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“It was intimidating at first,” I admit. “But they seem to know what they are doing. They have a routine.”
She nods, dazed, then puts her mug down. “Yeah,” she says. “They do. I …” Her voice trails off, then she rubs her temple. She glances toward the second room, where Pip is still hiding. “Okay,” she says quietly.
Okay.
I grip the word like a token.
I can tell Eloise about Ricardo later.
For now, I’m officially her plus-one. And I have some dogs to walk.
“And how exactly does this prepare me for the wedding?” Eloise asks, standing outside the door to 9F with the jar of teabags clutched in one hand.
It’s been a few days since her illness, and she’s recovered nicely. Her alabaster skin has a healthy pink flush and her chestnut curls coil in thick tendrils around her face. As May has seeped into June, the days have gotten hotter. Today, I met her in the park with the Pack—I taught her a couple of words and phrases in Spanish, and Pip has been slightly less aggressive with her. At least, he lets her put his leash and harness on now. He was very happy to see me, something I can tell Eloise is half-delighted, half-irritated by.
We dropped the Pack off at her apartment and now, her training begins.
“You need to learn how to introduce yourself to people,” I say. “Isn’t that what your therapist has been telling you? To get out of your comfort zone? Practice talking to someone new?”
She explained to me a bit about her diagnosis, after we’d finalized our agreement. I did my own research on generalized anxiety disorder. I wanted to be as prepared as possible.
She narrows her eyes. “I’m starting to regret telling you all that.”
“You needed to tell me all that. I can’t help you unless I know you.”
She rubs her nose obstinately, making the smattering of golden freckles dance. “Why do I need to practice introductions? Everyone’s going to be speaking Spanish at the wedding anyway.”
I cut her a look. “The people at this wedding are going to speak English.”
She blanches. “All of them?”
I realize she may have been counting on no one understanding her. How odd that she’d find that comforting.
“All of them,” I say. “Even the abuelitas. These are wealthy families from Mexican high society. Everyone speaks English.”
She grimaces. I take a step back.
“Don’t leave me,” she says, panicked.
I hold up my hands. “I’m not going anywhere. Just giving you space.”
“I don’t want space. Can’t I just leave the tea outside the door?”
“You’re stalling.”
She glowers at me. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re very annoying?”
I smile beatifically. “My sister Lupe tells me that every day.” Then I gesture at the door and mime knocking. Her glower deepens.
“I know how to knock on a door.”
“Great.”
We stare at each other. I can see the faint flutter of her pulse beneath her jaw, and a tiny bead of sweat forms on her temple.
“The French Lady wanted to help you, when I asked,” I remind her. “She isn’t going to be angry that you’re returning the tea.”
“That’s not the problem,” Eloise says tightly.
