Chapter 15
Spencer
“ F or the love of all that is holy, Spike! Shush!”
Monday morning, I sink deeper into my living room couch, praying for a swift, painless death to take me.
That’s how drained I am. I’d rather suffocate, face buried in this stiff couch, than go to work this morning.
Partially because I don’t want to see Nathan’s stupid face.
We haven’t spoken since Friday night at the restaurant.
But more concerning, I don’t think I’m coherent enough to pretend to do my job today.
I have lost two nights of sleep in a row now due to a plump, lovesick guinea pig who has endless endurance for squealing at all hours of the day and night.
Spike continues to cry as I chug hot coffee, not even feeling the heat in my throat. I’m so tired, the nerves that are supposed to warn me when my flesh is on fire have officially shut off.
Unable to take another second of his screeching, I peel myself off the couch and force my legs to move.
After grabbing a baby carrot from the fridge, I shove it through the wire of his cage.
“Here, you little chubster.” I’m a few more glugs into my coffee before I drop to my knees so I’m eye level with his cage that’s resting on the coffee table.
“I was not body-shaming you, by the way. You’re supposed to be round and chubby, and it looks great on you.
But if chubby is a trigger for you, I can say fluffy moving forward. ”
“Oh my gosh, did you just apologize for body-shaming a guinea pig? You’ve officially gone cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs,” Charlie sasses, entering the living room.
She maneuvers around the edge of the couch and drops to her knees next to me.
She stares at Spike like a proud mama. Except I’m the one feeding him, cleaning his cage, and getting him fresh water.
I’m also apparently the only one affected by his incessant whining.
Charlie has slept like a baby all weekend.
Examining my little sister’s face, I see way too much glitter.
There’s a light brush of blue on her eyelids.
She also smells like sickeningly sweet peaches.
I’m too tired to have this argument with her right now.
Once I get a good night’s sleep, she and I can go a few rounds about my minimal-makeup rule.
“Did you give him another carrot?” Charlie asks accusingly.
“Obviously,” I snap. “He’s not screaming at the top of his lungs, which must mean he’s eating.”
“He’s not supposed to have more than one or two pieces of carrot a week, Spencer. They’re too high in sugar. It’s going to hurt his belly.”
“I’m going to hurt his belly,” I mumble under my breath. I just threatened a three-pound piggie-rodent. Sleep deprivation has me unhinged.
Ignoring me, Charlie opens his cage door and scoops him up into her arms. She sweetly nuzzles him and he’s instantly calm. Whenever I pick up Spike, he goes straight Wolverine, trying to escape. I have the scratch marks up my forearm to prove it.
“Did you decide if you’re renaming him? I’m a big fan of Snickers.
” I’m not only referring to the candy bar.
Spike is a Ridgeback Abyssinian guinea pig.
Charlie made me sit through an informational special on guinea pigs.
Guess how many different types there are?
Way too freaking many. The piggies are usually classified by their hair patterns.
Ridgebacks make it look like he has a little mohawk, which is I think why they named him Spike.
It’s not a terrible name, but his mohawk is understated these days, and his coat is a blend of rich, dark chocolate, warm caramel, and stripes of vanilla cake. He should be named after a dessert.
“We’re not renaming him.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s two. He already knows his name, don’t you, my sweet boy?”
Oh good Lord, Charlie. If you love him that much, change his bedding every now and then, hm? “Guinea pigs don’t know their names,” I tell her.
Charlie cradles Spike in one arm, then whips out her phone from her back pocket. She waves it in my face menacingly. “Wanna bet? I’ll ask Siri right now.”
It’s hard for me to believe that a little creature who seems to prefer his food bowl be half pellets, half droppings could really recognize his name, but whatever. “Spike it is, then. Go get your backpack. We’re going to be late for school if we don’t leave soon.”
“I’m not going to school today.”
“Uh, yes, you most certainly are.”
“No, I’m not.”
Dear Mother Theresa, Gandhi, and Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music , please give me the strength not to punt an eleven-year-old across my apartment. Massaging my temples, I ask, “Why do you think you’re not going to school today? Which you are, by the way.”
“Spike will be lonely. It’s his first week away from Babe. He needs support.”
Babe… The randy little minx that got us into this mess. Apparently these two can’t keep their furry paws off each other. If they aren’t in the same cage, they roll over, play dead, and screech for their lives—some real Romeo and Juliet bullshit.
