by P. Dangelico
“Your parents. They told me which hotel you were staying in.” She looks around. “Swanky.” Which, judging by her tone, is an insult.
For the next few seconds we sit quietly, the vibe in the room awkward as eff.
“Have your parents met him?” she says, tipping her head at Dallas. “Captain America.”
That’s when my long dormant anger spikes. “I’m t-twenty-one, in c-case you’ve forgotten. And yes, they have.”
“I have the stretch marks to remind me every day.”
My anger just spiked times ten. “Why are you here? W-We’ve already established you w-want nothing to do with m-me. So why are you here?”
She looks remorseful for a full minute, which, for her, is progress I guess. “I wanted to apologize for how I treated you today…my employee, Gladys, you may have seen her––”
“We walked past her t-twice. How could we n-not have seen her?”
“I need to get this out. Please don’t interrupt me.”
Oh my gosh. I’m missing out on food foreplay for this. “Listen here, I-I emailed you. And…and you were r-rude. I came to s-see you. And you b-basically did your best to run me out of your office c-crying. But y-you don’t get to c-come in here and call the shots. Get out.”
She looks startled––if only for moment. “I’m sorry, okay?” Her gaze shifts around the room nervously. “I’m sorry…I don’t know how to talk to you…you’re a real person, for shit’s sake.”
She stares at me and something in the vicinity of warmth blooms on her face.
“You look so much like me…For years I pictured you as an embryo, a collection of tissues. They didn’t even show you to me when you were born because I didn’t want to hold you. You know, in case some maternal chemicals kicked in…”
“Yes, t-those are t-terrible.”
Dallas snorts and squeezes my hand, and Katherine’s critical stare moves right over to the man I love. The one who’s here supporting me.
“I came to say I’m sorry. I realize we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot…but I wouldn’t be upset if you wanted to speak again––maybe get to know each other…I could be the distant crazy aunt everyone in the family finds fascinating.”
At least she’s trying. I’ll give her points for effort.
“T-Thanks for coming, Katherine,” I say, standing; a clear signal that I’m done with this conversation. “I appreciate t-that you’re willing to make an effort, but I’m n-not sure if I h-have room in my life right now. Between getting ready for v-vet school and a boyfriend, I’m p-pretty busy…I’ll think about it.”
Katherine’s face cracks in a small smile. She gets the subtext perfectly. If she wants to know me, she can make the effort. I’ve done my share. And with that, another checkmark goes on the list.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dallas
“Who’s this?” I ask Vi as Dora and I walk into the shelter.
It’s the first time we’ve been back here since our road trip and there’s a new addition. A old yellow Lab slowly walks over to me and nudges my hand. I can’t resist the old guy and get down on my knees and rub his ears.
For years I begged my parents for a dog. Brenda never let me have one. Frankly that may have saved a life because she barely took care of herself and me. Subjecting another living creature to her neglect would’ve been cruel. My father hates all living things so he was a foregone conclusion. Then the divorce happened and the fall-out from that took over our lives for years. But I’ve always wanted a pet. Maybe because they love unconditionally. That’s something I can’t say about ninety-nine percent of the people in my life.
“What’s his name?”
“Banjo,” Vi tells us as she jumps off the counter to pick up an orange cat darting across the room. The little dude is known for opening cage doors. There’s a reason she named him Jailbreak.
“You guys are coming to the grand opening, right?”
“Put me t-to work.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I add. The new shelter is slated to open in a few weeks with a big bang. Meanwhile, they’re still operating out of the old location.
“He m-must be ten already––” Dora says as she pets Banjo’s head, “at least.”
He looks to be suffering from arthritis. Cataracts too. Banjo doesn’t seem to mind. He’s soaking up the attention, nudging us with his faded tan nose when one of us stops petting him.
“He came in on the flight from Austin. Lived at the no-kill shelter there for five years and the fosters were getting worried that he was losing the will to live.”
My chest gets tight. “Five years? How the fuck did that happen? He’s such a cool dog.”
Vi shrugs. “It happens. Even the pretty ones get left behind sometimes.”
Anger burns through me fast and hot. I don’t doubt that Banjo was pretty once, when he was young. He’s a purebred Lab, the most popular breed in the country. So what, now that his ears are a little chewed up and his face is covered in white hair and his eyes are cloudy he’s not worthy of a good life? He’s not worthy of a family to love him? I fucking hate people sometimes.
“What are his chances,” I ask her, looking into his honest face so grateful for just for a little love.
“Old dogs are the hardest to adopt out.”
My heart beats fast. “I’m taking him,” I say without thought to consequences and as soon as I do I immediately feel better. The rage bleeds out of me and my heart rate returns to normal. Yeah, this is the right thing to do.
“What?” Both Vi and Dora say.
“I’m taking him. I’m adopting Banjo.”
“Dall…you’re busy with school…and you’re graduating soon.”
“He needs eye medication administered twice a day,” Vi informs me.
This is why money is dope as fuck. “I don’t care. I’ll hire people to help me. I’ll get him his own personal butler if I have to. He’s not spending another night in a shelter. He’s not getting left behind anymore.”
