Chapter 24
Fall bursts onto the New York scene a bit late this year. It’s not until October that the humidity drains from the air and
the leaves morph from green to amber to maroon, like a time-lapse science experiment on triple speed.
I suggest to Chris that I become a daily dogsitter. No need for him to hustle home to walk Arnie at lunch, like he usually
does. I can take Arnie out and give him some company during the workweek. Now that I know the story of Arnie and Luke, it
makes me want to work even harder to give the pup a stable homelife. The thought of him being alone for hours at a time yanks
at my heartstrings. Chris agrees, and I hope it’s not just because he feels bad about how I’m always scraping by for rent.
One day, Arnie and I are engaged in a highly competitive game of tug-of-war with his rope toy when Chris gets home. I don’t
always wait for him to get back from work before I leave, but sometimes I do when I think he could use the company. He’s looking
a little haggard today and has that corporate hunch about him, like someone has laid a thousand invisible bricks on his shoulders.
“Ruff day?” I ask as Arnie leaps on him in joy. “Pun intended.”
His lips quiver into a smile, but it’s devoid of its usual arch.
“It was a grind,” he says, setting his briefcase onto the counter with a resigned sort of thud.
“We’re in the fourth quarter of the fiscal year, and all the division leaders are coming to me wanting me to make exceptions so their year-end financials can look better.
But it’s against the accounting rules, so I have to tell them no. ”
“I never pegged you as the bad guy,” I say, enjoying picturing Chris as the villain. “If you ever need any reinforcements,
I’d be happy to lend a hand. I’m a CPA, you know.”
“Are you really?” Chris asks. It means something that he doesn’t immediately tell me I’m lying. That he thinks there’s actually
a chance I’ve passed the million exams required to be a certified public accountant.
“Of course I am,” I say. “It stands for Chief People Aggravator, right?”
That gets a laugh from him, one of those deep ones that comes up from his belly and makes me feel proud of myself for excavating
his personality from the depths of the ocean.
His phone rings. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Another work call, have to take this.”
He heads into his bedroom to take the call. Through the door, I eavesdrop on the tedious-sounding conversation, packed with
acronyms and phrases like “accrue for” and “taxation compliance.”
“That sounded riveting,” I deadpan when Chris emerges back into the living room. “Should have recorded it and played it back
before bed for the nights when insomnia strikes.”
“Always appreciate how you build me up,” Chris says, and I’m glad that he’s giving some sass back to me. It’s a mark of how
we’ve gotten closer over the year and a half we’ve known each other.
“Why do you let them bother you when you’re out of the office?” I ask. “Do you get extra money for working overtime?”
“If only,” he says. “We don’t get overtime, but if I’m not available at all hours, I might get fired.”
“They’re not going to fire you,” I say, finding the idea outlandish.
He grimaces, like he thinks there’s a good chance of it. “My biggest fear is failing,” he says, eyes catching on mine when
he says it. “Letting people down.”
“Well, what if you’re so determined not to let other people down that you let yourself down in the process?” I pose.
I get the sense no one’s ever asked him that before, or if they have, he hasn’t valued their opinion enough to pause and really
think about it. He’s thinking about it now.
“I guess when other people are disappointed in me, I’m disappointed in myself,” he says. “So the two are intertwined.”
“Sounds like codependency to me,” I diagnose. “You need to set boundaries.”
I rack my brains for ways to help him free himself of his people-pleasing tendencies, reclaim his autonomy. “Maybe you should
think of yourself as an actor,” I say. “And while you’re at work, you play the role of Accountant Chris. But then when you’re
home, you’re Actual Chris. So when someone gets mad at you at work, only Accountant Chris is affected. Actual Chris is unfazed.”
Chris considers it. “I don’t think that would feel authentic, though,” he says. “Pretending like that.”
“It’s not really pretending,” I say. “You’d still be genuine at work; you just wouldn’t bring your entire self. They don’t deserve access to all of you. So you’d keep some boundaries up to protect you from being dragged down by
the corporate zombies at all hours of the day and night.”
“I don’t know,” he says, still looking wary. “I pride myself on being a good worker. It’s who I am.”
“No, it’s not,” I say, getting snappy. “It’s what you do. Your job isn’t your identity. Debits and credits aren’t life-or-death.”
“They’re not?” A self-effacing smile ekes out, and then he gets more serious. “Look, I know what I do isn’t that important. I’m not an emergency room doctor.”
I wonder if Chris is thinking about Luke and the ER doctor who might have treated him after his accident. The one who tried
to save his life but couldn’t.
“I’m not trying to diminish your work,” I say. “It’s a good thing that you care about what you do.” It’s true, actually. I have a lot of respect for how hard he works to try to do a good job. “Just remember, most people in the world don’t even know what a balance sheet is and we manage to survive.”
“You do know what a balance sheet is, though,” Chris says. “You just mentioned it.”
“I mean, I know the high-level basics of balancing assets, liabilities, and shareholders’ equity,” I say, not being able to
keep from showing off a bit. “But none of the gory details.” I took an accounting class in college and the information has
apparently stayed wedged in some cranny of my brain. Forgetting has never been my strong suit.
It makes me preemptively sad as I consider Chris and the day that I’ll want to, have to, forget him.
“I should get going,” I say, giving Arnie one last belly rub and then springing up to my feet. “Olivia will be here soon.”
“How did you know she’s coming over?” Chris asks.
“It’s Thursday. She always comes over on Thursday nights.”
If he’s surprised at my newfound attention to days of the week, he doesn’t let on. “You don’t have to rush out,” Chris says.
“Olivia knows you watch Arnold.”
“And how does she feel about that?” I ask.
“She doesn’t mind,” he says, faltering. “It’s my job to take care of Arnold now that Luke’s gone. I can choose who watches
him.”
“Of course you can.” I get the feeling that Olivia has made the grievous mistake of referring to Arnie as “the dog” or perhaps
even “our dog” in front of Chris, and that he hasn’t taken well to it. The prospect of trouble in paradise excites me more
than it should. I really do want to be a decent friend but just don’t seem to have the right wiring.
There’s a knock at the door. “Doesn’t she have a key?” I whisper to Chris, so she won’t hear from the hallway.
He shakes his head as he walks to the door. “Not yet.”
Chris officially gave me back the original spare key when I started dogsitting again, and the knowledge that I have an (ethically obtained) key to his place and his own girlfriend doesn’t produces quite the thrill. That, plus the way we’re whispering to each other in secret.
I head out, passing Olivia on her way in. I feel her looking after me, throwing her glare like a freshly sharpened axe. But
I’m too deep in my own delight to feel the cut. The blade just ricochets right off me. It makes me wonder if perhaps the strongest
armor is no armor at all.