Chapter 14
Later that week I bring up my new idea to Hal and Tara. I gather them around the table in the back garden because we’re getting
a burst of springtime in February.
“What’s all the fuss about?” Hal wants to know, clicking away at her computer, working on a new pitch deck.
“You’re not moving out, are you?” Tara asks, eyes wide with concern.
“Of course not,” I say. “I’m actually here to suggest an addition to our Redstocking family.”
I pause dramatically, and it gets Hal to look up from her laptop. “You want us to have a fourth roommate?” she asks. “How
well-connected are they? Ivy League pedigree?”
“Why would that be your first question?” I snap.
“To secure investors in my business so I can become a billionaire,” Hal replies, as if I should have considered this from
the start.
“There’s no such thing as an ethical billionaire,” Tara says.
“We’ll split the billion so we’re all multimillionaires, how’s that?” Hal amends.
“Except that you don’t have a business yet,” I point out.
“Because I don’t have investors. It’s the chicken-or-egg dilemma.”
Tara turns to me, re-centering our focus. “Who is it?” she asks. “Who do you want to move in with us?”
“It’s not a person,” I say.
Now Hal is really listening. “An extraterrestrial?” she says, thrilled by the prospect. “I’m in. We can finally unearth the
truth of what the government’s been hiding all these years.”
“It’s a dog,” I say, smiling as I think of the idea of snuggling up with a little pup after a long day. “I suggest that we
adopt a dog to join our family. It’s about time, don’t you think?”
Hal wrinkles her studded nose. “Absolutely not. Have you ever heard anything less liberating than owning a pet?”
“You don’t own a pet,” I say, prickling. “You steward a pet and help them retain their own autonomy.”
“The sheer commitment of it is absurd,” Hal barrels on. “I can’t believe that you of all people would suggest this. It’s because
of Chris, isn’t it? How you’ve fallen head over feet for him, plus that dog.”
“That dog’s name is Arnie,” I say, and it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to a maternal instinct kicking in. “And don’t forget
how you loved playing with him the other day.”
“That’s only because I was high,” Hal says. “I can’t have a dog around with all of my entrepreneurship demands. It would disrupt
my productivity.”
“You don’t need a dog for that,” I mutter, and Hal shoots daggers my way. “Tara,” I say pointedly, turning away from Hal.
“What do you think about the idea?”
“I don’t know,” Tara says, following Hal’s lead like she always does. “I love dogs, of course, but it does feel like a lot
of responsibility. I mean, we’ve never even successfully kept a houseplant alive. Even the succulents.”
She glances at the dead cacti atop the bookshelf.
“That’s because you watered them too much,” I say. “Cacti don’t need water.”
“Unless they’re named EJ,” Hal says, and I glare at her. “Just kidding,” she adds hastily. “But I guess that settles it then. We reject the dog proposal by a vote of two to one. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to building my business.”
And just like that, she returns to the click click click of her keyboard.
I don’t even bother thinking of a clever retort. I just go and lie down in my bunk bed for a while. They’re probably right;
getting a dog was a stupid thing to consider. Having an animal depend on me makes no sense, not when I can’t even depend on
myself. I still think I would’ve risen to the occasion, but now we’ll never know.
Some mornings later, I wake up and go out to the kitchen. Tara and Hal are gone for the day already. On the counter, there’s
a fishbowl with a little goldfish darting about. A yellow sticky note is tacked onto the bowl.
Let’s start here and work our way up to a dog? Love you lots.—Tara that’s the sad truth of it.
What should we name them?? I ask the group. They tell me I can pick, so I think on it for some time until the names emerge from my thoughts, flapping
up like old friends.
Mango and Squid.