When they are in the same cage, they’re quiet, but they reproduce.
A lot. Not only that, but the babies are incestuous, so poor sweet Grandma Ruby was basically living in a guinea pig sanctuary for far too long.
She eventually got rid of the babies, but after the vet told her there was a good chance Babe and Spike would die if they got spayed and neutered, the only choice was to put them in separate households.
And that is the story of how this squeaky, little, Snicker-colored asshole became the third member of our family.
“Charlie, he’s going to be fine.” Or more accurately, we won’t be here to hear his squealing.
Her eyes growing wide, she shakes her head slowly. “No way, Spence. I am not leaving him when he needs me most.”
“How about we return him to Ruby and Claire? Voilá. Problem solved.”
“You can’t,” she hisses. “Spike was my good behavior present and you can’t take him back. Jesse has texted me twice since you said he couldn’t, and I haven’t responded at all. I earned Spike.”
Welp, it seems as good a day as any to murder my ex-fiancé.
He’s lucky I’m busy this morning dealing with a condescending punk of a boss who I’m sure is waiting to punish me with more silent treatment or another impossible task.
I still stand by what I said to him in Tansy’s kitchen.
It was the raw truth. If I get fired for holding up the mirror, so be it.
“Charlie, the bottom line is you have to go to school because I have to go to work. Put Spike back in his cage.”
I was expecting more lip, not for Charlie to burst out in spontaneous tears.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I ask in disbelief.
“He’s hurting because he misses Babe. Try to have some compassion.”
Compassion? She’s starting to use her English class’s weekly vocabulary list against me. Last week she told me a boy at school told her he liked her but she found him to be a fatuous jock. I had to go look the word up.
“How did you feel when we left Jesse?” Charlie asks.
Relieved, free, elated, like I could finally think clearly. Charlie’s still adapting to the idea of life without Jesse, so I curtail my honest reply. “Sad, at first.”
“Right. So Spike is sad, and he shouldn’t be left all day at home by himself.”
I squeeze my lids shut so hard, my eyes water. “Level with me because we’re running out of time. Any chance you’re going to drop this? Or are you going to dig in your heels?”
“Consider my heels dug.”
Ugh! The way I’d like to mentally unsubscribe from my morning right now…
“Get me his travel carrier and his little diaper. I’ll take him to work with me today.”
My actual game plan is to bring Spike on a quick field trip in dropping Charlie off at school. If we leave right now, I’ll still have enough time to return home, pop the piggie back in his cage, then head to work. I’ll scoop him up before picking up Charlie. Problem solved.
It’s not lost on me that lately, the solution to my problems has been desperate, blatant lies. Gotta say, I’m not sure if I’m loving the new me in Las Vegas.
While Charlie looks on the cusp of accepting my plan, she still hesitates, squinting one eye. “You’re going to pet him, hug him, and give him lots of positive attention between meetings, right?”
“I’m going to keep him alive, Charlie. Don’t ask me for more than that. Now, skedaddle. Go get his carrier and your backpack.”
“Fine,” she grumbles as she puts Spike in my arms, then darts down the hall.
Still calm from the prior embrace of his preferred mama, Spike snuggles against my chest. I stroke from his little nose over the slant of his forehead.
“Are you that sad, buddy?” He responds to my voice, lifting his head so I can see his adorable pouty bottom lip.
“If you could just keep it in your furry pants, you could live with your girlfriend. You did this to yourself, you little horndog.”
Mweeep. Mweeep. Based on the look he’s giving me, I’m pretty sure his squeaks are guinea pig for “screw you.”
I pet him from head to rump anyway and he melts under the attention. His little butt is wiggling with glee. I use my arms like an elevator, raising Spike up so I can kiss the top of his head. “But thank you for making my sister so happy.”
There was an unexpected plot twist.
Due to heavy construction on Baker Street that I was most definitely not expecting, there was no time to drop Spike off at home.
Chelsea didn’t say a damn thing when I greeted her at the front desk with a pet carrier in hand.
As soon as I got to my desk, I stowed Spike away underneath my desk.
He’s out of anyone’s sight line, and I can nudge his carrier with my toe if he gets too vocal.
Luckily he’s been mostly silent all morning, probably distracted from all the new sights and smells.