All I get is silence in return.
“Cool,” Vi finally says. “I’ll get the paperwork started.”
“I d-don’t think he n-needs another bed, Dall––” My bae says as she takes the steaks we’re cooking tonight out of the refrigerator and sets them on the counter.
It’s only been a week, but I can’t remember a time when Banjo wasn’t a part of our lives. I say our lives because the girl I love is practically living with me and I couldn’t be happier. I got the girl of my dreams, an awesome dog––life is good.
“––The one you b-bought him t-the other day is plenty.”
I glance up for my laptop where I’m in the process of ordering my boy another custom-made orthopedic bed, and take her in. “Come here.” Her lips, red from our make-out session a short while ago, lift into a shy smile. I did that, put a smile on her face, filled her big brown eyes with love. And I’m not embarrassed to say it’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life.
She comes around the counter, to where I’m seated on the stool, and steps between my legs. I cup her absolutely perfect ass and plant a kiss on the freckles between her breasts. The love I have for Dora’s ass runs a close second to her heart which runs a close first to her breast. Go ahead and makes sense of that if you can.
“What do you think, B? You need an orthopedic bed in every room? The Cat Lady says you don’t.”
Stretched out on my couch, he picks his head up and stares at us. That is one happy freaking dog.
“Banjo says he’d like another.”
“Banjo s-spends m-most of his time on the couch with you.”
“So do you, babe, but I don’t hear any complaints from him.”
Grinning, she plants a big kiss on me and I take advantage of it.
Life is good. I’m not saying that lightly. Life is damn good lately. There’s nothing like love to make everything else that’s semi-shitty look better. The only dark spot is that we haven’t heard from Reagan.
“Hey, no funn
The Petermans love my dude as much as Dora and I do. Which means he’s getting more TLC than any one dog needs. Wrapping my arm around Dora’s waist, I pull her closer.
“Are you hungry?” she asks Cole while he goes to the fridge and pulls out a beer. “W-We have a couple of extra steaks.”
“Starving,” he tells her as he grabs a bottle opener from the drawer, pops the top off, and takes a log pull.
“I’ll throw them on the g-grill in a few.”
“Hey, D––” Tipping his chin, he leans back against the counter. “Tommy Lau called––you know that friend of mine at Stanford. He said they’re gonna have some sick swells up at Mavs this weekend. Storm’s coming in. You up for it?”
My interest immediately perks up and pays attention. Cole’s eyes dart over to Dora. A flash of guilt crosses his face but I may be reading too much into it.
“Driving up for the day, right? Because I have Banjo––”
“Yeah, we can leave by 3 a.m. on Saturday and be back by midnight.”
“Babe, you mind watching him for the day?” When I don’t get an answer, I glance up at Dora and find her staring back blankly. “Do you mind watching him? You can invite the girls over if you want.”
“I don’t mind.”
I can almost taste the saltwater and feel the adrenaline jacking into my veins.
“Cool. Let’s smash it.”
Yeah, life is good.
Dora
“Don’t go,” I mumble.
All week I’ve kept my mouth shut. All week I’ve had to talk myself out of saying my piece because I don’t want be that girl. The one who holds the person she loves back from doing what he or she loves. But this is crazy. This is beyond wild. It’s dangerous.
“I c-checked…they’re saying t-t-twenty foot waves.”
He glances up from the bag he’s packing and stares at me, his expression careful. Like he’s trying not to give anything away.
“I’m gonna be fine, babe.” He chuckles. It rings hollow and a little bit nervous. “You know I’ve done this before.”
“I have a b-bad feeling about this…please don’t go.”
Hands on his hips, the ubiquitous basketball shorts pushed low to expose the band of his underwear and the v that drives me to distraction every time he flashes it, he takes me in.
Meanwhile, I patiently wait for him to answer sitting on his bed crosslegged. This is the first disagreement we’ve had and it can go either way. God knows neither one of us is an expert on relationships. The last one Dallas was in was basically criminal child endangerment––if not outright pedophilia––and I’ve never been in one. We’re bound to screw this up at some point.
Breaking the stalemate, he crawls on the bed and pushes me down on my back. Up on his elbows, we’re eye-to-eye. Every time this happens I get a strange feeling of completeness that I’ve never known before. Mentally, he gets me in a way I can’t even articulate. Physically, we’re on another level.
Snuggling between my legs, his erection growing between us, he unapologetically smiles down at me. And it happens like it always does between us––the all encompassing awareness my body has for his overrides everything else. Overwhelms me until all my senses are consumed by him. Except this time I push back. I don’t let it.
This time it doesn’t distract me from the very real fear I’m experiencing. And despite that I feel tethered to him in ways I know are unique and special and meant to be treasured, I also know that I’m not equipped to live life on a rollercoaster. I can barely handle a Ferris wheel. But that’s what Dallas is, a rollercoaster, and I never know when the ride starts or stops.
“This is who I am. You know that about me.”
“They’ll be o-other w-waves––you w-won’t get another life.”
He frowns and pauses to mull it over. “I’m not an amateur. I know how to handle myself out there…you can’t ask me to stop doing something I love, babe.”
