Emily Barlow.
Only that was the thing. I couldn’t.
For the first time in my life I gave in and sent a woman flowers with a card saying I was sorry. She sent them back. Frustrated, I did something I never would have thought I could do. I showed up at the Trigate building and waited outside like some pathetic stalker, taking her hands, bowing my head to hide what I knew were genuine tears. I told her that I missed her. She didn’t relent, but she wavered.
For the next week I showed up at work every day, making my case. I was sweet and vulnerable. Surprisingly, I was sincere.
Five days into my quest, she stared at me for what felt like forever, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again I swear she wanted to reach out. But something held her back. She turned and walked away.
I told myself to leave, to move on, but I had seen that look.
The next day I showed up one last time, this time at her apartment. I didn’t bring flowers or candy or any of the things that I knew wouldn’t mean anything to her. She arrived at the front of her building, her arms loaded with groceries, and I held up a book.
She stared at the carefully preserved hardcover, the title in German. “An original 1812 edition of Kinder- und Haus-Märchen, ” she said so softly I barely heard.
“More currently known as Grimm’s Fairy Tales. ”
“You noticed my collection.”
“I’ve noticed a lot of things.”
Her shoulders slumped, like something deep inside her was trying to give in. She pressed her eyes closed, then started to open the front door. When the groceries began to fall I grabbed them, along with the keys.
I followed her into the elevator and she didn’t stop me. But I hadn’t taken more than two steps into her apartment when she whirled back. “You lied!”
Her anger came at me in waves, all that careful control ripped away.
My first instinct was to make some glib remark. But I ignored instinct and went with something that I realized was from my gut.
“I’m an ass, a big idiotic ass that has the sense of a gnat. But a well-meaning gnat, I swear.”
“Well-meaning?” she shot back.
“Face it, as Sandy Portman of the Vandermeer Regal Portman family, you, the daughter of the militant feminist, wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
For a second I thought she was going to give in. “Don’t turn this around and make me some sort of reverse snob,” she snapped instead.
I must have looked as surprised as I felt. I hadn’t been trying to manipulate anything. I wanted her back, I needed her back, needed that heady mix of peace and excitement she made me feel.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Emily. I just wanted you to see me.” My voice had risen, the desperation coming through my always-careful façade. “I just wanted to be the guy I saw in your eyes before you knew I had money.”
Her jaw was tight as she stared at me. But this time when she started to move away, I dropped the groceries on the floor and caught her arm.
“I’m sorry for lying, Emily. I swear I am.”
“Damn you,” she whispered.
I turned her to me and she pounded my chest, not hard, more a testament to being torn between frustration and the desire to give in.
“Damn you,” she repeated.
When I pulled her close, pressing her body to mine, she cursed me one last time before we fell together to the floor, kicking lettuce and bread and bags aside. I had the fleeting thought that she was doing more than forgiving me. Somehow she was saving me.
* * *
Had I known more about dogs, or dog clinics, or anything dog related, what happened next in my newfound existence as Einstein wouldn’t have surprised me. As much as I’d like to say I was indifferent to being clean, I really adored it. For all Vinny’s faults, he cleaned me up pretty good and for a second I felt badly for whatever I’d done to him. My wiry fur had softened, and I smelled halfway decent.
However, all thoughts of cleanliness disappeared when hours
Only that was the thing. I couldn’t.
For the first time in my life I gave in and sent a woman flowers with a card saying I was sorry. She sent them back. Frustrated, I did something I never would have thought I could do. I showed up at the Trigate building and waited outside like some pathetic stalker, taking her hands, bowing my head to hide what I knew were genuine tears. I told her that I missed her. She didn’t relent, but she wavered.
For the next week I showed up at work every day, making my case. I was sweet and vulnerable. Surprisingly, I was sincere.
Five days into my quest, she stared at me for what felt like forever, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again I swear she wanted to reach out. But something held her back. She turned and walked away.
I told myself to leave, to move on, but I had seen that look.
The next day I showed up one last time, this time at her apartment. I didn’t bring flowers or candy or any of the things that I knew wouldn’t mean anything to her. She arrived at the front of her building, her arms loaded with groceries, and I held up a book.
She stared at the carefully preserved hardcover, the title in German. “An original 1812 edition of Kinder- und Haus-Märchen, ” she said so softly I barely heard.
“More currently known as Grimm’s Fairy Tales. ”
“You noticed my collection.”
“I’ve noticed a lot of things.”
Her shoulders slumped, like something deep inside her was trying to give in. She pressed her eyes closed, then started to open the front door. When the groceries began to fall I grabbed them, along with the keys.
I followed her into the elevator and she didn’t stop me. But I hadn’t taken more than two steps into her apartment when she whirled back. “You lied!”
Her anger came at me in waves, all that careful control ripped away.
My first instinct was to make some glib remark. But I ignored instinct and went with something that I realized was from my gut.
“I’m an ass, a big idiotic ass that has the sense of a gnat. But a well-meaning gnat, I swear.”
“Well-meaning?” she shot back.
“Face it, as Sandy Portman of the Vandermeer Regal Portman family, you, the daughter of the militant feminist, wouldn’t have given me the time of day.”
For a second I thought she was going to give in. “Don’t turn this around and make me some sort of reverse snob,” she snapped instead.
I must have looked as surprised as I felt. I hadn’t been trying to manipulate anything. I wanted her back, I needed her back, needed that heady mix of peace and excitement she made me feel.
“I didn’t mean it that way, Emily. I just wanted you to see me.” My voice had risen, the desperation coming through my always-careful façade. “I just wanted to be the guy I saw in your eyes before you knew I had money.”
Her jaw was tight as she stared at me. But this time when she started to move away, I dropped the groceries on the floor and caught her arm.
“I’m sorry for lying, Emily. I swear I am.”
“Damn you,” she whispered.
I turned her to me and she pounded my chest, not hard, more a testament to being torn between frustration and the desire to give in.
“Damn you,” she repeated.
When I pulled her close, pressing her body to mine, she cursed me one last time before we fell together to the floor, kicking lettuce and bread and bags aside. I had the fleeting thought that she was doing more than forgiving me. Somehow she was saving me.
* * *
Had I known more about dogs, or dog clinics, or anything dog related, what happened next in my newfound existence as Einstein wouldn’t have surprised me. As much as I’d like to say I was indifferent to being clean, I really adored it. For all Vinny’s faults, he cleaned me up pretty good and for a second I felt badly for whatever I’d done to him. My wiry fur had softened, and I smelled halfway decent.
However, all thoughts of cleanliness disappeared when hours
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