Chapter Seventeen #2
While she watches me with her head between her paws, the picture of dejection, I use the stand-up shower to rinse the worst of the vomit from her bed, her pillow and blankets, and several small rugs, clean what remains on the floor, and throw anything that’s soiled into a pair of bulging garbage bags I load into her wagon.
For good measure, I pile my regular laundry bag on top.
Might as well get it all done if I’m headed to the laundromat.
I really wish this place had on-site laundry, though if it did, I probably couldn’t afford to live here.
With less than three hours before I need to head to work, I’ll have just enough time to run everything through, and by some miracle of divine intervention, enough washing machines are open for me start all six loads at once, despite the dingy sign that requests patrons limit our use to only four.
Whatever. No one’s here. I already feel guilty about leaving Aggie alone again when she’s not feeling well. I’m getting this done as fast as I can.
While I wait, I slump into the world’s least comfortable plastic chair and grab my phone.
CAMERON: If a dog barfs in the woods but no one’s there to see it...
HANNAH: Uh oh. I’m guessing “the woods” is a metaphor?
CAMERON: “The woods” is my apartment. Every inch of it
HANNAH: Yikes. Is she OK? Are you OK?
CAMERON: She’s good. Just needs to ride it out. I’m... exhausted. Not my best day
HANNAH: Hot Sweater Guy isn’t cheering you up?
CAMERON: Are we still calling him Hot Sweater Guy?
HANNAH: Guy Who Shackled Your Hands to His Bed While Drooling Over You Like the Dessert You Skipped Because You Were Both Too Desperate to Bang doesn’t have the same ring
CAMERON: I never should’ve told you about all that
HANNAH: You ABSOLUTELY should’ve told me. At least one of us is having fun!
I smile to myself while also sighing. I love how overjoyed Hannah was when I told her about everything that happened that night.
But also, I’m not sure how much fun I’m having these days, not with my schedule more packed than ever.
Everett’s schedule, too, with extra marketing work for the holidays.
We make a point of seeing each other on Friday and Saturday nights, but that’s about all we can manage.
He’s been amazing, though, at keeping up by text or dropping by to say hi, and I swear, I’m only avoiding malnutrition because he keeps bringing me food, often couched as “leftovers from a meeting,” but sometimes he skips the lie and admits he picked it up on the way home.
He’s determined to get me off my cereal and toast diet.
I’ve lost the will to fight him on it. Now that I’ve also lost my appetite for granola for the foreseeable future, I’m even less inclined to argue.
HANNAH: BTW, I checked out his TikTok account
CAMERON: What did you think?
HANNAH: It was cool seeing his work. He’s really good
CAMERON: Yeah. He is really good
HANNAH: Wow. Someone’s horny
CAMERON: I meant at his job!
HANNAH: Sure you did
This makes me smile again. She can always get a laugh out of me, even on my grayest days.
I also find it amusing that she scoped out Everett’s TikTok.
It’s a small account, with about two dozen videos showcasing some of his branding concepts and animations.
He really is good at what he does, with an eye for creating a unique, catchy look for every product or company.
He understands slogans and how to appeal to specific demographics.
If the promotion he mentioned last month becomes a real possibility, he deserves to get it.
Hannah and I continue texting until my wash cycles finish.
Then I load everything into the industrial-size dryers, but when I put my laundry card into the slot to start the first dryer, I get an error message.
The same thing happens on every machine.
I swear I had $20 on my card, more than enough to finish today’s laundry, but it won’t work at all, forcing me to buy a new card, a task that proves impossible when my credit card is declined.
This is not happening. After being reprimanded at school, trudging home in the cold, wet slush that soaked my feet, and cleaning up barf for an hour, I cannot be stuck with six loads of damp laundry that includes all of Aggie’s bedding, the small area rugs that provide her traction as she wobbles around our apartment, my weekend work clothes, and nearly every towel I own, discounting the ones she’s currently sleeping on.
But the more I investigate the situation, the clearer it becomes.
Unless a holiday elf twinkles his way into the laundromat in the next thirty seconds to tap his sparkly candy-cane wand to the dryer buttons, this is happening.
