11. Chapter 11
Addy
Hi Sasha,
You’re wrong. I rarely know what I’m doing. Sitting around engineering subtext is not my MO. I just … talk. You’re the one assigning motive like this is a chess match instead of a woman with too many thoughts and access to stationery.
For the record, I don’t actually know what you look like. Or sound like. Or how tall you are.
For all I know, you could have a terrible haircut and an unfortunate habit of chewing too loudly. You could have a voice that cracks when you say long words. You could pronounce “caramel” incorrectly.
Essentially, you’re a very opinionated font, and I don’t think you can be attracted to that. Well, some people might be able to, but not me. I’m not yucking someone’s yum, to each their own.
Also, who says I chose you? Maybe it was a randomized assignment.
Anyway, I’m flattered you think I’m dangerous. I promise you I’m not. I’m just loud, curious, and prone to ending up where I shouldn’t be.
Not yours,
— Addy
The morning air smelled of freshly cut grass and warm asphalt; it was the kind of spring day that made even the early hours feel full of promise.
Princess tugged happily at her lead, her massive paws thudding against the pavement as she tried to sniff every lamppost and fire hydrant in sight, her ears flopping.
Weighing in at a hundred pounds, she was pure chaos disguised as fur.
If she hadn’t dragged me around like a rag doll, I probably would’ve loved it.
“You’re a show-off, you know that?” I said, laughing as she hopped around a particularly suspicious trash can. She gave me a look that left no doubt as to her lack of concern.
We made our way down the street, me sidestepping puddles and dog poo alike, her momentum threatening to drag me into a sprint every time a squirrel crossed our path.
Honestly, this was why I liked walking dogs — there was less pressure than with humans, more unconditional enthusiasm and they never got tired of listening to me ramble.
By the time we arrived at her house, Princess was a panting, drooling, happy mess, her tail wagging like a rogue metronome. I opened the gate and jingled the keys, expecting the usual quiet: just me, the dog and her small fenced-in garden.
But when I slid the key in the door lock, it suddenly opened from the inside.
“Oh!” I startled, yanking the leash slightly. Princess seemed confused and plowed on, not bothering to pause beside me.
Her owner, Eric — mousy brown hair, thin as a beanpole, with glasses perched on the end of his nose — appeared in the doorway, looking surprised. I had expected the house to be empty since he’d mentioned taking his mother to a doctor’s appointment this morning.
“Hi,” I said, forcing my usual cheerful tone even while my brain scrambled for an explanation. “I thought … um … you were … out?”
He blinked, adjusting his glasses nervously. “I … yeah, about that. My mother … She canceled the appointment, last minute. Said she didn’t feel like going. So … here I am.”
I nodded, trying to make sense of it without making things awkward. “Oh! Well … okay. I hope she’s alright?”
“She’s fine,” he replied quickly.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. It’s nice of you to take care of her.”
And still live in her house at thirty-five.
“I … try. Mom’s very particular.” He smiled, looking pleased. “She’s actually the one who named Princess. She likes grand names.” He glanced at the dog and smiled faintly. “Says she deserves it.”
“She does,” I agreed. Princess plopped against my leg for attention. “And she’s very lucky to have you taking care of her, too.”
He flushed slightly, looking down at his shoes for a moment. “Thanks … I guess. I … I like dogs.”
“Hey,” I said, letting the warmth seep into my tone, “it’s nice. Really. Shows you care. And Princess clearly thinks you’re great.” I reached down to scratch her behind the ears, watching as her tail swept the ground.
He gave me a small, almost hesitant smile in return. “I … appreciate that. You’re … very … friendly.”
I grinned, brushing a stray hair from my face. “Well, that’s me! Friendly is my middle name. Or it would be, if my parents hadn’t gone with Marie instead.”
He chuckled softly, a polite but reserved sound.
“Alright, Princess,” I said, giving her leash a gentle tug. “All done for today.”
“Bye … Adelaide,” Eric said, sounding like he meant it. He stepped aside, letting Princess inside the house, and I waved enthusiastically. “See you tomorrow!”
“See you,” he replied, and I jogged down the pavement.
He was an odd duck.