Walk the Dog

by Isabel Jolie

  Bet’s humor makes me laugh. I do love her signs, and I’d be willing to bet most of the other New York City residents lucky enough to pass by do too. Nerves strum through my fingers as I push open the clinic door. I haven’t seen or heard from Mason in five days. I spent a day comatose in my hotel room after he left. Then, after my mother’s incessant prodding, rode the train to Paris. After lunch with my mom, we went to Shakespeare & Company. Instead of shopping for clothes, we read quotes and discussed books and drank coffee. Eventually, she excused herself to go back to the hotel, claiming exhaustion.

  She’s disappointed. In me. I never ever wanted to be a disappointment to my parents. I wish for them that they had a son. Or at the very least, a child who would move down the street and happily carry the business on for a third generation. But they ended up with me. And as much as I wish they’d received someone else, it wasn’t my call.

  I am the person I am. I need to be true to myself. It crushes me, knowing I’m not all they want. But maybe by being all that I am, I’ll be able to give them more. More of what really matters. Because it doesn’t take a tarot card reader to predict that by not being true to myself, I was on a landslide, and in the long run, I’d drag them down into my mental hell.

  The next morning, I hopped on the first flight to New York. I returned to the as yet unsold corporate apartment. Then I went into the office today. Met with Margaret in HR to confirm I’m back. Met with my boss. He updated me on work. My promotion was still on the table, and I accepted.

  I shouldn’t be randomly stopping by to see Mason, but I want to see him. I need to see him. I have no idea what I’m going to say, nothing planned.

  Once I decided to remain in New York, I did consider calling him. But, given how we left things, a phone call felt too weak. I hope he’ll still want to date me. Not marry me. That’s ludicrous at this stage. We’ve been together for, like, a nanosecond. But I’d love to be his girlfriend.

  Mason and I jumped all in. Maybe that would’ve been fine, but then all hell broke loose. It’s not like I’m an expert at relationships. But common sense says jumping all in so quickly isn’t the smartest plan. I’d like for us to find a healthy middle ground, a place somewhere between not seeing each other and marriage. A healthy place that works for Kara.

  When I push open the clinic door, I’m expecting Bet’s magenta hair, but as I approach the reception window, dark hair greets me. Ashley raises her head from a stack of papers she’s scribbling notes on. Her eyebrows angle, creating a deep wrinkle. She slides the window back. “Do you have an appointment?”

  “I’m here to see Mason.”

  “Dr. Herriot isn’t here.” She reaches to close the window, and I block it. The waiting room is empty, so I don’t have to worry about causing a scene.

  “What’s your problem, Ashley? You haven’t liked me since we first met.”

  She leans forward with both hands on the edge of the counter. “My problem? You don’t know me, but I know you.”

  I step back, cautious, as if she might bite. “What do you mean?”

  She huffs and gives me a look that says she’s annoyed she’s forced to interact with me. “I’m from New Orleans. I went to school at North New Orleans High. You and your friends would come to the Starbucks where I worked almost every single day after school. It was like I was invisible. Not once did you flash a hint of recognition, even though I saw you almost every day. You and your rich, private school friends in Range Rovers and Louis Vuitton.”

  “Holy shiitake. I knew you looked familiar. I just couldn’t place you. I don’t expect to see anyone from my hometown here.” There is a hardness to her gaze. I shuffle on my feet. “I’m sorry. In high school, I was a little lost in my own world.” It’s fair to say I’ve been a little lost post-college as well, just in a different way. “Ashley, if I did something mean back then, I am sorry.”

  Her chin juts out, and for the first time I notice a tiny piercing right above her lip. How did I miss her piercing before? She might have been my soul sister back then if I had been paying attention. I sent ripples through my circle of debutante friends when I returned after my freshman year with a nose ring. The expression on her face borders hostile. I’ll have to work on developing a friendship with her, now that I plan on staying in New York.

  Her scowl softens as I waffle on my feet, uncomfortable. “It was a long time ago. I assumed you hadn’t changed.”