And there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.
Not right now when I’m already tight on time.
The wagon weighs a ton with everything damp, and dragging it six blocks toward home in crappy weather saps every remaining ounce of energy in my body.
I don’t know what to do with it once I’m home, so I roll the bags out of the wagon and into the shower stall, removing only the rugs, which I go ahead and put down so Aggie doesn’t fall while I’m gone.
Then I hang a towel over the bathroom towel rack, hoping it’ll be dry enough to use later tonight.
In my remaining free time, I give Aggie some much deserved love, burying my face in her floof, assuring her I’m not mad at her, and apologizing for leaving her alone so much this month.
When she finally rallies enough to stop looking like the saddest dog in Sadtown, I feed her a small dinner, make sure she’s drinking plenty of water, and eat some cold lo mein from one of Everett’s charitable donations.
I know he’s working late tonight so I text Khalil, telling him I’m leaving my apartment unlocked and asking him to check in on Aggie for me.
He texts back right away, no problem. God, I’m glad I have friends now. I can’t even imagine...
Before heading out the door, I put on Netflix for Aggie, this time an early 2000s rom-com called Just Friends , which the trailer suggests will have its moments, but putting Ryan Reynolds in a fat suit is a weird choice for a multitude of reasons.
Aggie doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest and she settles in to watch while I give her kisses and then leave her with her crush.
By the time I reach campus for the second time today, I’m ready to zone out with a podcast while I mop, scrub, and hope my mood improves before I head home again.
This hope is quickly dashed when I learn the Department of Earth and Atmospheric Sciences had a holiday party this afternoon, and one of the floors I’ll be cleaning is trashed.
Food and drinks have been left out, broken glass litters one of the classrooms, and there’s garbage everywhere, not because the trash cans are full, but because people knew someone else would clean up after them.
The carelessness grates but I find my gloves and get to work. No way out but through.
Five and a half hours later, when I get home, sweaty and gross from work, I hang up my coat and fall onto the futon where Aggie’s blinking away sleep and wagging her tail.
“Hi, sweetie.” I throw an arm over her, using her as a full-body pillow while the emotions I’ve been wrestling with all day finally burst free and I quietly sob into her neck.
I know it was one rotten day. Only one. A few bad grades.
A short-lived digestive issue. A failed attempt at laundry I still have to deal with.
A job that on its best days is mindless and on its worst leaves me cursing humanity through an extra-hot, extra-long shower when I get home.
None of that can be classed as tragic. But no amount of internal pep talking, pretty sunrises, or positive affirmations in the world would make me feel good right now.
Aggie gloriously, intuitively lets me fall apart, sniffling away while I stroke her ears or her belly.
She doesn’t tell me to have a little perspective or keep my chin up.
She doesn’t rattle off ways I could’ve prevented feeling like this by being smarter or more responsible.
She doesn’t try to fix me. She gives me free rein to be sad, hurt, lost, stuck, angry, demoralized, drained, and generally beaten down by life, the same way Marmie used to let me be lonely and insecure.
It’s such a gift, this level of acceptance. People can’t do this, even people with beautiful, caring hearts like Everett, Khalil, and Regina. We have different outlooks, different priorities. Only a dog looks you in the eyes and truly loves you precisely as you are.
Eventually I collect myself, get Aggie outside, get cleaned up and ready for bed, and slide the futon mattress onto the floor so Aggie and I can sleep on it together tonight, since her bed is still at the bottom of a trash bag with all the other damp things I’ll deal with tomorrow.
As we curl up together to snuggle, two heads on one pillow, I do a quick Google search.
How much can someone make from TikTok sponsorship?
A little bit of digging suggests that for an account the size of mine, I could make $100 to $1,000 per post, pending views, shares, and engagement, more if the account continues to grow.
I consider this as I fall asleep with my arm around Aggie, soothed by the gentle rhythm of her breathing, the softness of her fur, and its familiar doggy smell.
In the morning, I send Everett a text.
CAMERON: I’m ready to talk about sponsors