Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“But,” I press on, “Aggie’s a really good listener if you want to talk to her. She’s also great at hugs, so, um, I thought maybe, if you wanted some company while you wait...”
Phone Girl blinks at me through seriously impressive lash extensions.
“You think hanging out with a dog is going to solve all my problems?” she asks.
“No, but for me, my problems aren’t as overwhelming when I’m not feeling as alone.
Also, as a major bonus, dogs never say the wrong thing.
They don’t make assumptions about your situation or offer solutions you don’t want or interrupt to talk about themselves or tell you everything will be okay when you absolutely know it won’t be. They just listen. And love you.”
Phone Girl continues blinking at me like she thinks I have a few screws loose.
I don’t know. Maybe I do. But I also know I’m right about this.
“Your dog doesn’t love me,” she says.
“You’d be surprised. She’s pretty indiscriminatory where affection’s concerned.” I realize how insulting this sounds the second I’ve said it, which is why I usually avoid situations like this, but to my immense relief, a soggy laugh bubbles out of Phone Girl’s throat.
“Okay, whatever,” she says. “Why not?”
The tension in my body eases and I guide Aggie toward the edge of the landing, where she sits next to Phone Girl like they’ve known each other forever, giving her face a sniff where tears have streaked her cheeks but cordially refraining from her usual emphatic kisses.
Phone Girl watches her, uncertain, but when Aggie simply waits, with no pressure or expectations, she reaches out, wraps Aggie in her arms, and bursts into another round of sobs.
I stand in the doorway, more than a little uncertain, myself.
“I can just, I’ll be, why don’t I wait in the...” I point over my shoulder at the hallway.
Phone Girl’s shoulders shake with another sob, but then she lifts her eyes to mine.
“Or you could stay,” she says with unexpected shyness. “To keep an eye on your dog.”
“Oh, um, sure. Thanks. Good idea.” I sneak Minh Ha a nervous look.
She smiles warmly, full of reassurance, before stepping into the arriving elevator while I enter the stairwell and sit at the back of the landing, letting the door close behind me.
For several minutes, Phone Girl buries her face in Aggie’s fur and cries.
Aggie occasionally looks over her shoulder at me like she’s not sure what’s going on, but I’ve cried with her enough times for this to not be a wholly new experience.
I assume this is all we’ll do until Phone Girl’s friend arrives, but as her sobs grow quiet, she surprises me by telling me her boyfriend broke up with her for being too high-maintenance, which made her furious when she only asked him to go out with her once in a while instead of playing stupid video games with his stupid buddies every stupid night.
She goes on to call him several creatively insulting names and to detail the many reasons she’s better off without him.
Despite how vehemently she argues this point, she’s clearly crushed, so I do my best to listen without judgment, following Aggie’s lead.
By the time Phone Girl’s phone chimes with a text and she buzzes her friend into the building, she’s down to gentle sniffles and an occasional dab at the corners of her eyes.
I rally Aggie, and the three of us clamber up and step into the hall.
The elevator will take a century to arrive, and I’m not sure if I should wait or not, as incapable as ever of judging the right moment and the right way to exit a conversation. Thankfully, Phone Girl speaks up first.
“Thanks for loaning me your dog,” she says.
“If you need her again, let me know. She never turns down a good hug.”
Phone Girl’s lips flicker, not quite easing into a smile.
“Thanks also for... you know.” She waves a hand in a manner that might indicate my company in the stairwell, the Post-it invites I’ve been leaving on her door, or something I can’t call to mind. It doesn’t really matter what she’s thanking me for. I’m just glad she let me in.
“I’m Cameron, by the way,” I say.
“I know. I started following your account. It’s pretty cool.”
A ripple of pride runs through me, not that she called me cool, but I’m calling this a win.
“Thanks,” I say. “It’s all Aggie. And a lot of help from my friends.”
She nods as she glances around the hall, her expression indecipherable, though I get the sense she’s picturing the people who live behind the doors, how she passes us by, gathered in the hallway to chat, share a laugh, or play with Aggie.
I have a hard time picturing her joining in, but who knows?
I would’ve said the same thing about all of us a little over half a year ago.
Phone Girl’s friend comes barreling out of the stairwell, griping about the traffic, the ignorant asshole who just made the worst decision of his life, and the elevator that never showed up, all of this pouring out in a breathless fury as she sweeps her friend into a side-hug and steers her toward her apartment while pulling a ring of keys from her sparkly cross-body purse.
I take my cue and guide Aggie toward our apartment on the opposite side of the hall.
“Cameron,” Phone Girl calls, and I spin toward her in surprise as her friend steps into the apartment, leaving us alone in the hall. “Felicity. My name’s Felicity.”
The irony almost makes me laugh. The happiest name for the saddest girl.
“It’s nice to meet you, Felicity,” I say. “I’ll see you around?”
She nods and almost smiles.
“Sure,” she says. “I’ll see you around.”
Then she steps into her apartment and closes the door.
I take a breath, letting the moment settle. Then I crouch to give Aggie a big, fierce, proud-of-you hug, covering her furry face in kisses.
“I love you so much,” I tell her for the millionth time. “So, so much.”
And then I tell her for the million-and-first time.
I’m still crouched in the hall, gushing over the glorious, magical, angelic being I get to share this part of my life with, when the elevator dings and Minh Ha returns with Pilot.
“Everything okay?” I ask as I straighten up.
“Everything’s great.” She pats Pilot softly on the head. “And you? Everything okay?”
My eyes drift to Felicity’s door, behind which two muffled voices break into a laugh.
“Yeah,” I say. “She had a rough day, but her friend’s here now.”
“Good. I’m glad. Although, Cameron? You’re better with people than you think you are.”
My throat gets thick with emotion but I swallow, and swallow again.
“Thanks,” I say, barely.
“Of course,” she says, warmly and kindly.
It’s a simple exchange, the last in a series of simple exchanges, but by the time I’m in bed an hour later, I’m rethinking everything about why I’ve been so worried I might regret my degree and career choice, where all the doubt came from, and why I’ve let it grow.