Chapter Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Eight
Fiona and Amelia Mae decide to have dinner on their own and leave the puppy, who’s sleepy because of his shots, with us.
Fiona tells Miguel she’ll reach out later, and when the doorbell rings that evening, I jump from my bed and scramble down the stairs, certain it’s them.
After all, I know Amelia Mae wants to spend as much time with me as possible before they return to Chicago.
Except when Miguel throws the door open, it’s not them at all; it’s Miriam! She’s on the stoop, wearing a bright blue dress and a smile that’s painted a dark color. I bark and circle her. Just when I think things couldn’t possibly get better, here she is!
“Hola, perrito,” she says, stooping to let me slobber kisses all over her. “I missed you.”
“Miriam,” Miguel sputters. “?Qué haces aquí?”
“Happy to see you, too!” She stands and holds out her arms. “Ahora, ven aquí.”
His eyes are wet when he finally leaves her embrace. He rubs them quickly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to visit?”
“Tell you? You’d have to pick up the phone for me to do that,” she says, reaching up to wipe off the smear of lipstick she’s left on his cheek.
“Besides, I knew you’d say you were fine and not to bother, just like always.
So, I did what any good overbearing sister would do and got on a plane.
I should’ve done it six months ago, but you know how work keeps me chained to my desk.
” Miriam went to school for way longer than most people do and now she has an important job at Puerto Rico’s biggest university, helping students…
well, I don’t actually know what she helps them with, but Amelia said she was excellent at it. “Lo siento,” she adds.
“Are you apologizing for surprising me, or for breaking a world record for number of suitcases you got on a single flight?” he asks, reaching for one of the many bags on the stoop behind Miriam. “It looks like you’re moving in.”
“Watch it or I’ll take you up on that.”
He pushes his lips together in a thin line, but I can smell that he’s as thrilled as I am that she’s here.
Miriam hauls in a few bags, too, then kicks her shoes off beside the door and bends to scratch my ears. “Is it just me, or is Harold getting old?” she says, looking up at Miguel.
Is it just me, or does someone need to save the commentary for when I’m not around?
“He’s been un poco loco lately,” says Miguel, frowning at me. “I want to say it’s age, but I feel like there’s something else going on.”
I glare at him. You mean your ongoing protest against pants and your subsisting on cereal? To be fair, that’s been on the decline since Fiona showed up. Still.
“I don’t know if he’ll ever really recover from…tú sabes,” he says softly.
Oh. That.
The truth is, I don’t want to recover from losing Amelia. But I’m not sure I should feel that way when I’m supposed to be helping him recover from the same thing.
“I bet he’s lonely,” says Miriam.
“Lonely! I talk to this dog all day long.”
“At least you’re talking to someone.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and take your fourteen suitcases up to the guest room. By the way, we’re puppy-sitting, so don’t be surprised by the perrito in the living room. Though he’s knocked out from his vaccines, so we may not hear from him for a bit.”
She looks at him questioningly.
“I’ll explain after I take your bags up.” He disappears for a little longer than necessary, but eventually he joins us in the kitchen.
“?Por fin!” Miriam’s propped on one of the stools at the small counter between the kitchen and the dining room. She reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a bright yellow orb. “I brought you something.”
“?Una guayaba!” he exclaims as she passes it to him. “?De dónde?”
“My backyard, claro. You can’t get them that fresh at the grocery store.”
He looks up in amazement. “But how’d you sneak it past the goons at the airport? Last I heard, they were still screening for anything with seeds.”
She grins. “I have ways.”
He holds it up to his nose, closes his eyes, and inhales deeply. “Smells like home. Thank you.”
“De nada. It should be ready to eat in the next day or two. Remember when you used to make those little guava cakes Amelia and I both loved? With the powdered sugar on them?” She breathes in like they’re on the counter in front of her.
“Too bad I couldn’t bring a suitcase full of guayaba, because those are the best.”
Miguel hesitates. “I made them the other day. Though I had to substitute quince paste.”
“You did not!” She examines him carefully. “For who?”
He looks away.
“You’re well aware that I’m going to keep asking until you tell me.”
“Um.”
“Miguel,” she commands.
He grimaces. “Jonathan’s sister.”
“Jonathan, as in JMB?” He nods. “I thought she lived in Chicago—and isn’t he still missing?”
“He isn’t anymore. Well, not to us, at least. It’s more than I want to get into right now, but he’s having some kind of not-quite-midlife crisis and is hiding out in Copenhagen.
And yeah, Fiona does live in Chicago. But she’s in town with her daughter for a couple days.
The puppy’s hers, or at least I think it’s going to be.
She found it when they were supposed to be taking the train back yesterday. ”
“Supposed to be?” She hoots. “Yet somehow she’s still here—and please don’t tell me it’s just the puppy. No wonder you look better than I was expecting. Is this why you haven’t been calling me back?”
