She dropped to her knees and scratched behind his ears. He seemed OK, his tail perking up somewhat.
“We can’t leave him alone for so long,” Arthur said.
“Relax, it was just a fluke. A fluke puke. Just an upset tummy. He’s all better now, see?” She pulled Ferdie’s lips into something resembling a smile.
“I’m just saying, if we’re going to be out, we should find a dog sitter who can come check on him.”
“Great idea! Because if only someone was here at the exact moment he began to feel sick, this whole tragedy could have been avoided.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Will you just relax?” Wren continued. “I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”
She put out a hand, signaling Arthur to help her up, which he did, and then retrieved paper towels and cleaning solution from the kitchen. But once she knelt next to the soiled spot on the carpet, she felt like she was going to experience her Chuck E. Cheese pizza in reverse.
“Never mind, I can’t.” She gagged. She could taste the pepperoni coming back up already.
“Oh, how convenient,” he replied, having already settled onto the couch with his laptop.
“Seriously, I need you to take over. Whatever you want. I’ll cook for you, I’ll grade papers for you, just please don’t make me stay here and smell this.”
“I’d be happy to just get you to stop snoring.”
“Done, OK? I’ll get that weird mouth tape or whatever, just please get me out of here.”
Arthur looked up at the ceiling and inhaled. Wren knew he was reconsidering his dedication to being a good guy, a decent boyfriend and future father. Probably wondering how much easier it would be to be downing cheap beers with friends at a sleazy bar right now and ignoring her texts.
“Here,” he finally said, hoisting himself off the couch and taking her place. “Give me that.”
“Thank you. Look, I’ll even give Ferdie a bath.”
“What, in our tub?”
“Where else?”
Arthur sighed and said nothing else, just dutifully began sopping up the mess with paper towels and scrubbing the remaining stain with carpet cleaner. Wren almost felt bad. He hadn’t asked for this. And yet here he was, showing up for her, picking up the slack without complaint. OK, maybe with minor complaint. But that was all she could ever ask for, more than anyone else had ever done for her. Certainly no one else had ever dressed up as a mouse for her entertainment and been nearly arrested for it. The closest thing that came to mind was one of the few photos of her with her dad, who had dressed up as Spider-Man for her superhero-themed first birthday party. She sat bewildered in a high chair, staring at him in awe, her tiny face covered in cake. She hated that she couldn’t remember it outside of the one grainy, poorly lit photo she’d found in an album as a kid. It would be asking a lot of a one-year-old, but it sure would have been a good thing to remember.
Then there was Arthur. She appreciated him deeply in that moment, and even found herself lustily watching the tendons flex in his forearms as he scrubbed. Didn’t think she’d ever noticed those before.
In the bath, she lazily doused a stiff and confused Ferdie with warm water; he looked rail thin with his fur matted down. Poor guy. She’d only left him home for a few hours, tried to do one thing for herself, and all three of them had paid a price. Was this what it was going to be like all the time soon? No, it would be worse. Can’t leave a baby unattended even for a second, not to run to the car because you left your leftovers baking in the sun on the passenger seat, not to pee, not even to take the dog out! The little rascal would be strapped to her at all times, like one of those obnoxious weighted vests, tagging along and slowing her down everywhere she went, when it didn’t stop her from going at all.
Ferdie reached over the ledge of the tub and licked her face, snapping her out of her thoughts. He did it again. It tickled and she couldn’t help but laugh.
14
Arthur:Become Independently Wealthy
“It’s your turn,” Wren said.
“I’m tired.”
“Just stick your fingers in the hole and grab something.”
He did as instructed, trying to remember that hazy night that just refused to come all the way back to him. What had he said at the time? Who had he wanted to be when he was a bright-eyed college kid?
Standing there in the living room, he pulled out the first slip that brushed across his fingertips and read it aloud.
“Well, I’m nothing if not consistent. Another impossible task that, under the best circumstances, would take decades. And we’ve got…less than three weeks.”
“Are you chickening out?”
