Chapter Twelve #2
By the time Minh Ha returns with Pilot tucked against her chest, Khalil has deactivated the ball and Aggie’s resting in the center of the hallway, taking up the least convenient spot for any potential passersby like the queen she is.
I make introductions between my neighbors.
Khalil explains what he does in his lab and how it relates to the ball we’ve been playing with.
Minh Ha lists the classes she’s teaching, which include the Women’s Victorian Literature course for which she’ll be grading papers.
Then she sets Pilot down a few yards from Aggie, and the teacup-size Yorkie-poo struts right up to the mountain of russet fur and licks her nose.
Aggie bunts her tiny face in return as her tail thwaps against the floor in a cheerful rhythm, Pilot spins in giddy circles, and just like that, the two have cemented their friendship.
“Took them a lot less time than it took us,” I say to my neighbors.
“We can all learn a lot from a dog,” Minh Ha says.
Khalil and I nod in agreement as we all watch Pilot continue dancing around Aggie like a tiny black tornado, and as Aggie paws at her or bumps her with her nose, both dogs having the time of their lives, until the elevator dings again, and Regina and Tegan step into the hall.
“Oh my god. Party in the hallway!” Regina enters the space in a burst of colorful clothing and effervescent energy, deftly skirting the dogs, and with Tegan a step behind her.
As improbable as it seems after sixteen months of near silence in this hall, another impromptu round of introductions ensues, after which Tegan plays with the dogs, chasing Pilot in circles around Aggie while cooing endearments.
Regina tells Minh Ha she was an English major in undergrad, and they chat enthusiastically about recent reads and favorite books.
Khalil shows me how to work the ball and sensor.
For the first time since I moved in, I’m witnessing overlapping conversations on the sixth floor of the Maple Lane Apartments.
It’s bizarre. It’s also wonderful, and I don’t think any of it would’ve happened without Aggie.
As I gaze at her with a swell of affection, Regina pulls me aside and takes out her phone.
“I have to show you the shirt samples,” she says.
“You already have something?” I ask. “How do you all get so much done in a day?”
My question is addressed to everyone, and they all shrug and wave it off, Regina especially, though she clarifies that she only has sketches and not fully produced and printed garments.
We scroll the images together, which include a word poem incorporating Bark , Woof , and Yip , dog-related quotes I’d never heard from figures like Einstein and Mark Twain, and my personal favorite, which says, beautifully and simply, Love like an adopted rescue dog .
I tear up when I see it, and soon everyone’s gathered around Regina’s phone, taking a peek and praising the design, which is when the door to apartment 604 opens and Phone Girl steps out, video-chatting on her phone.
Today, her bright ginger hair is in a braided coronet, and she’s wearing an ankle-length jersey pencil skirt I can’t imagine walking in, along with thick-soled combat boots and a bright white cropped faux-fur coat.
She halts mid-sentence when she sees the five of us—plus the two dogs—taking up space we don’t usually inhabit.
For a suspended breath, everyone goes quiet as if, despite our newfound ease with one another, no one is brave enough to cross this final line and be the first to say hello.
This waifish girl with her endless closet and ever-present air of judgment has stymied the lot of us.
I’m about to attempt a wave, at least, when she blinks away her surprise, throws open the door to the stairwell, and says to her phone, “Nothing. Sorry. Just my neighbors being weird.”
And then she’s gone.
After a beat of silence and a round of looks, we all burst into laughter. Then we carry on with the ball, the dogs, the shirts, and the sheer fun of sharing our first collective inside joke.
Eventually, we disperse with a promise to not be strangers anymore.
Strange, maybe, but not strangers. Minh Ha offers to loan Regina books.
Tegan offers to dog-sit Pilot. We all assure Khalil he can stop apologizing about his bike taking up space in the elevator.
I thank everyone for all they’re doing to support Aggie and me, and they heap praise and affection on her before disappearing into their respective apartments.
I’m the last to get settled, using her harness to help her return to our apartment, where I lower her bum onto her step.
We’ll give standing a few more tries. Then she can lie on her bed while I shower and get ready for tonight.
As I tuck her robo-ball and sensor into my nightstand for safekeeping, a familiar voice behind me says, “I love that I don’t have to text you through the door this time.”
I spin around to see Everett standing in my doorway, where I hadn’t yet shut my door.
“You’re home early!” Before the words have passed my lips, I’m already crossing the few measly steps that separate us, flinging my arms around his neck with no care for his rain-streaked coat and the dripping messenger bag that gets squished between us.
“You’ll get soaked,” he warns without returning my embrace.
“I have towels,” I tell him. “ A lot of towels. I’m also considering buying a hair dryer.”
He gives in to the moment, looping his arms around me as he plays with the hair at the nape of my neck where the soft but defiant curly bits never quite make it into my lazy topknots.
“Your hair is perfect,” he says.
“The hair dryer’s not for me. It’s for—” I stop short as something bumps my thigh. Something I’m ninety-nine percent certain isn’t part of Everett’s anatomy.
We loosen our embrace, glancing down to see Aggie trying to wedge herself between us, with her face radiating happiness and her wagging tail setting her whole body in motion.
“I... she... she did it!” I gasp out.
“She got up on her own!” I fully release my embrace so I can drop to my knees and fling my arms around the other sixth-floor resident who fills my heart with joy.
“Aggie! You did it! You got up!” The rest of my words are incomprehensible, even to me, as I blubber exclamations into her neck, flooded with pride.
I think I’m crying. I’m probably crying.
She’s worked so hard. And been through so much.
Never losing hope. When I think of all the times I’ve curled into a sad, lonely ball, buried under my blankets, defeated by a hundred tiny tragedies I desperately wanted to shake off but felt settle on my shoulders instead, I honestly don’t know how she does it, mustering this much strength and determination.
I mean, okay. Everett’s here. I get it. I sped over, too. He’s a spectacular motivating force, simply by existing in our orbit. But Aggie wouldn’t be over here if she hadn’t worked her furry butt off for the last several weeks. It’s not just inspiring. It’s a stadium-sellout triumph.
“Think she can do it again?” Everett asks.
I look Aggie in the eyes as I scratch her neck and nuzzle her nose with mine, laughing when her tongue sweeps the underside, warm, wet, and smelling vaguely meaty.
“Oh yeah,” I say. “This dog? She can do anything .”
In this moment, I truly believe she can.