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Their fur, their slobber, their gnawed-on toys.
I smell dirt and dander and stinky collars. I know, thanks to chats with my mom, that Kate has two these days. She didn’t bring them here, did she?
A moment later, Kate pushes the door open and steps inside. Just as I feared, she has her two Golden Retrievers with her. One is pale, young-looking, with a goofy smile and wagging tail. The other is dark, rusty red. Old, stiff-legged, and serious. Why is Kate bringing them in here like this… with supplies… as if they’re going to stay?
Kate beams at me. She’s clearly loving the distaste written on my features. She’s always liked ruffling my feathers.
“This is Zoey,” she says, patting the pale, young dog on her block-like head.
Zoey keeps up the goofy smile. Then she opens her mouth, and her tongue rolls out. A long line of slimy drool cascades toward the floor.
Kate giggles. Then she reaches out to pat the darker, rust-red dog. “And this sweet grump is Mr. Brown. He’s going on fifteen. See how he’s going gray?” She gently cups her hand around his muzzle, guiding his face so I can see the silver that covers it, like a mask.
“I see,” I mutter. “What is the point of this introduction?”
“Figured you should know their names since they’ll be staying with you for?—”
“No.”
She barrels on. “For a week, while I?—”
“No, Kate. I said no.”
“While I go out to Alaska to talk to Sawyer.”
“No, I will not watch your dogs while you travel to Alaska. Nice try, but you can’t force this on me. I won’t accept this. And also, isn’t Sawyer a total loser? Mom says he doesn’t have a house. He lives in his car or something…”
“So, you talk to Mom, but you won’t talk to me?”
“I have been extremely busy.” Becoming successful. Unlike you.
“Too busy getting rich off overpriced sweatpants to talk to your own sister. Oh, and I better not forget about the workout videos. You’re an inspiration, Brock. Thank you for dragging yourself away from a mirror long enough to talk with me.”
“The only reason you call me is to borrow money, pick a fight, or get bailed out of jail.”
“I asked you to bail me out of jail one time.” She shakes her pointer finger. “Once. And you keep throwing that in my face. And I’ll also have you know that Sawyer is not a loser. He’s ‘one of a kind.’ Special. Your assistant even said so today when I talked to her. And I love him. Your assistant helped me see that, too. She made me realize that I have to go to him and tell him how I feel.”
“Hold up. Gwen Temple said all this?”
“Yes.” She nods and then paces over to the giant trash bag. She crouches down by it and pulls out a dog bed so filthy, it’s hard to tell what color it is.
“You are not putting that on my floor.”
She arches her brow and looks me in the eye as she plops it down on the marble tiles. A puff of dirt and fur rises up into the air.
Zoey pads over to the bed and sniffs it. Mr. Brown hobbles that way, too.
I groan and then rake my fingers through my short hair. “Gwen talked you into this?”
“She’s a fantastic listener, Brock. She was so patient with me. For the whole hour we talked, I felt heard, understood, sympathized with. That is so rare these days when so many people only care about their own troubles and don’t have the bandwidth for anyone else’s. You should give her a raise or something.”
“You and Gwen talked for an hour?”
She drops a second dirty dog bed onto the floor and glares at me. “Yes. When have you ever talked to me for an hour, Brock? I’ll answer that: never. You have never talked on the phone with me for an hour because you are too busy running around thinking you’re such a big deal.”
She waves a hand around the room. “You’re here in your bachelor pad, entertaining women, getting famous, and rolling in dough. Too good for your little sister, and I’m struggling with big things.”
With Kate, everything’s a struggle.
