The Very Nice Box

by Eve Gleichman

  “Oh,” Ava said. “Well, good luck! Or whatever I’m supposed to say.”

  “We usually just say ‘fill your heart.’ Sorta the opposite of ‘break a leg.’ Kinda cheesy, I know!”

  The chicken was delicious, and Ava felt refueled by Mat’s news. Her concerns about him seemed laughable. After dinner she took Brutus out for his walk, her mind happily replaying their evening together. Mat already had a lead for a job, but maybe there was something else she could do to lift his spirits. Something that would add fuel to the small fire bringing him back to life.

  Brutus circled a tree and investigated its roots. She tugged his Curious Leash, and the idea came to her: Emily. It was probably too late, but there’d be no harm in trying to get her back. Mat had been so upset about having to surrender her that he could barely bring himself to talk about it. Lately he had even seemed a little grouchy with Brutus—he’d recently mentioned how “high maintenance” dogs were, as though it were a major effort to take Brutus out in the afternoon. He’d once even jokingly mentioned that Ava could pay him for the afternoon walks, but she sensed an underlying accusation beneath the joke, and she felt guilty; he’d surrendered his own dog, and she was partly to blame.

  They finished their loop, but she continued on, walking briskly past her building’s entrance. Maybe she could catch the shelter before the office closed.

  Her phone buzzed with a new email from Jaime. CONFIRMED: BOTH MAT AND OWEN LLOYD ARE DANGEROUS. She swiped it away and dialed the shelter.

  “Underdogs, this is Crystal.”

  “Hi, this is—” Who was she? Emily’s ex-dad’s girlfriend? “Um, my name is Ava Simon. I’m calling about a dog that was dropped off at your shelter a few months ago. Emily . . . Putnam?” The connection on the phone was bad. She pressed her phone harder against her ear. “Her owner, Mat Putnam, had to surrender her because of a job relocation, and then she was adopted by a family in Queens. I’m sure this is a little unusual, but his circumstances have changed, and I’m just wondering—I’m hoping that it’s not too late to get her back from that family. He’s feeling a lot of regret about it.”

  “Okay,” the woman said. “Let me see . . . What was the name again?”

  Ava pressed a finger into her other ear to hear better while Brutus wound around her legs. “Emily Putnam.”

  “The name of the human.”

  “Mat Putnam. Mathew.”

  Ava waited, squinting against a warm wind.

  “Putnam . . . Oh, him.”

  “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’m really hoping I can call the family that took her and talk to them about it.”

  “Yeah, it’s like we told him,” the woman said, “we’ll keep her here another few weeks, but if she doesn’t get adopted, we have no choice but to put her down. We do our best, but older dogs don’t have much of a chance in shelters.”

  “No, no,” Ava said. She cupped a hand around the phone’s microphone and made her way into her building’s lobby, where it was quiet. “She was adopted. The dog is Emily, or I don’t know what name you’d have for her, but she’s a short, thick basset hound mix. Brown with white spots, probably thirty pounds, pretty old.”

  “Yeah, that’s the dog, I’m looking right at her. And I remember the guy. Tall guy, right? Good-looking? Nice hair?”

  “Yes.” Ava looked at Brutus, who looked back at her.

  “Yeah, he fostered her some months ago but then dropped her off all of a sudden before the foster agreement was up. We’ve been trying to get in touch with Mr. Putnam to see if there’s any way he could continue to look after her until we find her a home. Some behavior problems, but she’s a sweet dog. So if you could have him call us—”

  The oxygen vanished. Ava stood in the lobby and hung up while the woman was still talking. She quickly reviewed the facts and tried to arrange them in a way that rationalized this new information. What had Mat said about Emily, exactly? Had he exaggerated? Had she extrapolated? She wanted to believe there was a perfect explanation, but something felt deeply wrong.

  Back in the apartment, she found Mat taking a stack of plates from her Appealing Dining Table to the sink. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “You know what I’ve been thinking? Isn’t it cute that we’re reversing gender roles, Lamby?”

  “Mat . . .” She wasn’t sure how she would continue.

