Or condoms.
“Fuck,” I said, voice muffled against the wood.
Dillon got closer and sniffed the side of my face.
“All right, all right….” I heaved myself up to my knees and took a look around.
At least our furniture had been delivered. The new couch was pushed up against the windowed wall. The little dining table for two was assembled and standing beside a big pile of broken-down cardboard, thick plastic sheets, and discarded pamphlets on how to assemble affordable European furniture. Near the loft stairs was a partially constructed bookshelf, which I was sure was what Calvin had been doing before he was called into work. I wondered if the bed had arrived.
My shoes were upstairs anyway, so I climbed to my feet and headed in that direction. The last thing I wanted to do was leave the house after the energy I’d exerted to get here, but if I didn’t take Dillon out soon, I’d spend the night cleaning up dog piss.
I paused as I reached the top of the stairs. The bed. Oh God damn, after months of sleeping on a couch or Calvin’s too-small-for-two bed, this was a sight to behold. It was huge and inviting—with lots of pillows and a fluffy-looking comforter. I sighed pathetically but stood my ground against its siren song and proceeded to dig out shoes from a still-packed duffel bag in the closet. I tugged the backs over my heels and made a quick exit down the stairs.
I picked up the landline phone sitting on an end table beside the sofa. Yes, I was fully aware that the necessity for a home telephone these days was quite miniscule. But I also knew my technologically inept self would come to depend on it eventually.
And by eventually, I mean the day after I had it installed.
I dialed Calvin’s cell. He didn’t pick up. I doubt he’d even programmed our home number into his address book.
“Hey,” I said, once I’d been instructed to leave a message. “It’s me.” I held the phone between my ear and shoulder and rummaged through the table drawers. “Sebastian—obviously.” I moved to the matching table on the other side of the couch and pulled those drawers open. “This is the landline you swore was a silly purchase. I left my bag in Neil’s car. I don’t have my phone or keys—trying to find that spare—never mind, found it.” I straightened and tucked the extra set of keys into my pocket. “If an Officer Shapiro calls you…,” I began, before deciding, no, no, discussing an assault over the phone would not bode well. “You know, I’ll tell you about it when you get home. If you call back and I don’t answer, I went for a walk with Dillon. Love you.”
I ended the call and glanced across the room. Dillon was sitting in the middle of the packing mess, staring at me, his tail swishing back and forth.
With the feeling that Calvin’s dog was eavesdropping, I held the phone close once more and dialed another cell. I sort of thought it’d be a combination of random numbers I’d have forgotten months ago, but muscle memory had kicked in, and before I knew it—
“Neil Millett. Please leave a message.”
“Uh, hi. It’s Sebastian. So, I left my bag in your car. Not that I need my cane right now, but it makes for a decent weapon and I’ve had a less-than-stellar night.” I cleared my throat. “Anyway. If you see Calvin again this evening, could you give it to him? Thanks. Bye.”
I ended the call and set the receiver back on the charger. I looked at Dillon.
He cocked his head to the side.
“I found a body in a dumpster tonight, dog.”
Dillon barked in response and stood.
“Then some guy tried to choke me out.”
Dillon ran to the door, tail wagging.
“What’s this world coming to?” I asked, following him. I grabbed his leash from a pile of junk, hooked it to Dillon’s collar, and reluctantly left the house.
WITH THEdog leash in one hand, I unlocked the door with the other, held a take-out bag between my teeth, and was greeted to a ringing phone.
“Errph—’ol ahn!” I shut the door behind us, removed the leash from Dillon, and tripped over the piled cardboard as I kicked off my shoes. The bag of Chinese food fell to the floor. I left it, rushing for the phone before whoever—most likely Calvin—hung up.
“Cal?” I answered breathlessly.
A moment of silence. “It’s Neil.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
I walked back to the abused sweet and sour chicken. I picked up the bag, and the plastic container of sauce spilled open all over the floor. I stared at the mess for a hot second before I just startedlaughing.
“Are… you okay?” Neil asked.
