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Did I just mess up here? Have I let my best friend down in immeasurable ways? I don’t know if I can stand the thought of being a disappointment to Benji—denying him something he both wants and deserves. He’s always had my back, even when I’m being nuts, and at the first sign of insanity from him, I’m just going to turn on him?
No. No, I can’t do that. I have to let him have a chance at love!
Frantic now, I turn him back around and pick up my pace to a jog in the direction of the border collie and her owner. I’m weaving us through foot traffic like we’re the stars of Fast and Furious 19: Barkio Drift.
Benji picks up what I’m putting down, and his ears perk forward in excitement.
“Mama’s on board, Benj, let’s find this broad.”
Scouring the feet of the people ahead of us, I look for the prancy paws of the pretty princess with avid attention. There are several dogs—even a few canine ladies—but the scent of the one that got away is fading fast.
Come on, come on.
A man in a windbreaker doing an overpronounced jog.
Two toddlers fighting in the arms of an overwhelmed father.
Two women with their matching Chihuahuas in overcoats.
A messenger on a bike with fingerless gloves riding past a couple canoodling on a bench.
There’s a bevy of activity in this part of the park, and yet none of the activity I was hoping desperately to see.
When we reach the beginning of the Mall, she’s nowhere in sight, and I’m officially the worst doggo mom ever.
“Oh, gah, Benji, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He looks back in distress, then toward the crowd of receding people again, and then back to me, before rubbing up against my legs in forgiveness.
The world doesn’t deserve dogs, I’m sure of it. As for me? I deserve this beautiful, good boy even less.
I crouch down and grab his face at the sides. “Somehow, someway, I’m going to make this up to you, buddy. I promise. I don’t know how, but I’m going to figure it out, just like you’d figure it out for me.”
Benji pushes me until I gently fall to my butt and then climbs into my lap for a round of body-traversing comfort scratches.
I make sure to hit his back and his legs and his belly and his chest with the best part of my nails the way he likes it, nearly devolving into tears as I do.
The mental anguish of my breakdown is so distracting that when my phone rings in my pocket while we’re sitting there, I pull it out and put it to my ear without even looking at the screen, caller ID be damned. All I can say is that if this ends up being someone calling about my nonexistent car’s extended warranty, they’re going to pay witness to the kind of psychotic tailspin that eludes description.
“Hello?”
“Brooke. Wilson here.”
Wilson Phillips, my agent. Dear God, this might be even worse timing than the car warranty call.
“Not really a good time, Will. Kind of in the middle of tending to a dog’s broken heart. Can I call you back?”
“What?”
“A canine catastrophe, Will!”
“Listen, I don’t know what kind of joke you’re trying to tell right now, but it’s falling flat. If you’re testing it for a book, scrap it.”
I groan into the receiver. “I’m not making a joke! I’m in the middle of mending Benji’s broken heart.”
“Still not getting the joke.”
“It’s not a joke!” I exclaim, both of my hands leaving Benji’s fur and pushing out in front of me theatrically. Not even a second later, my doggo nudges my leg with his snout to let me know the belly scratches are not over.
“Oh. Ha.” Wilson lets out a little chuckle. “Okay, avid denial of the joke is kind of funny, I guess. I get what you’re going for anyway.”
I grind my teeth and start scratching Benji’s fur again. “I’m not going for anything other than getting off the phone with you.”
“Well, then you’d better work on your excuses, Brooke. This one is kind of lame.”
I sigh heavily, and when I look down, Benji rolls his eyes and sits between my legs. Just get this over with, he says. I have to admit, with the way the conversation has gone so far, he’s probably right.
“All right, Will, is there a reason you’re calling?”
“You bet your ass, B. Netflix is approaching the premiere date for The Shadow Brothers, as you know, and they still think it’d be a good idea if you did a small tour.”
“We already talked about this. I can’t get on a plane. It’d be a disaster.”
“No, I know. I got that from the last conversation. But they’ve agreed to the motor home tour, so it’s all set. You leave from New York on Wednesday.”
