16. Marley
SIXTEEN
MARLEY
The sound of desperate scratching suddenly erupts from the kitchen, and I have a split second to brace myself before the pack bursts into the living room. The sense of déjà vu I experience is intense, especially when a sharp whistle cuts through my thoughts and the dogs all sit, randomly spaced between the entrance and where I am.
Bennett comes back into the room and walks straight up to me. “Give me your hands.” Without thinking, I put both hands into his and let him help me stand. Once I’m up he supports me like he did upstairs and guides me across to the couch. “Sit,” he practically commands.
“I’m not a dog, Bennett,” I say dryly.
He looks at me in horror and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said it like that. I clearly need to spend more time around people.”
I pat his arm as I lower myself to the couch. “It is the first time since I met you that you’ve demonstrated evidence of a lack of human companionship, so I’ll let it slide this time.”
“I appreciate that.” He smiles down at me, almost shyly.
Leaning down, he takes hold of my ankle, props it up on a pillow, and looks over at me. It feels like one of those looks that should be a quick glance but then we get stuck just staring at one another. His hand is still on my leg, the place of contact tingling in a way it has no business doing. His eyes dip back to my lips, and when he sees me swallow he glances back up and smirks, then without breaking eye contact says, “Okay!” My split second of confusion evaporates as I become the centre of the universe for twenty-one dogs. I now understand why he placed me the way he did. The dogs aren’t fully jumping on the couch, but they all seem to be fighting to get their front paws up. My right ankle is protected from the chaos, as long as no one decides to fully commit to being the first one up. I’m afraid that if one makes that decision I’ll be the victim of mob mentality. But before long I’m laughing and wishing I had more hands so I could pet all of the heads that keep popping up.
When the dogs start to tire of me and find other ways to entertain themselves, I look up at Bennett who is sitting in the armchair, legs stretched out and ankles crossed, his head resting on his hand. I have absolutely no problem reading his current expression: cocky serenity.
I know exactly what he just did, but I don’t know how to say that to him. “Thank you” seems inadequate. So I just smile stupidly at him, and thankfully he returns it. Here sit two virtual strangers smiling like fools at one another in the soft light of a fall evening, surrounded by dogs. I allow myself to indulge in his attention in a way that feels gluttonous. Not even a little white dog lapping at my arm can pull my attention away.
“Yesterday morning I could have sworn you were afraid of dogs.”
“No, not afraid, cautious,” I say. “I’m used to, like, one or two dogs at a time. A pack of dogs in my experience is not always a good thing.” He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “When you have a city that’s been bombed into smithereens, people tend to leave everything when they evacuate, including their pets. When once-domesticated animals are left to their own devices in an environment like that… well, let’s just say me in the middle of the woods would look absolutely delicious.”
Understanding dawns on his face, and then it’s replaced by sadness. “I couldn’t imagine being in that kind of situation.”
“Well, the good thing is you likely never will be.” He nods and looks lovingly at his pack. We sit quietly for a bit.
“I’m glad—” I start to say just as he says, “Finding you—” and we both laugh. He gestures for me to continue. I feel like I’ve lost my nerve so I shake my head. “No, you first.”
Bennett does not seem to need to rediscover his courage. “Finding you is the best thing that has happened to me in a while.”
I was going to say I was glad it was him who found me but pivot. “You finding me is the best thing that has happened to me in a while too. So I guess I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Agreed. It would be very awkward if we weren’t.” Pretty soon we’re both laughing again. I’m not even sure why, maybe because this entire situation is ridiculous, or we don’t know how to move forward.
I collect myself to thank him for letting the dogs in. “I thought I’d upset you and you just were done with me.”
“I mean,” Bennett says, leaning forward and rubbing his hands over his face, “I was a bit upset. For you more than anything. Figured the dogs could add some levity.”
“Well, it worked.” I’m petting the head of a dog I’m guessing is a golden retriever, not even minding that he’s leaving a pool of drool on my thigh.
“You can push him away if he’s becoming too much. But that drool just means he likes you. ”
“What’s his name?”
Bennett shakes his head and zips his mouth shut.
“Bennett. What’s the dog’s name? Is it something inappropriate?”
He’s definitely trying not to laugh. “He was given the name before coming here, remember that.”
“O…k?”
“Marley.”
“Yes?”
“No, his name is Marley.”
I look down at the dog, then back up at him and then back at the dog. Then I throw my head back and laugh. I eventually collect myself and look back down at the dog. “Well, I guess it’s nice to meet you, Marley. And may I just say, you have a great name.”
“It is a great name. You don’t meet many people with it these days, though. Goldens, on the other hand,” he says, eyes widening, “all the time.”
“Oh,” I exclaim, the reasoning dawning on me. “Because of that movie with a dog that dies?”
“‘Because of that movie with a dog that dies.’ Christ, that’s dark.” Bennett shakes his head in disbelief at me. “You really are a bit messed up, eh?”
“I told you.” I smile at him then direct my attention back to Marley. “Thank you,” I say quietly before looking back up. “For, well, everything.”
“Thanks for making me feel useful.” He says it like he’s kidding, but his face makes me think he believes that before me he didn’t feel useful.
I look around at the dogs before turning to glare at him. “Bennett… What’s your full name?”
