“Just the crew. Finn and Chase, Jacks”—he gestured at Jacks, who was standing in the living room holding his beer with the posture of a man trying to occupy as little space as possible—“Rod and Ruthie, Mia, Dante and Dostoyevsky—”
I clicked my tongue again.
“Dante is bringinghis dogto my apartment.”
“Dostoyevsky is very well behaved. He sleeps twenty hours a day and is basically a greyhound-shaped rug.”
“We already have a dog-shaped rug. His name is Potato. He’s occupied every available horizontal surface.”
“Potatowill welcome the company.”
“Potato is a medical condition with legs. He doesn’t welcome anything. He endures.”
Another bang at the door interrupted our ridiculous conversation. Benji held up his finger again and sprinted.
I looked at Jacks.
“Did you know about this?” I asked.
He held up “don’t shoot” hands. “He texted the group at 2 p.m. I think he’s been planning it since the deep clean got scheduled last week.”
“He’s been planning this for a week and didn’t mention it.”
“He mentioned that you’d handle it better as a surprise than as something you had time to dread.”
This was, I realized with great irritation, an accurate assessment of my psychology.
A week’s notice would have produced a week of low-grade anxiety, escalating objections, and at least twenty-three Post-it notes outlining the reasons my apartment was unsuitable for social gatherings.
A surprise gave me no time to build fortifications, which meant the only available response was to deal with what was already happening.
Benji had outmaneuvered me.
Using pizza.
And popcorn.
And other people’s dogs.
From the front door, I heard Mia’s voice at full volume, which was her only volume, followed by the sound of bags being set down and shoes being removed and the general commotion of a person who entered rooms the way weather systems entered coastlines.
“Peter!” she called from the hallway. “I brought Milk Duds because Benji says you have a secret sweet tooth. I’m going to find out if that’s true.”
“I don’t have a sweet tooth,” I said.
She appeared in the kitchen doorway, took in the pizza situation with the approving nod, and said, “Benji says you ate an entire sleeve of Oreos last Tuesday while reading the newspaper.”
I clicked my tongue.
Then I looked at Benji, who had materialized behind Mia.
He looked at the ceiling.
“The Oreos were on sale,” I said.
“An entire sleeve, Peter?”
“It was a long article. I ate the cream first, like a civilized person.”
