Chapter 24 #2
I spend Saturday preparing the backyard for the party.
The first thing I notice is that some of the flower bushes are overgrown, with branches sticking out into walkways.
And then I see that the walkways themselves are being overtaken by little spiky green plants—weeds, I assume.
I know nothing about plant life. I crouch down and tug out one of the weeds. Look at me! I’m gardening!
I pull out a few more, wishing I had gardening gloves, and then wonder how I’m going to trim the flower bushes.
Back to the hardware store I go.
I return with some promising-looking shears, gloves, and a little pronged tool that was labeled WEED PULLER , so I bought it.
With the shears, I clip at a branch experimentally.
It falls easily to the ground. Okay! I’m doing it!
I make a few more snips, and then a few more, until the bushes look like they’ve had their hair cut by an overenthusiastic barber.
But at least no one will get their eye poked by a rogue branch.
After digging up a few more weeds with the weed puller tool, I’m at a loss. I don’t know enough to identify any other weeds that need removing. What else does one do in a garden? How on earth did Lottie make the garden look so lush and magical? I suppose I could water the plants.
I find the hose, turn it on, and spray all the flower bushes and trees.
There. I gardened.
Next, I drape string lights across the bushes and scatter solar-powered lanterns around the patio, near the pool, and along the pebbled paths.
I get overly ambitious at the party store and purchase a kit to make your own balloon arch.
This ends up taking me two hours. By the time I finish it, I’m both pleased with the festive blue-and-silver arch and also starving.
It’s almost eight P.M. and I haven’t eaten since lunch.
Feeling like I’ve earned a nice drink, I head over to the mermaid bar.
It’s buzzing now, much busier than it was the last time I came. There are a few open seats at the bar, so I take one and grab a menu. Amanda is mixing a drink down at the other end. She sees me and waves, then sidles over after she hands the customer her drink.
“Hey!” she says, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Hi! Looks like you’re staying busy here.”
“Guess so.” She looks around the place, buzzing with chatter and the clink of cutlery. “Saturday-night rush, I guess. I don’t know if it’ll be a normal thing, but I’m liking it.”
“It will totally be a normal thing! This is the perfect place to hang out!” I sound a little too enthusiastic to my ears, but I’m excited to have a new friend. It hasn’t happened in way too long.
“Thanks.” Amanda smiles in what I’m pretty sure is a genuine, grateful way. “What can I get for you?”
“I’m starving.” I glance down at the menu. “What do you like? I mean, I’m sure it’s all delicious.”
“The burger,” she says decisively.
I read the description: a quarter-pound burger topped with Gruyère cheese, red onion, arugula, and a secret sauce.
“That sounds great. I’ll have one of those and an Andrina, please.” I decide on the spot, remembering the delicious purple gin and cava cocktail I had last time.
“You got it.”
Amanda bustles off to put in my order, and I pop in my earbuds, figuring she’ll go on to chat with other customers. But a few minutes later when she drops off my burger, she strikes up a conversation again. I am beyond tickled.
“What are you listening to?”
“Oh.” I swallow my bite of burger, removing my earbuds. “Just a podcast. This is freaking delicious, by the way.”
She juts out her chin in a told-you-so kind of way.
“Which podcast?”
“It’s called Elementary . It’s—”
“No kidding? I listen every week!”
“Really?”
“That episode where they analyzed classic movies from the ’90s and why they’re actually unhinged had me crying.”
“Yes!” I grin wildly. I’ve never met a fellow Elementary fan in real life before.
“And the one where Samantha talked about adopting a senior dog? Dang, that was sweet,” Amanda continues.
“So sweet,” I agree. “Actually, I’ve been looking into where to adopt a dog around here.”
“Did you move here? I thought you were just visiting from Seattle, right?”
“I was—I mean, I am. I have to go back to Seattle in a couple weeks. But I want to get my grandpa a dog for his birthday. Is that crazy?”
“I don’t know your grandpa, so I don’t know.
