figure out what those books say to do.”

  “So, when you said your life is really complicated, were you talking about Amber?”

  “Yeah. She’s recently returned to New York.”

  “Don’t feel pressure from me. You take care of you and Kara.”

  He kisses me then rests his forehead on mine. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For caring. For coloring. For being fun.” His thumb rubs over my knuckles as he holds my hand. “I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

  I can’t suppress the grin on my face. I run my nails over his scalp then shift over him to straddle his lap. In the dim light, the green in his eyes darkens to a mossy brown. “I do date a lot.”

  He frowns.

  “I mean, I go on a lot of dinner dates. A lot of nothing. Get to know you, like a speed date but longer. It’s usually over by date three. I’ve lived in Manhattan for four years, and I don’t think I’ve made it past date three the entire time I’ve been here. You’re the first guy I’ve dated that I do want to see again. You’re the first guy I’ve cared enough about to make a voodoo doll for.”

  The corners of his lips round up ever so slightly. Not a smile, not quite a smirk. But no longer a frown. “Aren’t voodoo dolls a bad thing?

  “Oh, yeah. Almost always. So, take heed.” I tap his nose with my index finger. “One wrong move, mister, and you’ve got a black magic mistress spinning her wares.”

  He smiles then squeezes my hand. “There’s nothing for you to worry about. At all.” He traces the outside curves of my breast and adds, with a low, guttural sigh, “I’m the one who should be worried.”

  My chest tightens and constricts my ability to breathe. Once again, he kisses me, and the clamp on my chest lightens. If emotions were color, then at this moment, every shade of blue, yellow, and red would be swirling through, with bright specks of white thrown in as a safety to keep it all from blending too dark. He stills my hips and slides me toward his knees, away from his crotch. “Let me walk you out. If you stay longer, I’m not going to be able to stop myself.”

  I leap at the chance to break away from these intense emotions and climb off him. “I’ll head out now.”

  “Let me slip on my shoes.”

  “What? No way. Stay here with Kara.”

  We have fun in the hall while awaiting the elevator. Nibbling and kissing, restrained because we’re both aware one of the other apartment doors could open at any moment. And the elevator is coming. When it arrives within minutes, I’m out of breath, warm and giddy.

  The elevator door closes, and on my own, my insides sink as the elevator descends. I’m hazy with where we left things. We were skirting the idea of more. Of dating. And dating is probably asinine. It’s a nonsensical option. I smash my head against the wall of the elevator as my emotions swirl and my vexing conscience flares to life.

  ******

  Nestled into the back of the yellow cab, I stare at my dark phone screen. Have I met someone?

  Yes, Mom. I have. Holy Mother, Mary, and Angels, I have. And oh, sugar magnolia, am I confused.

  I press my mom’s name in my contact list, and within the first ring, she answers. “Delilah, where have you been? It’s been days.” There’s a pause, and before I can get any words out, she repeats her texted question. “Have you met someone?”

  I hear my dad’s stern warning in the background. “Melinda.”

  I exhale, and a damn breaks and words gush uncontrolled out of my mouth like a river after a hurricane. “Yes, I’ve met someone.” There’s a faint gasp but I plow on, an unfettered, overflowing flood of information. “His name’s Mason. He’s a vet. Mom, he’s amazing. He has a little girl. She’s four years old. You’d adore her. She has art all over her walls. Like, in a way you would never have allowed. Unless it was in your art studio. And even then, it’s over the top. Art everywhere. She loves all the princesses, but her favorite one is the one with red hair and a bow and arrow. She also says she likes Princess and the Frog, more now because I’m from New Orleans. How cute is that? She’s just the cutest little sweetheart with chubby cheeks and hands. And, Mom, he’s the kindest guy. He’s raising this beautiful little girl, all on his own, while running his own veterinary clin
ic. His motto in life is to be kind to all things. I mean, have you ever? He’s good. He’s just...he’s really...he has the most beautiful eyes. Like, such a unique color you’ll want to paint them, but you probably won’t be able to get the color right.”

  A memory of him over me in bed, taking me in, thrusting deep inside streams through my head, and I stop talking as heat warms my cheeks. I cross my legs and stare out at the blur of the city lights as the cab whizzes through the streets.

  My mother’s voice brings me back. “Delilah, how did you meet him?” She sounds markedly reserved. It’s the same tone I hear her use when she needs to commandeer the garden club ladies.

