CHAPTER 9 – CASPIAN
I knock on Earl’s door an hour before his scheduled Zoom date with Maija.
He seems nervous as he ushers me into a floral armchair and disappears into the kitchen.
I look around, taking in the peculiar objects scattered around his living room.
There’s a lava lamp humming on the shelf beside a thriving succulent.
An ashtray in the shape of a head sits on a side table, though I’m sure Earl has never smoked.
Grease posters cover every inch of wall space.
I turn my head slightly and let out a yelp. A taxidermy owl with a polka-do bow is perched on the couch, staring at me with dead but oddly judging eyes.
“Oh, you met Bob,” Earl comments as he sets a tea tray on the coffee table.
“Bob is a dead bird?” I ask, immediately regretting the question when a wounded look flashes across Earl’s face.
He starts pouring tea into delicate porcelain cups with trembling hands.
“Bob is my companion.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” I apologize, taking the cup of tea from him before it’ll slosh over the rim.
“This will be a disaster,” Earl frets, stroking Bob’s wing. “Maija will zoom into my soul and see chaos. She’ll know about the time I ate two cheesecakes in one sitting.”
He sighs theatrically. “In my defense, I was emotionally fragile. Downton Abbey season finale.”
“Well, Zoom can’t access your soul. I don’t think the bandwidth is strong enough.”
“But Maija is,” he whispers darkly. “She’ll find a way.”
It takes us a while to get his old laptop running. Earl clutches Bob like a security blanket, which is alarming, given Bob is likely a chemical hazard.
He informs me that his trackpad is possessed and the Wi-Fi has a degree in psychological warfare.
When the Zoom app opens, he shrieks and catapults Bob across the room.
I catch the owl mid-fall without thinking.
Earl gasps and retrieves Bob immediately. “Zoom is asking me for a name,” he panics . “Why?”
“Just type your name, Earl.”
Soon, Cole’s face appears onscreen. He blinks when he sees Bob, but he doesn’t say anything.
“Cole, you’re in my house,” Earl says, clutching Bob.
“No, Earl,” Cole explains. “I’m in my house. You’re in yours. That’s how Zoom works.”
Earl swivels toward me, forgetting how to blink. “Bob is anxious.”
“What soothes him?” I ask politely, trying to make up for my earlier blunder.
Cole coughs, and I carefully avoid looking at him.
“Nursery rhymes,” Earl says earnestly, “but I’m too shy to perform now.”
He settles Bob carefully into his lap and starts practicing smiles.
“This one says come hither. This one says I’m a ten.”
He smolders at his own reflection.
“And this one says I may own an owl but I’m still sensual.”
That’s when I lose it. I laugh in that helpless way that eventually makes your stomach ache.
Earl freezes mid-smolder. “You don’t think I’m sensual?”
I gasp for breath. “Earl, you’re the hottest baker I know.”
He nods, instantly reassured, and strokes Bob.
“Good. Because I’m ready to show Maija the thirst trap that is my face.”
At seven o’clock sharp, Maija of Finland appears on the screen. She’s a pale, stern woman with a no-nonsense bob that looks like it was cut with a laser.
She studies Earl.
“You look constipated. Try prunes. They help.”
“Th-thank you?” Earl stammers.
Maija glances at me.
“Who is this man with the playboy hair? His eyes are very seductive.”
“Stop seducing Maija,” Earl hisses at me.
“I’m Caspian. Tech and moral support.”
Maija nods approvingly.
“Good. You have a strong jaw. Earl needs that in his life.”
Earl bobs his head fervently.
“Caspian’s jaw is very reassuring.”
They both look at me, seemingly satisfied with my bone structure.
“Show me the house, Earl,” Maija says briskly. “I must know what I am up against.”
“I’m not prepared!” Earl protests.
“Stop fidgeting and give me a house tour,” Maija says with a voice that could freeze fire.
I squeeze Earl’s shoulder, reminding him to breathe. Reluctantly, he hands me Bob, then picks up the laptop.
What follows is the most anxious and brutal house tour in human history.
Maija squints at the curtains.
“Too cheerful. Burn them.”
She points at the rug.
“That is an eyesore. Throw it away. Dust on shelves. Shame.”
“I was going to dust!” Earl squeaks.
“I come in September,” she announces. “I will show you how.”
And with a single decisive click, she is gone.
Earl stares at the blank screen, looking winded.
“She’s coming here,” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say solemnly. “To dust. And feed you prunes.”
He clutches his heart.
“She saw my soul and called it constipated. No one has ever understood me so deeply.”
Earl’s bewildered happiness is touching.
“She really was something.”
“She cares enough to save me from my rug,” Earl says, adjusting his collar. He takes a deep breath.
“That’s how you know it’s real.”