Gordon squinted. He pointed his cigar at her, and said, “You’re fired.”
“Nope. Sorry. I just quit. Beat you to it.”
“No, I fired you,” he insisted as she walked out the door.
“Nope! I quit first!” she shouted back at him.
Alvira was in the kitchen when Carly walked past the marble bar and chuckled as Carly walked out.
Carly wanted desperately to tell Alvira she was the rudest person she’d ever met, but she couldn’t, because she was too busy fighting back hot tears of frustration. If you can avoid it, never cry in public, because the world will use it against you, Megan whispered.
How could her life have gone to shit so completely and so quickly? Because Carly’s week did not improve from there. Victor did a vanishing act on her for two days. Naomi texted her and asked if she would be there by the holidays, because they were getting tickets to the new Broadway Christmas show. She was going to be living with her mother by Christmas at the rate things were going. Baxter lost interest in Dog TV and had gone back to his little corner in the kitchen. He didn’t want to eat much. When he did go out in the yard, he wandered aimlessly about, then dragged himself back inside.
He missed Hazel. The poor dog was breaking her heart. Everything was breaking her heart.
Thursday afternoon, Carly finally gave in, made a box of mac and cheese, and spooned half of it on top of Baxter’s super organic, super nutritious dog food. Baxter sighed as if it were a chore. But he ate it.
“I feel you,” Carly said, and with her back to the wall, slid down to sit next to Baxter’s bed in the kitchen. “What I wouldn’t give to plant my face in a bowl of carbs right now.”
When he finished, Baxter lay down beside her and put his head on her leg. She stroked his crown and his ears. Her thoughts wandered to Hazel . . .
Well. To Max, really. She imagined them having a grand old time over there with Dog TV and some strange new food defiantly added to the bowl in spite of the guarantee of an evening of dog flatulence. She thought about Max’s gray eyes, and the curious little smile he had when he looked at her, like he couldn’t quite figure her out. She thought about the yards of denim he’d worn. She wouldn’t mind burying her face in some of that, too. She wouldn’t mind the feel of a man’s strong arm around her about now. Not because she couldn’t take care of herself. But wouldn’t it be nice, on occasion, to just let go and let someone else do all the worrying for her? Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to tell all the ridiculous things that happened in a day?
Carly looked at Baxter. She picked up her phone.
Hey, it’s me, Carly Kennedy. Hope I’m not bothering you, but I need some advice from a scientist.
The text showed delivered. And there it sat. The minutes ticked by. Whole minutes, each one longer than the last, each one piling up so that she was cringing, wishing she could pull that text back. But then three dots popped up.
Hello, Carly Kennedy. The scientist is in.
Carly grinned. Baxter lifted his head and she showed him the screen. “See? He didn’t even bring up the fact that I didn’t believe he was a scientist. I think he might be a really good guy, Bax. Cute, too.” She texted back:
Baxter is depressed again. Any suggestions?
Ah. Dog problems. Did you kick him off the couch?
I did not. He removed himself. My theory is that it didn’t hold the same appeal without Hazel.
The scientist in me is dying to tell you that you are anthropomorphizing Baxter, but you may be on to something. Did you make him go back to organic food like the manual says?
Of course I did. But I may or may not have given him some mac and cheese tonight because he wouldn’t eat.
That should have triggered the reward centers in his brain and released some doggie dopamine. Dog TV?
Had it on all day.
Dog toys?
A veterinarian-approved chew toy. The manual says it’s supposed to help keep his teeth clean.
Hmm . . . this is a tough case. Did you tell him you love him?
Carly looked at Baxter. “I love you, Bax,” she said. And gave him a good belly rub.