He presses his hips into mine and I automatically press back. “I know,” I say as a fresh supply of tears fill my eyes. “I…I love you,” I confess. There’s a time and a place to risk it all, when the stakes require it, and now is that time.
I’ve always believed that if you love someone, you should say it. If you care, show it. If you feel something, let yourself feel it or you may never get the chance again.
“Number ten on my list…”
“Yeah,” he says, his interest piqued.
“It was t-to fall in love. And I did. I fell in love w-with you …”
I don’t want to lose you ever I want to say to him, but what if I’m just being paranoid?
The thing is––paranoid or not––I can’t stop being scared for him any more than he can stop risking his life.
Dallas
Life is a little less good today than it was a week ago. Dora barely said goodbye to me when I left a few hours ago and now she’s not answering my texts.
“Trouble in paradise?” Cole the dickhead asks when he catches me checking my phone for the fourteenth time.
“She was pissed about this trip…she said she had a bad feeling.”
“Whoah. I love little D, but do not bring that estrogen tainted voodoo shit along for the ride.”
“Cut it out, Cole,” the smarter Peterman orders from the passenger seat of Shane’s Range Rover.
“I will not cut it out when lives are at stake, brother––particularly mine. Everyone knows you do not talk jinxies right before you hit the water.”
“He’s right, dude,” Shane chimes in from the drive’s seat. “Words have power.”
Can’t argue with him there. Especially words like I love you.
She said it and I have yet to say it back. I mean, I love her. I love her more than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved. The love I had for Beth seems shallow in comparison. The kind of love a boy has for a woman he’s fascinated with because he doesn’t have the experience to compare it to anything else. The love I have for Dora is undeniable. I love her against my will. I love her because I can’t not love her.
But I also know that you can’t change who you are to please other people. That’s a sure fire road to resentment.
Taking the next exit, the Range Rover gets off the highway and the coast comes into view. Even though it’s still dark out, I can make out the monster waves the Pacific is already churning up today.
Shane parks on the cliffs overlooking the beach. We all hop out, and stare at the whitecaps below, the wind whipping our hair around. Then we share a knowing look. Shaka Brah’s words come back to me. Today is a good day to live.
Fifteen hours later the Range Rover pulls into my driveway, around 2 a.m. on Sunday morning. Banjo greets us at the door. I find a note in the kitchen telling me he’s been fed, walked, and his medication has been administered.
As tired as I am, I sprint up to my bedroom and find it eerily quiet without her there, to the point that it’s creeping me out. All her books are gone, her computer is missing. My heart rate picks up speed like it never has before. Not even when I faced that twenty-foot wave on Thanksgiving. I check my bathroom for her cosmetics and find those gone too. Five minutes later I’m mounting Cole’s bike and taking off for campus.
“I’m outside,” I say as soon as she answers her phone. It took me two calls to wake her up. My girl is a heavy sleeper…and she is my girl. For better or worse. All I have to do is convince her of that.
A few minutes later, she appears behind the glass door wearing her pajama bottoms with the cartoon dogs, a black tank top, and a pissed off expression. Pushing the door open, she steps outside. “You c-can’t come in. You’ll wake the whole dorm.” Her bun falls apart and she shakes out her hair and puts it back up.
“What’s going on? You didn’t answer my text. You took all your stuff…you’re freaking me out.”
“I-I’m sorry about the text. It’s j-just that…that…” Gaze cast down, she exhales tiredly. “I can’t l-live like this. Always wondering when I’ll get a call that something h-horrible has h-happened to you. I don’t want to live like this––”
“You don’t have to,” I jump in, already in panic mode.
“What?”
“You don’t have to––not anymore. I see your point.”
“Y-You say that now, but w-when your friends call with the next b-big adventure––”
“I promise––”
“––you’ll end up r-resenting me.”
“I won’t.”
“Why the c-change of heart now?”
I pause long enough that defeat shows on her face. She’s losing hope and I don’t ever want to give her the chance to doubt me. She’s the first person in my life I don’t want to let down. She’s the best decision I ever made. I won’t let this get in the way of us.
“The waves were breaking at twenty-five feet high…no joke, it was some sick shit. Everyone was itching to get out there…I was about to paddle out so I stepped in the water, and as soon as it rushed over my feet, all I felt was dread…”
She blinks, steps closer. “It’s n-natural to be scared––”
“I didn’t say I was scared, Dora,” I shoot back with an indignant edge in his voice. This is not about fear.
“Sorry––”
“Don’t apologize.”
Damn, laying it all out there is hard. Maybe it is about fear. That twenty foot wave felt less dangerous than the truth.
Filled with nervous energy, I run both hands through my hair and tug. “I’m sorry. I’m fucking this up.” I laugh at myself. It’s humorless and strained, the discomfort all over me.
“No––you’re not.”
“I felt dread that I would never see you again, Dora. That’s what scared me. Not the prospect of cracking my skull on the reef––that didn’t make me feel shit. Or drowning…but never seeing you again…” A bottomless despair hits me. “You’re what turns me on now, what fires me up. I’ve never felt more alive than when I’m with you.”
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