Walter must have heard them talking about him because he has roused from his stupor and wandered into the kitchen.
He gives Miguel a needy look, but Miguel’s too busy grabbing glasses from the cupboard to notice him.
I glance at the pup and sigh, because though I wish it were not, it is nonetheless my dog-given duty to show him the way.
First, I make eye contact with him—well, as much as I can, with all that fur hanging over his face. Once I’m sure he’s paying attention, I clang my food bowl against the wall, hard, and the noise echoes through the room.
“You’ve already eaten, Harold,” says Miguel, his back still to me.
I nose the bowl again, and then a third time for good measure, before staring pointedly at Walter.
“I see,” he says. “You’re taking care of your new pal. It’s not time for him to eat, but that’s very kind. You can both have a treat.”
He fetches a Snausage for me and an even smaller, softer version for Walter, who is giving me grateful googly eyes. Then he addresses Miriam.
“As I was about to say, I call you back. And Fiona’s just a friend.”
She holds up a manicured hand. “I didn’t say a thing about her being anything more. I’m glad to hear you have a friend. You could use one.”
He twists a corkscrew into the bottle of wine he just plucked out of another cupboard and fills the glasses with dark liquid. “I have plenty of friends,” he says, handing her a glass.
She takes a sip and murmurs her approval, then examines him. “Who? Ding-Dong Dane?”
“Against my will, but he’s growing on me—like a fungus,” he adds. “And, of course, Riley.”
“They’re great, Miguel, but those are your employees. Who else are you hanging out with outside of work?”
He wrinkles his nose and looks at me.
“Exacto,” she says with a laugh.
“I’ll have you know that Harold happens to be the best company.”
I reward him with a meaningful glance, and he pats my head. “How long are you staying?”
“Long enough to meet this Fiona person.”
Miguel mutters something indecipherable into his glass.
“En serio. I want to meet her.”
He lowers the glass. “She’s leaving soon, so that’s unlikely to happen.”
“You know I’m not waiting for your approval, right?” says Miriam, taking another drink. “West Haven’s not a big town. I’ll find her.”
“Don’t threaten me. Besides, I’m not sure I’m ready for a relationship.”
Miriam immediately softens. “Lo sé. But you really do look good, Miguelito. What if you are ready but it just feels scary?”
“And how would I ever know the difference between the two?”
She smiles. “I don’t know that you can. You just do it anyway and trust your gut. Speaking of risks, I do have news.”
“You dating someone?” he immediately asks.
I expect her to laugh, but she just shakes her head.
“No, but I’m working on it with that therapist I told you about.
I knew Mami dying when we were little messed me up—but turns out Papi taking off on us was maybe even worse.
She thinks it’s why I have such a bad picker.
You really should go to therapy, Miguel. It’s been life-changing.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” he mutters.
“I can’t imagine!” says Miriam before tipping her glass back.
“I moved in with Amelia three weeks after we met. Getting close to people isn’t my issue.”
She flares her nostrils and waits.
“What?” he eventually says.
“Oh, nothing. Just questioning your use of the plural there. You had no issue getting close to Amelia. The rest of us—” She presses her lips together and raises her brow, causing him to roll his eyes.
“So, my big news is that I have an interview at the University of Michigan in two days. They’re looking for a dean of students for the Residential College, and apparently the person they’d picked backed out at the last minute.
If the job description is to be believed—and I’m not sure about that yet—it’s a lot less paperwork and more face time with students. ”
“Terrifying.”
“Ha-ha. You know I’m a people person. It just so happens I’m also a money person, and they’d pay me a lot better, and would cover my fee to relocate.
They even flew me into Grand Rapids instead of Detroit, even though it’s almost twice the price, and are covering my rental car, too.
Gotta love that Big Ten budget.” She examines him from across the counter.
“Why don’t you look happy about this? I’d be teaching at your alma mater.
Even better, we’d actually be living in the same place again for the first time since we were teens. ”
“I am happy,” he says, but his expression’s pained, like someone’s pressing a knife to his back and telling him to smile. “Pero, I have to tell you—you’ll probably hate it here. It’s freezing, and there are maybe ten boricuas in the entire state.”
“Given that one of them is trying to recruit me and I’m sitting across from another, I’m going to assume your comment is a test of the emergency hyperbole alert system. As for the weather, I can handle it. There are worse things than being cold.”
“Spoken by a woman who needs a sweater if it dips below eighty. Besides, there’s a reason they’re asking you to come in the summer instead of January. Trust me on this one.”
“I do trust you, but I’m going to drive to Ann Arbor in two days to verify for myself.” She flashes an enormous grin. “Which means you’ll need to introduce me to Fiona before she leaves.”