  “What’s up?” His smile softened and then quickly fell away. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

  Ava searched for the words. She could start with a question or she could start with a fact. Anger and confusion competed for tone. “I just got off the phone with Underdogs.”

  An unidentifiable emotion flickered across Mat’s face. His whole body tensed.

  “They said they’ve been trying to reach you about Emily. They said that she wasn’t yours—that you were only fostering her. What’s going on?”

  Mat looked at the counter and fidgeted with the Courteous Dishrag, folding it into several rectangles. “Lamby,” he said.

  Ava stared at him.

  “Okay,” he said calmly, as if he were about to explain something to a child. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression. I told you she was a rescue.”

  “I think it’s a reasonable assumption that you own the dog that lives with you—”

  “And I’m sorry that I didn’t correct your unspoken assumption that I’d had her since—what, college? Childhood?”

  “I didn’t think she was your childhood pet, but why wouldn’t I think—”

  “What was I supposed to do? Turn to you three weeks into our relationship and say, Hey, you know my dog? Well, technically I haven’t signed that piece of paper that legally verifies that she’s my dog, so please don’t think of her as my dog until further notice?”

  Mat was softening his voice, like he used to do at STÄDA after hitting the neg alarm. “I love Emily. I do. It tore me up when they sent me to Gambier and I had to say goodbye. You know that.”

  “They said you never called to get her back. You lied. It was a blatant lie. What version of this story am I supposed to trust?”

  “You want to talk about trust?” Mat said. “I can’t believe you pushed this after I explicitly asked you not to. You called them when I told you to drop it! Yes, I white-lied. Okay? I white-lied and I’m sorry.” He threw his arms in the air. “I’m not proud of it, but at least I’m taking responsibility. I’m holding myself accountable. What more can I give you? The truth is, I can’t take Emily back because I didn’t want to burden you with a second dog. Are you happy? I did it for you too.”

  He slumped onto her Practical Sofa. “I was working too many hours a week to take good care of her, and she deserves better. I’m sure that sounds crazy to you because you’re fucking perfect and can do everything well. But I can’t. I know it’s messed up. I know I’m messed up. I’m working on it. It’s a PF I’m focusing on this quarter.”

  He rubbed the back of his head.

  “A what?”

  “A Personal Flex. It’s something me and the Guys work on every quarter. It’s hard to explain.” He lit up. “You know what, I think you should come with me.” He stood suddenly, rejuvenated.

  “Come with you where?” Ava was dizzy. She felt whiplashed. She could feel herself slipping back into the crash. How long had it been since this had happened? She sat in her Embracing Armchair and breathed the way her physical therapist had taught her. Mat didn’t seem to notice.

  “I know you’re mad,” he said, crouching in front of her so that they were at eye level, “but I really think it would put everything in perspective to come to a Good Guys meeting tonight.” He took her hands in his. “I just—I’m really working on myself, and I want you to see that. And I know you’re not a guy, but I think it could help you too!” He jabbed his pointer finger softly into her chest.

  “I don’t know, Mat.” Ava held her palm against her throbbing forehead.

  “Please, Lamby,” he whispered. “Just trust me.”

  4
0

  Ava expected Mat to take her to a stale church basement or an elementary school gymnasium with metal folding chairs, but instead they took a Swyft across the bridge to Hudson Yards and soared up thirty stories in a glass elevator that opened onto the expansive floor of a tech office. The room’s floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the bright Manhattan skyline. A thick, live-edge walnut buffet table overflowed with drinks and individually packaged snacks.

  The room was packed with young, well-groomed men whose style collectively amounted to affluent minimalism: white leather sneakers, pants cuffed above the ankle, crisp oxford shirts rolled to their elbows.

  Mat walked up to a man pouring himself a cup of seltzer. He had tightly buzzed gray hair and wore an unbuttoned denim shirt over a T-shirt. Mat gave him a warm two-handed handshake.

  “Daniel,” Mat said, bringing a hand to Ava’s shoulder, “meet Ava! It’s her first time.”