  “I guess I’m like anyone else. In some ways I’ve changed, and in some I haven’t.”

  She glances at her computer screen, then back to me. “Dr. Herriot had to go pick up his daughter from pre-school today.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  Her rounded nails tap the counter with a slow, rhythmic beat. “His mom’s sick, so he had to pick her up from school today. He’s a good guy. You’re lucky he’s into you. You know that, right?”

  “I do know. I promise.”

  She pulls off a neon pink Post-It note. “You know, you may be too late.”

  “Too late? What do you mean?”

  A devious smirk flashes across her face as she scribbles on the note. “I can only imagine how those moms are reacting to a single dad in scrubs.” Her tone lifts as she offers the pink square. “Here’s the address. Good luck.”

  I type in the address on my Uber app and escape the uncomfortable waiting room as quickly as possible. My gut tells me if I make an effort with Ashley, she and I could grow a friendship. She’s protective of Mason, so she can’t be all bad. But it’ll take work. And time. And right now, I need to see Mason.

  The Brooklyn Heights preschool sits mere blocks from Mason’s home. Several women, who I assume are parents, climb the concrete steps into the school. I follow.

  The wide hall reminds me of the school buildings from my youth. Classroom doors line both sides of the hall, and the doors and wall space are covered with construction paper cutouts and children’s artwork. I stand in the middle of the hall, searching left and right. Toward the end of the hall, to my right, I spot the back of Mason’s dark head of hair. I bypass a woman scooping to hug her child as I make my way to the end of the hall.

  A teacher stands in the doorway of each classroom. Parents fall in line near their kid’s classroom door, and the preschool teacher greets the parent then calls their child to the door. As I approach, I notice a blonde woman standing beside Mason. She’s gazing up at him, laughing at something he says, her hand resting on his forearm. The scene before me is a sucker punch of epic proportions. It’s been five days since we officially said goodbye. Five. Days. And here he is with a woman on his arm picking up his child.

  You may be too late.

  If I’m too late after five days, then I’m a crazy fool. It really was all too quick. Everything I’ve been telling myself about us not having enough time to fall for each other is absolutely correct. The woman’s hand glides higher on his arm, and she tosses her head back with another laugh. I spin around and trip right over someone’s toddler. The toddler shrieks, forcing me to pause and bend down to make sure the kid I plowed into isn’t hurt.

  “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I gush to both the crying kid and the mom. My heart is pounding. The mom, a woman in black leggings with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, scoops her kid up onto her hip and kisses the plump wet cheek. She turns her back, effectively dismissing me, and I scoot by her, repeating a mumbled apology, when I hear Kara’s shrill, “Deelah!”

  I pause. Light from outside cascades through the open front entrance doors in the middle of the hallway. A gap in the thinning crowd forms, creating a clear path through the hall.

  Chapter 28

  Mason

  The large windows lining the back of my daughter’s preschool classroom cast plentiful light over the multi-colored walls. Bean bag chairs crowd one corner for reading, one section of dollhouses, another large table with Legos and building blocks, several empty tables for arts and crafts, and one section of small play kitchens. That’s where my
daughter is. Mrs. Wordsworth continues to call Kara over as she shows the woman her back, intent on stirring air in a pan on the stove. Julie’s mom stands beside me as she also waits for her daughter to be delivered to her. I love this preschool, but I don’t know how my mom puts up with this chaos each and every day at pick-up.

  Julie’s mom tells me about a play date our daughters had. I’m halfway listening but growing increasingly annoyed at Kara ignoring me. I break protocol, and in a you-had-better-listen-to-me-now tone, I raise my voice above the pick-up cacophony, “Kara.”

  She waves her pudgy fingers at me and gives me a cute smile and all of the frustration melts a little.

  Kara puts up her toys in the yellow bin, grabs her coat off the hook, and rambles toward me.

  Julie’s mom tugs at my coat jacket and asks, “Is Kara available for a play date today?”

  “Oh, my mom’s sick. I need to take her dinner.”

  “What’s wrong with Cindy?”

  “It’s just a bad cold.”

