“That’s Brad,” I said, pointing to the dog. He immediately stopped running and sat, like he was showing us just how well he knew his name.
“That’s Brad?” Stevie said, then frowned. “I guess now that does make a little more sense—that he would cry when we left.”
“You might want to tell Mallory that she should use a few more specifics when talking about her dog.”
“Seriously,” Stevie said. “Also, Brad? For a dog’s name?”
“And this dog really doesn’t look like a Brad.” Maybe unable to contain himself after hearing his name so many times, Brad jumped up and ran over to Stevie, who cautiously put her hand down.
“Nice doggie,” she said, giving Brad a very unconvincing head pat. “Good… boy.” She straightened up and brushed her hands off. “We should probably get going.”
I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was only a little after five, so I had a feeling this was more about getting away from the dog and less about our timeline. But we still wanted to go to the Drama Book Shop and get something to eat—and getting to the Echo Theater early might be a good idea. There hadn’t been online ticketing for the show, and what if it sold out?
“Good call,” I said. I bent down and smooshed Brad’s fluff down, giving him a back and neck scratch—it was honestly hard to tell where any of his body actually was, as the floof was all-encompassing. “And you’re a good boy, aren’t you? Hmm?” I must have hit a good spot under his collar, because his back leg started thumping. “Yes, you are!”
“All right,” Stevie said, looking down at her phone. “So, weirdly, because of traffic, to get to the bookstore, it’s like a twenty-minute car ride, a twenty-minute subway ride, or twenty minutes on foot.”
“So maybe we should just walk?”
“I think we should walk.”
Brad suddenly bolted, running full speed back into the bedroom where he’d come from. “Okay, bye,” I called, trying not to be hurt. Clearly, what Mallory had said about him crying when we left was not true.
“Ready?”
“Yep,” I said. Stevie opened the door, just as Brad returned, but now carrying a leash in his mouth that dragged on the floor behind him. “What’s—” I started, but didn’t get to finish, because the dog kept going, running straight out the open door.
“Oh my god,” Stevie said, and then we both ran after him.
“Brad,” I called, and I looked down the stairs to see, in a panic, that he was already two floors down, on a step looking up at me. “Stay, okay, buddy? Just—stay.”
“Do you think it’s because we said ‘walk’?” Stevie asked. The second she said this, Brad leaped up and started running down the stairs again, the leash thumping down the steps behind him. “Sorry!” she yelled as we both chased after him.
“C’mere, pup,” I said, and Brad stopped on the third-floor landing and looked at me, his whole back half waggling from side to side, the long blue leash clenched in his teeth. “Here, bud,” I said, making my voice sound as excited as possible as I edged toward him, just trying not to make any sudden movements that would get him to take off again. The last thing I wanted was for the front door to somehow be open and for this tiny dog to go running out into the streets of Manhattan. The thought of it was actually making me feel sick. “That’s right,” I said, moving closer to the dog, and closer still. “We’ll just be… very gentle… and…” I reached out and grabbed his collar, then let out a long breath, now that I had the dog again.
“You’ve got him?” Stevie said from a few stairs above me, sounding as panicked as I’d felt.
“Yes,” I said. I still held him tightly as I reached out and took the leash from him and snapped it onto the ring of his collar. I felt better, just having this dog on a leash, feeling like he wasn’t out of my control. “Thank god.”
We turned around and started to walk up the stairs, Stevie ahead of me, Brad trotting along, not seeming to care that he was going back to his apartment, now that he was on his leash. Maybe he didn’t mind where he walked—just that he was walking. “Seriously,” I said, shaking my head as we reached the fifth floor. “That was almost a total disaster.”