My NPC trick saved the world from more puke?
Yeah. If the brewery fails and your Dog Whisperer backup gig doesn’t work out, you should host a conference for a bunchof nerds.
Thank you, Nora.
“Has his dog suffered the fate of your ficus yet?” Hannah asks over FaceTime while I pour boiling water into my cardboard ramen bowl.
The water splashes my hand and I swear under my breath. Cookie, who’s watching me from around the corner, only her nose showing, flinches.
“That’s not funny,” I hiss at the phone. “She can hear you.”
Perhaps I’m giving Cookie too much credit, but I wouldn’t be so sure. Whenever we share space, she watches me with the vigilance of a conspiracy theorist on uppers. And it really does seem like she understands me, because she gives one of her chesty, big-girl barks.
Sighing, I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and step away from the phone to give her a treat. We’ve formed a shaky but simple covenant over the course of the weekend: I give her dog cookies, and she temporarily behaves (i.e., stops barking and staring me down).
Am I reinforcing terrible behavior?
Most likely.
Will she gain five pounds from a temporary overabundance of treats?
Almost certainly.
But that feels a lot like future Cormac’s problem.
“Where’d you go?” I hear Hannah ask. “Did the big, bad corgi attack you?”
“Stop tormenting her, Hannah,” Briar says in the background. Hannah’s taking care of Ollie, her likely-soon-to-be stepson, so she invited Briar and Sophie to come hang out with them at her house. I was also asked to join the fun, but I have my own temporary dependent to look after.
After accepting my bribe, Cookie backs away from my handand disappears into the house. I return to the phone and my sad-girl dinner.
“I think it’s sweet that you’re watching his dog,” Sophie adds as she sips from a glass of wine. “Rob and I have been thinking about getting a dog.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it. She stole the bagel right off my plate earlier. I get no respect.”
Hannah chuckles. “And what have you found in Cormac’s apartment? Don’t tell me you haven’t poked around.”
I mean, I have. I’m only human.
And get this. The guy has an honorary doctorate from UNC, which was issued a month ago, and it’s stuffed in the back of a closet. Thebathroomcloset.
If someone gave me an honorary doctorate, you can bet your ass I’d make sure everyone knew about it.
If I ask him why it’s in there, I’ll bet there’s at least a twenty-five percent chance he’d have no memory of having put it there, possibly no memory of even having accepted it.
For someone like me, who has always attacked her goals like Cookie attacks her food bowl, that’sexasperating.
And fine, yes, the slightest bit endearing.
It’s captured my attention, much like the interesting automations he’s built into the house. Little thoughtful touches, like the way the towel rack automatically extends toward the shower when the water is shut off, so you don’t have to tramp across the floor getting everything wet.
“Well?” Hannah asks expectantly.
“He’s one of those weirdos who puts the toilet paper on the opposite way around,” I offer, not wanting to act like I’m interested in anything to do with Cormac. Briar and Sophie probably wouldn’t call me on it, but Hannah would sense blood in the water.
“What’s the opposite way?” asks Briar.
“Said like a person who does it the wrong way,” Hannah replies with a smirk. Turning back toward the screen, she asks, “Does he have any high school yearbooks? Because I wouldn’t be above bribing him to see one.”