  “I hope it’s not the flu. We could still have a play date this afternoon, and I could help you cook—”

  Julie’s mom’s voice gets cut off by Kara shrieking, “Deelah!”

  I whip around and scan the chaotic hall. Kara sprints past me, as a blonde woman runs down the hall and out of the building with Kara in hot pursuit. The woman looks like Delilah, but it can’t be her. Kara’s wrong; she’s just wishing. But she’s also out the door onto Brooklyn’s city streets, so I charge down the hall, skirting the short minions crowding the hallway. If I knew anyone’s name, I could call out for someone to grab her.

  As I step outside, heart pounding, I glance left then right, searching for Kara. When I get hold of her, I am going to let her have it. Chasing a stranger? In New York? I grit my teeth, working to control my rising anger and fear when I catch sight of the blonde woman bending on the sidewalk hugging my daughter. I take the steps two at a time then come to a harsh stop.

  I blink. It is Delilah.

  Her honey-blonde hair cascades around her shoulders and shimmers in the daylight. She’s bent down around Kara, hugging her tightly. My chest contracts, making it difficult to breathe. I stand behind them, patiently waiting for Delilah to look up. When she does, her blue eyes glisten.

  She slowly rises, and as she does, Kara sidles up to her and wraps her arm around her jeans-clad thigh. Someone bumps me from behind, a reminder we’re standing in the middle of a busy sidewalk right after school dismissal. I reach out to guide her out of the way, next to the black iron fence that runs along the front of the preschool. As I move the two of them, a need to protect my daughter fills me, and I reach down and pull her to me, so she stands with me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Her expression is tentative, possibly fearful. I don’t mean to frighten her, but I’ve already put my heart on the line. She told me how she feels. She doesn’t have any business showing up at my daughter’s school.

  She rests her hip against the fence and, looking past my shoulder, raises her arm and points. “Are you with that woman?”

  “What?” Anger and annoyance surge. “What woman?”

  She lifts her arm and points to the school entrance. The mother of Kara’s classmate stands with her daughter, watching us near the school entrance. “With her?” I am incredulous.

  Delilah smacks her palm across her forehead. “Oh, Mylanta. Of course, you aren’t. I just saw...”

  I reach out for her wrist and squeeze until those blue irises gaze directly into mine. “I asked you. To marry me, and you thought—”

  “Ridiculous, right? My head sometimes floats off, and whatever I’m feeling inside free-flows. I shoulda known. But it’s not that crazy because you are you, and like Ashley said, you could basically have anyone.”

  I touch her shoulder to stop the rambling. “It is crazy. Crazy for you to think that.”

  She bounces up and down on her heels, her expression a mixture of tentative and hopeful. “Look, I decided to move back to New York. I want to give us a chance. If you want to, that is.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “I decided I want to live in New York. I’ve accepted the promotion.” Her fingers graze the stubble on my jaw, and her blue eyes capture mine. She mouths the words, “I love you, Mason.” She glances down to Kara, who is watching both of us. It’s clear she’s not missing any of this. “Are you...can we try?”

  This gorgeous woman who I flew across an ocean for is nervous and unsure of herself. She doesn’t need to be. I’m in love with her. Of course I’m going to give this a go. But she didn’t say she’s back here for me, and it’s not like I’ve forgotten the pain when she turned me down. She and I need to talk.

  Her fingers are still against my jaw as she awaits my answer, and I reach for her hand and press a kiss to it. “I think we should consult the 8-Ball.”

  “What’s an 8-Ball, Daddy?” Kara yanks on my shirt to get my attention.

  “It’s a plastic ball with a dice inside, filled with alcohol and blue dye. There are answers on each side of the dice, instead of numbers, like the dice we play with.”

  Kara looks at me like she thinks I’m pulling her leg. “You’re being silly.”

  I smirk and pull her up onto my thigh. Yeah, I’m being silly, but I need to buy time to get back to my apartment and have an adult conversation with Delilah.

  “If you want to consult the 8-Ball, we can. Or the tarot cards. But I recommend we decide for ourselves. Let the fates decide something else, like whether there will be a white Christmas.”