But it sounds cute to me. Although…” Amanda adjusts her headband—chartreuse today—and continues thoughtfully, “I read a post on Instagram once that said you shouldn’t get people pets as surprise presents.
Because they might not be prepared to care for them.
Or they might give them back to the pound? I forget the reason exactly.”
“Hmm.” I ponder this over another huge bite.
This burger is seriously hitting the spot.
“I wouldn’t want to fly in the face of conventional Instagram wisdom.
But I think my grandpa is prepared. He had a dog when he was a kid, and his dad made him get rid of it, and he’s never been able to have another dog since then. ”
Amanda makes a small sound of dismay, and then says, “Mallory, I don’t know how old your grandpa is, but you cannot let this man die without having another dog.”
“Do you have one?” I ask, taking a sip of my delicious fizzy drink.
“I do. That’s probably why I feel so strongly about this.” She whips out her phone and shows me the photo on her wallpaper: It’s a tiny, fluffy white dog with the most adorable black button eyes and nose.
“Shih tzu?” I hazard a guess.
“Bichon.” She pockets her phone. “His name’s Draco.”
I snort. “Okay, so you’re supportive of my plan. Where did you get Draco?”
She seems suddenly embarrassed. “Oh, it was a whole thing.”
“What? Now you have to tell me.”
“Well.” She’s interrupted by a server who comes up to whisper urgently in her ear.
Amanda nods, her face serious and thoughtful.
I see the real businesswoman side of her.
I wonder what it’s like to be in charge of a place like this—to be in charge of anything, actually.
She has authority. She has freedom. She had a vision and brought it completely to life.
I’m suddenly, inexplicably, jealous. My job has never required me to have a vision.
I’m never expected to be creative, never given any freedom—and besides, what would I do with creative freedom at my job, anyway?
Dream up a new format for our spreadsheets?
Amanda is here day and night, consumed by this job—this calling.
It reminds me of how I feel about Maeve—not that I want to be a lawyer, but that it has to feel good, in a way, to have to use all of your brain at work, to solve problems and think on your feet and work closely with other people.
My job is so sterile. Unimportant. Lonely.
“Send them dessert—chocolate cake—and comp it. They’ll get over it,” Amanda tells her server.
“Thanks, boss.” He glides away, skirting around the bar and in between customers.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“For sure. People will complain about anything. Okay, so, where was I?”
“About to tell me where you got Draco.”
“Right. I actually drove up to Georgia and bought him from a breeder. I paid… a lot.”
I wait a beat, and when she doesn’t add more, I say, “That’s not embarrassing.”
“Maybe not, but in the context of adopting dogs from the shelter, it kind of is. I could have adopted a dog from somewhere local, a dog that they found abandoned on the side of the highway or something, but I really wanted a bichon.”
“And I can see why.” I scoot my now empty plate away from me and wipe my hands on my napkin. “He’s precious.”
“Thanks. But back to your grandpa. There’s a Humane Society not too far from here, in Clearwater. You could try there.”
“Perfect! I guess I’m spending my Sunday looking for a dog. His birthday party’s tomorrow night.”
“Do you want help?”
I tilt my head, caught off guard.
“I have the morning off.” She laughs. “I give myself half a day off every week.”
“Um. I mean I’m sure you have other things to do, but that would be amazing.”
“I would love to. It’s not every day you get to help someone find a dog.”
“Okay, great! I can pick you up in the morning? Maybe ten?”
Amanda agrees, and we exchange numbers.
A couple wanders up to the bar, and Amanda says, “I better go make some drinks. You want another?”
“No thanks, I’m driving. Go do your thing!
” I feel warm and fuzzy from the alcohol and the absolutely foreign concept of a new friend.
Riding high on these feelings, I impulsively start typing a message to Daniel.
I re-read it once, quickly, and then hit SEND before I have time to talk myself out of it.
After I pay my bill and head out to the car, Daniel texts me back.
I would love to come to your grandpa’s party. Thanks for thinking of me! See you tomorrow.
A swoop of elation rushes through me, which I am so not going to analyze right now. I drive home, music blaring, the balmy night air whipping through my hair.