  “Very nice to meet you, Ava.” Daniel’s eyes shone. His smile lines were just beginning to show. His warmth was arresting. “Welcome.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ava said. Mat guided her over to the presentation space.

  “Did you not recognize that guy?” Mat asked.

  “No, should I have?”

  “I just thought you would. He’s, like, STÄDA royalty. He’s always in the office for board meetings. And he actually hooked me up with my opportunity at STÄDA.”

  Ava looked back over her shoulder and saw that Daniel was talking to someone who did look familiar. “Is that Owen Lloyd?” she said.

  “Yeah,” Mat said. “STÄDA has an awesome presence here. That’s part of why Good Guys is so great. We help each other in all sorts of ways. It’s like a fraternity, but less douchey.”

  Ava looked around the room. Dozens of Strapping Armchairs faced a lectern and a projector screen at the front of the room. Men filed to their seats, and she followed Mat as he made his way toward an empty row. “Ava,” he said, a hint of condescension in his smile, “you should go sit over there.” He pointed to a different part of the room, a far corner. The seating in that section was different; instead of Strapping Armchairs, a couple rows of Attentive Desk Chairs had begun filling with people. Ava noticed that these people were all women.

  “Sponsor seating,” Mat said.

  “But I’m not a sponsor,” Ava said.

  “Not now,” Mat said. “But you totally could be. You’d honestly be a natural.” He looked proud of her. “Look, don’t you recognize someone over there?”

  Ava squinted at the sponsor section. All the women looked like they could star in a One shampoo subway campaign. But one of them did catch her eye. She was thin and birdlike, with long dark hair. “That woman,” she said. “The one I saw at your apartment.”

  “Ella,” Mat said. He had caught Ella’s eye and waved at her. Ella smiled and pointed at Ava, her eyebrows raised. Mat nodded and pulled Ava close to him. “She’s super-nice,” he said. “Look, she’s saving you a seat.”

  Ella had indeed placed a cardigan on the seat next to her.

  “Mat,” Ava said, “I think I should go. This is too weird.”

  “Trust me,” he said. He took her by the shoulders. “Sometimes it’s good to push what you think are your limits. Like . . . meeting me at the dog park? Taking two days off work? Dating a guy?”

  Ava’s breath felt shallow, as though she were breathing through a cocktail straw. “Okay,” she said. She found her way to the seat next to Ella. “Hello,” she said, smiling tightly.

  “Ava, right?” Ella said, beaming at her. Her handshake was firm and her gaze was uncomfortably direct.

  “Yes,” Ava said. “So they force the women to sit over here? Feels a little . . . religious or something.”

  Ella’s laugh was delicate. Ava pictured Sensitive Tea Cups lightly clinking against each other. “I never thought about it like that,” Ella said. “I guess so. But if I had it my way, everything would be separated. Women-only train cars, women-only workspaces, women-only sections of every room. Believe me, I’d rather be here than there.” She waved her hand in the direction of the men, many of whom were exchanging long, sincere-looking two-handed handshakes.

  The lights dimmed. Ava had to tilt her head to read the huge white screen. The slide title was GOOD GUYS, and it displayed a triple Venn diagram whose sections read YOU, ME, and US. Men appeared to be joining the meeting from across the country, their avatars popping up every few seconds on the screen. Pete F from Naples, Florida. Calvin T from Silver Spring, Maryland. Louis B from Appleton, Wisconsin. Dylan L from Richmond, Virginia. At precisely nine o’clock, a tall, thin man with a fade and a thick red beard sauntered onstage to an eruption of applause from the audience. He casually rested his elbow on the lectern and stood beside it. He seemed to be attempting to make eye contact with every person there, and the applause showed no sign of tapering.

  “All right, hey, Good Guys, I’m Lukas, as you know,” the man said, motioning with his hands for everyone to settle down.

  Someone from the audience shouted, “LUKE! WE LOVE YOU, MAN!”

  Lukas chuckled. “And I love you. Any first-timers out there?”

  Ava’s face grew hot and she kept her hands firmly clasped in her lap. People craned around to look at the dozen or so men whose hands were raised.

