Summertime Guests - Wendy Francis Page 0,11
he might have handled the situation better that day, it was a tipping point: he’d been growing weary of teaching entitled, unengaged students. Now the thought of doing it for the rest of his life makes him want to rip his fingernails out. Before he tells Gwen, though, he needs to figure out what’s next. Because he’s pretty sure he wants to call it quits on academia altogether. The teaching, the dissertation. The whole kit and caboodle.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that’s all it is,” Gwen says and leans over to kiss him lightly on the mouth. Her lips, sticky, taste like strawberry daiquiri. “For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to find someone else to have wild sex with this weekend.”
“Ha. Fat chance,” he says and grins. They’ve already dropped their bags off in their room overlooking the harbor. It’s on the tenth floor, and there’s a giant king-size bed that Jason can’t wait to roll around in tonight, and maybe, if he’s lucky, later this afternoon.
“But first,” she says, raising her glass, “I’d like to propose a toast. To the birthday boy!”
“I’ll drink to that.” He clinks her glass, and the Johnnie Walker goes down smooth and smoky.
“And cheers to our first vacation away without having to worry about the dog,” she adds. Jason sets his glass down. He’s not ready to toast the dog’s departure quite yet.
About three months ago, they’d adopted Muddy, a chocolate Lab, whose temperament had turned out to be a cross somewhere between the Terminator and Rocky. Muddy devoured everything: grass, leaves, rocks, pens, Kleenex. A brand-new set of AirPods, reading glasses, the fireplace brick. A cashmere wrap that he’d bought Gwen for Christmas. No matter what bitter-apple spray they coated their belongings with, nothing prevented the dog from chewing it to shreds.
After a few weeks Gwen was on her last nerve. When she walked Muddy, it looked as if she were water-skiing across the grass, the dog yanking her along. They tried everything, going so far as to throw a few hundred bucks at a trainer for a weeklong, so-called in-residence program. But even the trainer seemed baffled, surprised by what he described as the dog’s strong will. He went on to explain that some breeders overbred their dogs with poor results and suspected that such was the case with Muddy, a well-meaning canine who was slightly off in the head, thanks to crappy genetics.
Which only made Jason feel more sorry for it.
“I hate to say it,” Gwen pauses, then smiles as if it doesn’t pain her that much, “but it’s kind of nice not to have to think about the dog. Those were some of the most stressful months of my life.”
Jason’s lips curl into a half smile. “Admit it. You’re not really sorry, though.”
She shrugs and fiddles with her rings. There’s a silver one on her middle finger, two on her thumb, and, on her pinkie, another slim ring with a star and a moon. “Does that make me a horrible person?”
“Probably,” he teases. If it were up to him, he would have kept the dog, but then again, he was fine leaving it outside while it barked for four or five hours, which Gwen said bordered on animal abuse. The fact that he still thinks of Muddy as an it and not a he probably says a lot about how Jason treated the dog in the first place. Still, he’d felt like a jerk giving it away, as if Muddy had failed some kind of IQ test.
“But, hey, not everyone’s a dog lover,” he says now, willing to move on.
“Right.” She snakes the lime wedge off her glass and squeezes the rest of the juice into her glass. “And I’m sure Muddy’s a lot happier with his new family. Those kids really adored him.”
“Yeah, seemed to.” He understands that his job at the moment is to reassure her that they’ve done right by Muddy, that he’ll be fine without them and happy in his new home, a friend of Gwen’s.
“I suppose it means we won’t be good parents, though.” She sets down the vanquished lime beside her glass.
“Wait, what? How do you make that leap?”
Her shoulders rise, as if it’s obvious. “It’s what people say. You know, first you have your dog baby, and then, once you can handle that, you’re ready for real babies.”
His eyes narrow, and he wonders if she really believes this or if she’s trying to bait him, feel him out