Chapter Three
Feliz Navi-Nada, No Way
Ivy
I know I m in trouble the second Yesenia starts speaking Spanish.
It s not so much what she says—I have no idea what she says despite a fourteen-day Duolingo streak last summer—it s more the panicked tone of her voice. The frantic look in her eyes. The goldendoodle racing around her tiny apartment with a bad case of the zoomies.
Yesenia, no.
Ivy, please. She launches back into more desperate-sounding Spanish as Hamish—I m guessing that s the dog s name unless the word Hamish means something in Spanish?—speeds past in a blur, kicking up tiny carpet fragments in his wake.
It ll only be through the holidays, she says, thankfully reverting back to English. Soon as I get back from visiting my family in California, I m settling into a new place that allows dogs. Please, please, please. My landlord said Hamish has to be gone by tomorrow.
The crash of a chair hitting the ground sounds in the kitchen. He s so sweet. Hamish streaks past with a green oven mitt in his mouth. He s already potty-trained. He lunges over the couch in the living room. He s just a little high-energy.
So are lightning bolts. How did you get him?
An older lady at my church sort of acquired him from her grandson. He lived with her for a few months, then moved out. Left the dog behind. She can t handle Hamish on her own, so I told her I d take him.
I hear Hamish s nails slide across the linoleum of the kitchen floor right before another chair topples over. You sure that s a good idea?
He s really a great dog once he burns off his energy. You ll see.
Right now all I see is a dog with an entire roll of paper towels in his mouth that I m fairly certain he grabbed off the kitchen counter.
Yessy, my plans for Christmas fell through.
I m not going to my friend s place in Tennessee anymore.
I was actually hoping you d let me stay here until after New Year s.
What? No. That won t work. Isn t there anywhere else you go? Somewhere you can take Hamish? What about staying with your family?
Ha. Yesenia could be the next Nate Bargatze telling jokes like that.
Ugh. How is this my life right now? I just want to sleep. What if—
Before I can finish the sentence, my phone pings with a text message from Lucy. Not that Yesenia would have heard me finish the sentence considering she s currently chasing Hamish in circles around her living room, yelling, Drop it, Hamish. Drop it!
Do you still have that letter from Beau s mom? The one you sent me a picture of back in September? Had her address and phone number on it?
Yes , I text back. When I told Lucy about Beau back in September, I sent her a picture of the letter from his mom to help prove how sweet his family was.
Great! Get some rest, then head to Nolly Grove as soon as you can!
Is she serious? I mumble, reading her text while Yesenia and Hamish play tug-of-war with the paper towels. Are you serious? I text Lucy.
Absolutely! I won t take no for an answer. (And neither will Beau s mom!)
Lucy had already talked to Beau s mom about this? She must have. No way Lucy would invite me to spend Christmas with her at Beau s parents house without making sure it was okay first. And it sounds like it s okay, except... What about Hamish? He ll have to come too.
I may have found a place to go for the holidays, I say to Yesenia. Except I m not sure how they ll feel about me bringing Hamish.
Call and ask, Yesenia says, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her face. I m sure they ll be fine with it. At least try. You have to find somewhere to take him. Please, Ivy. I m desperate.
So am I. Desperate for sleep. Fine, I say since that seems to be the only way I m going to get any sleep. I ll text Beau. No promises he ll say yes though.
I search for his contact info in my phone. Lucy must ve given him my number, because a month or so back he started sending me pictures of his forearms along with silly captions like How much does this make your little nurse heart drool?
Wait. What am I thinking? I can t text Beau.
Because of course he likes dogs. He s practically part golden retriever himself.
He ll say yes without a care whatsoever.
If anything, I m calling his mom. If she gives off the slightest vibe that me coming with a dog to their family Christmas is as weird and awkward as I feel like it is, then I ll come up with a different plan. Somehow.
Little paper shreds cover the living room carpet like snow as Yesenia tugs what s left of the paper towels out of Hamish s mouth. Good drop it, Hamish. You re such a good boy. Ready to go potty? Let s go potty.
While Yessy clips a leash to his collar and they both clamber down the steps in the hallway like they re on roller skates, I punch the contact button on my phone for Beau s Mom.
Maybe I should have waited until after I slept before I called because when it goes to her voicemail, I almost forget what I m calling her about.
Um... Mrs. Beau s Mom? I ve completely blanked on her name. Doesn t help that she s listed in my contacts as Beau s Mom . It s me. Hi. Ivy. That s me. Me s Ivy.
I don t do well leaving a succinct voicemail on a good day. What made me think I could do this after thirteen weeks of bad nights with little sleep?
I just wanted to make sure you were aware I was coming. To you. For Christmas. Because of the engagement. You know about the engagement, right? Of course you do. You d have to. Why else would I be coming? Unless you didn t know I was coming. Is it okay that I m coming? That s all I wanted to ask.
Why do I feel like there was something else I wanted to ask?
The dog, I nearly shout in the phone. Sorry.
The dog. I also wanted to ask about that.
Can I bring a dog? He s a lot. You can say no.
His name is Hamish. Not that his name matters.
I don t know why I told you his name. Feel free to say no.
Just text me because I may be asleep for a while.
And because I hate talking on the phone.
See you soon. Or not. Either is okay. I ll completely understand. Bye-bye, Beau s Mom.
Bye-bye, Beau s Mom? How do you delete a voicemail? Poor Beau s Mom. Maybe I should send her a text and warn her not to listen to whatever I just said, because I don t even know what I just said.
I trudge into Yessy s guest bedroom and crawl under the covers.
Shoot. I forgot to take off my shoes. And I should probably use the bathroom first. By the time I get situated back beneath the covers a few minutes later, my phone pings with a text message from Beau s Mom.
Yes! Of course! Beau just told me you were coming and I couldn t be more excited! Bring a dog! Bring a donkey! Bring whatever you want! Can t wait to see you again! This is already the best Christmas!
Well. Guess that answers that. Looks like Hamish and I are headed to Iowa. But first things first, sleep. Blessed, wonderful sleep. I silence my phone and sink into oblivion.