“Bennett John…” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “…Edmund Morgan. ”
“Wow,” I breathe out. “Your mother really stayed on theme, eh?” He gives me a tired look.
“Why did you want to know?”
“Oh, I was going to full-name you but the moment passed,” I say. “Actually, no, Bennett John Edmund Morgan, don’t you for one minute tell me you don’t think you weren’t useful before me. Look around you.” He does. “Where would Marley, Yogurt, or any of the others be without you? On the street? Underground? Ash?” I so badly want to stand up and kneel at his feet, take his face in my hands, and look him in the eye before I say another word. “I’d give anything to feel the kind of usefulness you should feel every single day.” He shrugs and turns his attention to a massive dog with bowed back legs. As if the dog is trying to help me prove a point, it pushes its head into Bennett’s chest and just stays like that. “See?” I point at him. “Useful.”
Over the course of the next hour, we make small talk while the dogs wrestle or cuddle with us. I discover that his passion is in fact a real job with a real registered charity number, and he learns that my middle name is Loretta after the actress who was a main character on my dad’s favorite show. So we have that in common, I guess. Both named after pop culture icons, although his is far more blatant than mine.
He’s playing a lazy game of tug-of-war with one of the dogs when his phone lights up beside me, drawing my attention to a notification that says “Meds.”
“Um, Bennett?” He looks up at me, and I point at the phone.
He looks up at the clock in the corner of the room and stands. “I’ll be right back.”
Having to take meds at a certain time is normal. Time keeps us consistent, that’s it. Meds could literally mean a multivitamin. I try not to think too much about it. But of course, I’m a doomsayer so my mind goes to all the dark places as I hear the tap turn on and off. What if he’s a psychopath, and those meds are keeping him from murdering me and a house full of dogs? Unlikely. What if he’s dying? He seems pretty healthy. A dying man would have a hard time carrying my sad ass around everywhere. He could be diabetic, and meds refers to an injection. That’s not so bad—Izzy is diabetic, and she’s rocking the socks off of life. It could literally be a magnesium tablet or some other supplement that’s just easier to write down as a med. I pull out of the doom spiral just as Bennett comes back.
“I’m going to let the dogs out one more time, then I’ll take you to bed.” He looks stricken the moment the words are out of his mouth. “As in, I’ll carry you up to your room so you can go to sleep.”
My immediate thought is to casually suggest he should stick with the first idea, but the mature part of my brain overrides it. “Sounds like a plan.” I give the other Marley one more scratch before he chases after the rest of the pack. Yogurt stays curled up on the armchair I’d been occupying, ignoring the call to go out.
When I hear the door close, I close my eyes, letting my mind wander to dark dilapidated places. To buildings once called hotels, reduced to shells but still acting as accommodations. Rough fingers on my skin and the smell of whiskey in the air. All of my sexual encounters in recent memory were hushed and rushed, both parties just looking to scratch an itch or pass the time. If I had a passport for partners, it would have stamps and visas from all over the world. I can’t help but wonder what Bennett taking me to bed would be like. I wonder if the little sparks that run through my body do that because it's been a while or if it’s because I want him. Probably a bit of column A and B.
When I open my eyes to the sound of the stairs creaking, either Bennett is carrying me or I’ve learned how to levitate. My arms are around his neck, and I’ve got my face buried in his chest. No man who spends as much time around dogs should smell this good. Earlier I thought he just smelled clean, when in reality he smells like a fall forest. It’s like he spends so much time in there that his skin has absorbed the scent.
When he reaches the top of the stairs, I tighten my hold and press my face in just a little harder. I’m not ready for him to put me down and walk away. I don’t even need more than this. I’ve been held more in the past forty-eight hours than forty-eight months, and until this moment I didn’t know what I’d been missing.
Bennett passes through my bedroom door and approaches the bed. I wait for him to bend and set me down, but he just stands there, holding me. At the point I expect his arms to loosen they tighten. I can’t be sure what’s happening in his head right now, but I have a feeling it’s similar to what’s going on in mine. So I say the thing I have a hard time following through on myself: “Stay.”
It’s one thing to watch someone fight an inner battle, but it’s a whole new experience feeling it. His muscles contract and then relax over and over again, and his breathing bounces all over the place. Just when I think I’ve made him uncomfortable, I feel him nod.
He pulls back the blankets before finally putting me down. I then watch as he rounds the bed and climbs in on the other side. On his back, he reaches his right arm out, and I roll into him, my head resting on his chest and my arm wrapping around. Eventually, I feel his hand begin tracing patterns on my shoulder. I’m just thinking about how this may be the most intimate moment of my life when his lips make contact with the top of my head. He lingers there, breathing me in before slowly rolling and wrapping both arms tightly around me .
“Is this okay?” he asks, his breath teasing the top of my ear, causing a shiver to inadvertently spread through my body. When I nod and hum a sound of approval, he squeezes me tighter, and one of his legs slots in between mine.
Getting physical with someone I barely know has never been an issue for me before. And it’s not until this moment that I realize physical relations are very different from intimate ones. I know I want more; everything in me is screaming for more. But I’m also incredibly content with doing just this. It’s the first experience in a long time that ignites something positive inside me. The wildest thing about this moment is that I’m allowing myself to feel it, and that fucking terrifies me. Bombs? Shrug. Being held by someone I may be developing feelings for? Run, Marley, run.