She spins, her slippers slapping against the sidewalk when I snag her wrist to halt her progress. My eyes narrow with censure and brows furrow inward.
“But don’t think for one second that I will not mention this to Graham or Soraya. You got that?”
She sniffles, dragging the corner of the blanket underneath her nose. “Yes. I understand.”
“Fine. Get yourself together and let’s go.”
And then she sprints down the street with me trailing behind, feeling like a complete and utter asshole.
But nobody ever said I wasn’t.
4
Sutton
We findBlackie safe and sound in the arms of a man named Mr. Collins, who, weirdly enough, is petting him and calling him Prissy.
Miles mutters under his breath how “lucky” and “irresponsible” I am. He even flat out told me he would notify Graham over my incompetence.
None of that matters to me now, because I am overcome with such a profound sense of relief that I can’t speak and care little about anything else. Even the heartless words Miles said to me earlier vanish into the background.
Perhaps if I wasn’t terrorized over the potentialwhat ifshad Blackie not been found, I would argue with Miles as he verbally attacks me for my ineptitude. But instead, my tongue is dry, and I’ve cried my eyes out over losing, and then subsequently finding, Blackie that I don’t utter a word to anyone. Tears blur my vision as I take Blackie into my arms from the old man, and I sob into the dog’s soft coat of fur.
It’s only a few minutes after our tearful reunion when the FDNY gives us the all-clear signal, having found the culprit of the fire alarm—a faulty wire in the main fuse—and we are given the good news that we can return to our apartments.
I’m exhausted, shaken, and feel like the worst human on the planet.
Although the “all’s well that ends well” adage helps stabilize my mood a bit, it is the harsh bite of Miles’s assessment of my derelict dog sitting skills that stings like a wasp bite long afterward.
Sadly, I can’t even fault him for that.
Under normal circumstances, I believe that something like this wouldn’t have happened, because I’m a very attentive individual. I’m a strong and solid student, I remember birthdates of friends and family, and I never forget to mail in payments on time.
I know I wasn’t operating as my best self tonight, but I should have been more careful and considered the possibility that Blackie might run off if scared by something. It was my job to take care of him and ensure his safety, and I failed miserably.
* * *
Oddly,though, I haven’t heard a thing from Graham or Soraya. I assumed the minute we returned to our apartments, Miles would contact Graham and tell him what a horrible job I’m doing in caring for their dog.
I’m surprised I’ve not received a call asking me to pack my things and get the hell out of their house. I sat up all night, unable to fall back asleep, nervously waiting on pins and needles for the call that never came. Now, this morning I’m not only tired but stuck in a conundrum of what to do about it. Should I preemptively notify the Morgan’s of what happened or leave it be?
I consider my options while baking a quiche in the massive kitchen. My phone sits on the countertop, ready to alert me if a message comes through, as I whisk the eggs into a frothy foam. After I pour the egg concoction and cut-up vegetables into the baking dish, open the oven door, and slide the quiche in, I set the time for sixty minutes and make my decision.
I text Soraya a benign message to test the waters. To see if Miles really did what he said he would do.
Me: Hi Soraya, I hope you are all having a wonderful vacation so far. I just wanted to check in.Besides a little scare last night, which is nothing to worry about. Everything is great. Blackie is doing well.
Technically, it’s all the truth, even though a few facts have been omitted. But it gives me peace of mind that I’ve done the right thing. No harm, no foul, as they say.
I think about Miles and our unexpected reunion and awful interaction last night. Granted, it was under the worst possible circumstances you could imagine, but I was thoroughly confused by his behavior. His attitude was so completely different from the Miles I used to know. The pre-Melodie’s death Miles. And the fact that he doesn’t remember me feels like a knife to the gut.
After sending the text, I decide to call my friend, Christiana, to ask her opinion about what to do from here and whether I should track down Miles and talk to him or just leave it be.
She answers on the first ring and I begin to tell her everything about the fire-alarm fiasco and running into my new neighbor, Miles.
“Maybe I should have taken that job as the magician’s assistant instead,” I whine, thinking back on the job offers I’d received before accepting this out-of-the-blue job last week. “At least then, I wouldn’t be in this strange predicament.”
Before being recommended for this position through my cousin, Ben, I had poured over countless other summer jobs, hoping to find a second job to make ends meet before returning to NYU this fall. But the job had to fit into my current part-time schedule at the small boutique I work at in SoHo. The only one that had some promise was a real honest-to-God magician’s assistant, helping an older guy at kid’s birthday parties.