  A vision of Chewie dry heaving plays through my mental video, making me wince. “Well, that’s a bit of a story. You see, I was dog sitting for Anna, and Chewie had some issues.” I pause. “And Mason is her vet. He saved Chewie’s life.” My tone lifts at this last point. For constellation’s sake, he’s a hero. It hits me then that the last time I tried to talk up a guy to Mom was when I was in high school and I tried to convince her to let me date Luke Nollen after he’d been written up in the paper the week before for drinking underage.

  “Dear, he has a child.”

  “Yes, I know, Mom. And you’ll love her. She’s adorable.”

  “I’m sure she is. But, honey, a different dating etiquette is required for single parents. You can’t lightly date someone when you have a child. And you will be moving home soon.”

  “Yes, Mom, I am eventually going to move home. But I have time.” For crying out loud, twenty-six is the new sixteen. There’s no rush. I will move. One day. I’m not being that bad, am I?

  “Delilah, we agreed. No serious relationships. Your time in New York is meant for you to spread your wings. And it’s been four years. We agreed on three. Don’t you miss your home? Your family?” The unspoken phrase I hear is, Don’t you miss me?

  “Oh, Mom. I promise, I will come home. As planned. This isn’t a serious relationship.” The automatic denial flows out while, inside, nausea rises.

  “He has a child.”

  I squirm like a kid who asked for king cake instead of dinner and is at the receiving end of the smackdown glare. “But, Mom, when you meet them, you’re gonna love them. Really.”

  “There is no reason for me to meet someone you’re not going to marry, Delilah. And a child. You need to end this. End it before it starts. Listen to me on this. For all your sakes, end this before it starts.”

  Chapter 8

  Delilah

  Mom’s words bounce through my head Monday night and follow me to work Tuesday morning. On one hand, she’s probably right. There’s no long-term future. I’m an only child. Of course, I’m not leaving my parents to fend for themselves. And then there’s Bayou Development, our multi-generation family company. But there’s no deadline to make it home. And how often does someone like Mason come along? He’s gorgeous, and the sexual chemistry is out of this world. His tongue, and his thumb, and his fingers, and Jesus, Mother, Mary, and Angels, he knows what he’s doing with his manly part. Love comes in all shapes and sizes. What if Mason is supposed to be my love right now? What if he’s part of my life’s journey, and he’s a critical part in my personal development?

  My phone vibrates, and I reach over to grab it from the charger on my desk.

  Olivia: SOS. Need you both to meet me for lunch. Little Beet? Noon?

  The text is to Anna and me. After double-checking my schedule, I agree to meet. A lunch with friends is exactly what I need. I haven’t been particularly productive this morning, anyway. I completed some mindless work, adjusting a few layouts to additional sizes for the new media plan, but I need to do some concept development. But before I can create, I need air.

  Little Beet is right around the corner from our office. It’s a quick lunch spot with windows everywhere. Clean white tile covers select walls, adding to the modern, bright aesthetic. Anna and I arrive together. Olivia’s waiting outside by the door. The wind whips around a few dried, crumpled leaves, and random pieces of trash, as we approach.

  It’s a struggle, but I figure out the odd menu options and make my way to the table with my orange plastic tray of food. Anna and I don’t say anything as we wait for Olivia. My confusion over Mason has me moody and down and a touch cross, an overall emotional space I don’t frequent often. Right now, I want to slam my ass down at a table and dump all the crap running through my head and vent like an angry madwoman, but this is Olivia’s SOS.

  She sits down, presses her shoulders back, and sits straight as if she’s an account director starting a status meeting. I tap my fork and foot in rhythm and wait. She squares her shoulders and announces, “I moved in with Sam.”

  Whoa. Not expecting that one.

  Anna’s eyes go wide like saucers. I push my plate away, and say, “Let’s hear it.” Olivia jerks back at my statement, so I continue. “That’s the emergency, right? What you need to talk to us about?” How can she be so crazy to move in? They just met. It takes time for relationships to develop into serious mode. More than a few weeks.

  “Yes and no,” Olivia says, her words slow, as if she’s thinking about what she wants to say. “It’s so crazy, I don’t know where to begin.” She twiddles her fingers around her coffee.

  Oh, Olivia, sweet Olivia. She’s Anna’s old roommate. She up and left for Prague after one guy hurt her. I didn’t meet her until she returned from her sojourn, and we’ve hung out quite a bit. She seems strong and in a good place. The last thing she needs is to get strung up on yet another dud.