  “Why don’t we talk about it back at the apartment? How about we go home, and I’ll make hot chocolate?”

  Kara squeals, “Yes! And, Deelah, you wanna play Candyland? Or color?”

  “I’d love to.” I take her hand for the short walk back home.

  Kara rambles on, telling Delilah about how she’s hung up each and every piece of art she completed with her over FaceTime.

  The sun has dropped below the skyline, and the city streets are transitioning to dusk. Holiday lights and decorations line the street and grace almost every store window. Christmas music blares from a store or possibly through an apartment window. Walking with these two, one on my hip, one tucked into my side, feels right. I know it. But when we catch each other’s gaze, it’s loaded. Loaded with questions. We need to talk.

  As soon as we arrive at the apartment, I set Kara up on the sofa with hot chocolate and her favorite cartoon in lightning-fast speed. Today, she’s in for a treat. I plan to let her watch several episodes. Delilah moves to sit behind Kara, but I grab her hand and tug her to the kitchen. Once we are in the closed-off room, I pick her up, set her on the kitchen counter, and step between her thighs and press her to me and kiss her the way I’ve been dying to the whole way home.

  When she pulls back, lips red and slightly swollen, I think of other places that are going to be flushed and rubbed raw before morning. I have missed this woman more than I ever thought possible. But we need to talk.

  “So, no 8-Ball?”

  I shake my head. “But we do need to talk. I need to know you are in this. That you are serious about this.” My index finger taps her chest and mine.

  “I am. Mason, I promise, I am. I’m in love with you. And it’s scary as hell, and I’ve never been through this, so I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know how I’ll feel a week from now or a month from now. And, logically, I know relationships take work. Right now, it doesn’t feel like work. I want to be with you. There’s no way it’s going to always be easy, but I want to try. I need to try. I don’t want to have to wonder about what might’ve been.”

  She licks her crimson lips, and I go in for another kiss. She places a palm to my chest and softly pushes back.

  “You asked me to marry you.”

  I nod, ever so slightly. “I did. And you said no.”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait, are you saying yes now?”

  She smil
es big enough to flash her pearly white teeth and shakes her head. “No.”

  “It’s too soon,” I agree. It hurt like hell, but that day in the park, she gave the best answer.

  “Yes, it’s too soon. But...”

  I tilt her head up to me and kiss her once again as Kara’s fingers tug at my jeans pocket, alerting me to her presence. I lower my hand to touch Kara’s shoulder to let her know I see her while I ask Delilah, “But?”

  “I’m here. I’m all in. Heart and soul.”

  Epilogue

  Three months later

  Delilah

  “So, moving in together, huh? I never thought I’d see the day.” Anna clinks her wine glass with mine with an amused, know-it-all grin.

  Yes, it’s three months later, and if anything, I’m more in love with Mason than ever. I’d like to say we took it slow, but slow didn’t seem to work for us.

  We’re over at Olivia and Sam’s amazeballs apartment. All the women are gathered together in the kitchen, but we can see the men through the glass doors that exit onto his enormous terrace. They’re sitting around a firetop table, drinking beer and watching a game on the outdoor television screen. Kara is sitting on her knees, mesmerized by the fire. Mason’s beside her, watching, on edge, prepared to snatch her hand away from the fire should she reach into it. She’s not a dumbass. At least, I don’t think she’ll put her hand into the flame, but it’s a good thing he’s beside her.

  “Yeah, kind of crazy, huh?”

  “Especially after the grief you gave me.” Olivia lifts a bottle and refills our glasses, even though I’m not empty. She’s that kind of hostess. The hostess with the mostest. “Hey, I stand by that. It doesn’t make sense to jump in so quickly. And we did try to slow things down.” We really did. But we found excuses to still see each other after work on most days, and all weekend. And, well, the weeks blurred, and before I knew it, we were together every day. “It’s not my fault the corporate apartment sold. And rents are sky-high. It doesn’t make sense to be paying for two places.”