  “Incredible,” Lukas said. “Welcome. We start off each week by taking a moment to align with our mission statement. This is a weekly meeting for guys like us: Good Guys who want to recognize their potential, reconnect with their desires in life, and make a better world, starting with ourselves.”

  Ava noticed that a couple of the men were mouthing the mission statement as Lukas recited it. “Every week we do the bravest, most radical thing imaginable.” He paused, scanning the room. “We make ourselves vulnerable. We take up space. We open up. Think of this like a workout for your integrity. Each meeting we have one speaker who shares the progress he’s making with his Personal Flex, and then there’s free mic time for anyone to share a story if he feels moved to. This week we have”—he checked his notes—“Mat Putnam. Okay! Let’s put it together for our good friend Mat!”

  Mat made his way down the aisle, beaming, then hopped up onstage. The audience erupted, settling down only when Mat motioned for quiet with his hands. He made his way to the lectern and stood in front of the mic. “Hey, guys, I’m Mat, as you know. My Personal Flex this quarter is Personal Truth.” The words Personal Truth appeared behind him on the big screen, beneath an enormous headshot of Mat, before returning to a slide show of audiences in Seattle, Kalamazoo, and Harrisburg. “I actually brought someone special with me today. My partner, Ava.”

  Ava froze as several men twisted in their seats to get a good look at her. She had never heard Mat use the word partner before and wondered what effect he was going for. Seriousness? Parity? Tolerance? Ella reached over and squeezed her hand. Mat allowed for the moment, smiling down at her. Ava pictured a chain moving smoothly along a gear and looked directly at her lap.

  “I’ve said it here before,” Mat continued, “but along with my sponsor, Ella, Ava has been with me on my path for months, helping me become a Good Guy. Just a few hours ago,” he continued, “we had a small disagreement that grew out of a misunderstanding. It was about—if you can believe it—an old dog.” There was a small wave of laughter. “I know!” Mat said. “I know. But even small stones can make big ripples in the water. I should do a better job of communicating that to her, but that’s a Personal Flex for another day.”

  There were a few friendly, isolated chuckles from the audience. Ava’s neck prickled. Small stones? Was he pardoning his lie? Was it small? Was it something she would later recollect with a smile?

  “I’ve been struggling somewhat with helping others question their own interpretations of reality,” Mat continued. “Even when those interpretations are painful for them. Even when they are shaped by totally unrelated past experiences.”

  Some men in the audience closed their eyes
and nodded their heads.

  “But there’s a reason patience and empathy are two of our tenets here.” He removed the mic from its stand and began pacing the stage with it in hand, reminding Ava of a televangelist. “Because I—just like many of you—once believed my own harmful interpretations. And that closed-mindedness, that certainty that our perspective is the only perspective? It’s like a cancer. It’s like rust. It’s like a boulder strapped to your back. It will age you.”

  Ava struggled to follow his metaphors. What was he talking about?

  He took a long, dramatic pause. “So the next time you or I notice someone struggling to hear anything beyond the noise in their head, gently remind that person of what exists beneath the noise. In the now. That noise isn’t you. Those embarrassments and grudges and regrets—those aren’t you either. I know this because I know you—yes, all of you!—and I know myself. Because I’m here, right here, right now. And like you, I’m a profoundly good person, as good as the man sitting next to you. That is my personal truth. And I’m going to hold tightly to it. Thank you.”

  He found his way back to his seat as the audience roared with applause. Next to her, Ella had lifted her arms straight into the air and clapped. “I’m so proud of him,” she whispered to Ava. “He has really come so far.”

  Ava felt claustrophobic. She tried to digest Mat’s speech as the next presenters came onstage. One man told a story about how he was proud to have confronted his wife for an emotional affair he discovered by reading her text messages. Another man spoke about how he finally convinced his girlfriend to visit his therapist with him to discuss opening the relationship up to polyamory. The final speaker described getting back on his feet after receiving a restraining order. “Being served was my rock bottom,” he said. “But you know, like we say here, it was actually the best day of my life, because that’s when I realized I needed to take the time and space to reinvent myself.”

  Ava looked around the room. Men nodded somberly. What had she just seen?