  Her eyes glaze over, and she gets to the point. “Sam has a stalker.”

  Anna says nothing. It’s clear she is trying to figure out how to talk her out of moving in with a brand-new guy in a diplomatic, warm, happy way. An Anna technique my mom could benefit from adopting. I roll my hand dramatically, gesturing for her to continue, so Olivia will spill the rest of what she must recognize borders insanity.

  “It’s crazy, but she’s stalking me now. My choices were to move in with him or have him hire me a full security detail. So, I moved in with him.”

  Stalker? So, there’s more to this. She hasn’t decided she’s fallen in love and is on a forever plan. Stalker sounds bat shit crazy. But at least she’s not falling in love overnight. I’m not crazy to think that simply does not happen. A sense of relief sweeps over me. I exhale and attempt to focus on the matter at hand. “Do you want this or not? Because if you don’t want to move in with him, he can totally afford a security detail for you.”

  “How do you know how much a security detail costs?”

  What the feck does it matter how much a security detail costs? She’s dating a freaking billionaire. I huff. “I do know a thing or two. And I don’t know exactly how much one costs, but Mr. Megabucks can afford it. Well, do you want to move in with him? Are you that serious about him? How long have you been dating?”

  Anna wakes up out of her shocked stupor and gets all defensive of our whackadoodle friend. “Hey, chill. Sam’s a good guy. They’ll work it out.”

  “I am chill. I’m asking a question. It’s an important question.” To me. It’s an important question. No one falls in love that quickly. Jeez. She’s in the enjoyment phase. The period of time where they enjoy each other, learn from each other, and grow. Maybe it’s love, but it’s way too early to know it’s a forever love. Sometimes love lasts, like, a week. Sometimes it lasts a month. We fall in and out of love all the time. Right? There are songs about this. Who dates someone for a month and then says, ‘This is it for me?’ The whole idea makes me want to throttle someone.

  “Sshhhh.” Olivia hushes me. “I want it, okay? Yes, it’s moving our relationship to another level, but I’m ready. And I was looking for an apartment anyway.”

  “When, exactly, were you apartment hunting?” This is such bullshit. She’s lying to herself.

  “Well, it was on my to-do list.” Olivia sounds like a spoiled kid defending her purchase of a chihuahua she
can fit in her Louis Vuitton pocketbook. I should know. I’ve been that kid with an Elle Woods crush.

  “How long have you been seeing him? Like, a month? How can you know he’s the one after a month?” She’s practically glaring at me now, but I don’t care. Someone has to be a good friend here. That’s why she called this emergency meeting and invited yours truly.

  “I didn’t say he was the one. I said things are good, and this feels like a natural progression.” She straightens her napkin and fork and lifts her head as if daring me to continue being her friend.

  Anna, ever the mediator, jumps in. She places her hand over mine, and says, “Hey, calm down.” I huff and stare down at the table as she attempts to coax me. “It’s okay. If anything goes wrong, we’ll be there for Liv, okay? And if things are still progressing, then she’s right where she needs to be, and she’s safe. Safe. Okay?”

  Anna then shifts her focus to Olivia.

  “Now, tell us more about this stalker. And are you in any real danger?”

  “Well, you remember the dark-haired girl I met at school? She’s hung out with us some? Lindsey?”

  Lindsey? I’ve met up with her a few times since Olivia introduced us. “Yeah?”

  “She’s the stalker. She’s not a student at Columbia after all. She’s been stalking Sam for years.” I stare out the window, and Olivia’s voice kind of floats in and out as she continues her explanation. She hasn’t threatened Olivia, so that’s good. It sounds like she’s been obsessed with her billionaire boyfriend for years, like a celebrity kind of fatal attraction.

  “Holy shit,” Anna responds. “That’s insane. Do you think she’d hurt you?” she asks. Sweetheart Anna. Nurturing to the core.

  “I don’t think so. I mean, did either of you get that vibe from her?” Olivia asks, her question directed more to me, given I spent time with her.

  No, I don’t think she’ll hurt Olivia, so I slowly shake my head. Lindsey’s a wild child for sure. Lots of fun to go drinking at the bars with. Dang, this means one less friend to go bar hopping with. All my friends are coupling off. Did someone decree everyone has to pair off after twenty-five?