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He inclines his head, still not meeting my eyes. Then he straightens up, his expression relaxing. “What are you going to name him?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking of possibilities, but nothing has hit me yet. You got any ideas?”
“Chaos? Disaster? Apocalypse?”
I giggle, giving him a playful little push. “I’m not going to give him a mean name. He needs a respectable name.”
“Herman? Archibald? Winston?” His tone is bone dry and tickles me even more.
“Not that respectable. I was thinking more like William or Michael.”
He chuckles. “That dog is neither a William nor a Michael. He’s maybe a Fred.”
“Fred?” My eyes widen. I turn to study the sleeping dog beside me. “I kind of like it.”
“I was teasing.”
“I know you were, but I still like it. I think he’s a Fred.”
“Only you would name your dog Fred.” His voice is so amused and fond that the words feel like a compliment.
“To be perfectly accurate, you’re the one who named him. So he’s Fred. Fred Kingston-Worthing.” I’m smiling as I play with one of the dog’s ears. Then I realize I might have been too presumptuous. “He doesn’t have to take your name too if you don’t want. He can just be Fred Kingston.”
Arthur is staring at the darkened TV screen again. “No, he can have my name.”
“Okay then.”
We sit in slightly awkward silence. I have no idea what he’s thinking, and it’s driving me crazy that I can’t read his mind. Finally I say, “You want to watch something?” I nod toward the television.
He appears relieved at the distraction. “Sure. We can find a movie.”
“Sounds good to me. Whatever you want. I’m good with anything.”
He pulls up a streaming service and lands on a classic movie from the forties. I love old movies, so I happily agree.
Then I wonder if he already knew my movie preferences and chose one accordingly.
I don’t ask. I pull the blanket up to get cozy and settle in to watch.
After about an hour, Stella comes in with a tray of fish tacos and salad for our dinner. Also a bottle of chardonnay. She’s smiling covertly—like she has a secret—as she fills two glasses and arranges the plates for us. I notice her expression and wonder why she’s in such a good mood.
Everything is delicious, and I even accept a second glass of wine although I haven’t been drinking much these past two weeks because of the head injury. Fred wakes up to beg for fish tacos but then immediately goes back to sleep. When we finish the movie, we take Fred out to do his business but then return to the couch. Arthur queues up another movie without asking. It makes me happy because it means the evening isn’t over yet.
The combination of the wine and food and comfortable surroundings get to me eventually. First my eyes start drifting shut. Then my head leans back and my body slides to the side so that I’m leaning against Arthur.
He adjusts in a way that feels a lot more comfortable. I’m too out of it to figure out how he moved or why I like it so much, but I feel warmer, safer. I snuggle in until details of my surroundings blur into contented darkness.
