Chapter Ten #3
As the man I assume is Arthur—and the Harrison half of Havisham & Harrison—strokes Aggie’s head, looking down at her fondly, Everett suggests making a TikTok of her grand day out, exploring our neighborhood and making new friends.
I almost laugh. The Goode Girls account has been live for less than forty-eight hours.
Everett’s known about it for half that time, and his content-creation mind is already at work.
But also, his idea is cute and I tell him so, while authorizing him to be our official videographer for the day.
Diana and the man she confirms is Arthur are happy to participate, so Everett gets a shot of them with Aggie and me that includes the adorable store window with its teapots of flowers.
Then Arthur heads inside to attend to the growing line of customers, casting one last glance at Aggie from the doorstep while slyly dabbing at the corner of his eye before he steps inside.
“He’s always been a man of few words,” Diana says, making me realize I’m not sure I heard him speak at all. “But he loved those terriers as much as I did. We carry on, as we must, but the grief never fully goes away. Make sure you come back and see us, okay?”
“Of course.” I grip my bag of tea a little tighter as I mentally replay Everett’s words.
Sometimes people do nice things just to do nice things.
It’s such a simple idea, and deep down, I know true kindness doesn’t inherently come with the expectation of a return, but I don’t know how to fully embrace that idea.
I don’t know how to accept generosity at face value, which makes me wonder, maybe the greatest lesson Aggie can teach me isn’t how to be happy.
It’s how to trust.
T HE REST OF the morning follows a similar pattern.
We get free pastries at the German bakery, which is next door to the French bakery.
The two have a historic rivalry even I know about, and this is my first time setting foot in either one.
Johann Schneider, the friendly owner/manager of the German bakery not only tells us to ignore the No pets sign I now know is obligatory, he gives us a bag of the dog treats he bakes, which he sells alongside a mouthwatering array of strudels, cinnamon rolls, cakes, and doughnuts.
He’s also delighted to be filmed for our account, a sentiment he sings rather than says, displaying a booming operatic voice that has my jaw dropping open with awe, until Aggie lets out a sharp bark at an especially impassioned note, and everyone breaks into laughter, even Johann.
After breakfast, we peruse the outdoor offerings at a toy store, where Everett looks for a birthday gift for his nephew, who’s turning two in November.
Aggie gets excited when he slips his hand into a big, shaggy Highland cow puppet and teases her with it.
Next thing I know, it’s coming home with us, thanks to the generosity of the woman running the store, who’s thrilled Aggie’s showing an interest in the toy.
She tells us her sister has retrievers and sent her a link to our account.
She takes a selfie with us, eager to send it to her sister, who lives near Melbourne, Australia, which boggles my mind as I think about how far one video has traveled.
Last but far from least, I grab a bright pink tennis ball from a dollar bin outside a sporting goods store and Everett films me lobbing it gently toward Aggie.
While seated in her wagon, she makes a concerted effort to catch my throws, until she succeeds on the fifth or sixth try, by which point, several spectators have gathered and break into applause, murmuring among themselves as word spreads about Aggie’s history and why her catching a ball is a big deal.
The clerk running the outdoor stall tears up as someone shows her our account, and she gives us several balls to take home, insisting we made her day and there’s no charge.
Thus, by eleven-thirty, as we wheel Aggie home after her walking exercises, the wagon is full of bags and toys, making her look like a dragon hoarding its treasure.
After Everett helps me get her settled on her bed, we perch on the side of my bed and I open TikTok, shaking my head at the growing numbers.
Over two days, one video has garnered more than seven hundred thousand views and the account has almost eleven thousand followers. It’s unreal.
“Want help with number two?” Everett asks.
“I don’t have time before heading to work. We can do it later.”
He takes out his phone with the time in bold on the home screen.
“You have ten minutes, right?” he asks.
“Exactly. I only have ten minutes.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
He’s missed my point entirely—namely, that the first video took me well over an hour to put together—but his cheeks are dimpled with an eager smile and his thumbs are already flying as he scoots closer, scrolling his album from today.
Together, we select a few videos, starting with Arthur and Diana at the tea shop and ending with Aggie catching the bright pink ball as the crowd around her applauds.
Everett deftly compiles the shots, efficiently cutting and splicing to tighten everything.
I dictate a caption about how Aggie’s enjoying her Sunday morning.
He types it in, adds hashtags, tags the businesses that gave us free stuff, adds a trending pop song without belaboring the choice the way I did, and before I know it, we have a second TikTok up.
“You make it look so easy,” I say as he logs out of my account and pockets his phone.
“Only because it’s all for fun.” His pinkie brushes mine as he sets his hand next to mine on top of my boring and not particularly comforting comforter.
The contact is subtle, tender, instinctive, and I silently curse my weekend job for ripping me away from him, and from Aggie.
“It takes me a lot longer if I’m developing a new brand, testing posting strategies, targeting a specific type of viewer, trying to meet a performance goal, or otherwise selling something. ”
I smile at Aggie, who’s pawing at a pink ball. “We’re definitely not selling anything.”
Everett’s pinkie brushes my hand again, more deliberately this time, almost like a nudge.
“You could, though,” he says, “if you wanted to.”
“Why would I want to?”
“I mean...” He gives me a look that suggests I should be able to answer this one on my own, and I suppose I can, but didn’t he just say this was all for fun?
Didn’t I tell him the same thing yesterday when I texted him about the account?
Doesn’t he understand that’s what I want it to be, for me and for Aggie?
I’m happy to mention local businesses, especially when they show her special attention or give us free stuff, but I know Everett’s talking about sponsorship.
Deliberate monetization. Turning fun into commerce. And I’m not interested.
“I appreciate the suggestion,” I tell him. “But even posting that first TikTok was a big step for me, and I’m still pretty overwhelmed by the response. I need some time to adjust, so can we park this conversation for another time? Like, a far, faraway time?”
He draws me into a hug, and after only a moment’s hesitation, I fall against him, exhaling my little burst of stress so I can relish these last precious seconds together before our beautiful Sunday morning ends, while he gives me a reassuring squeeze and says, “Of course.”