“Yeah,” Tom said, turning to Clark as well. “When will it be done?”
Clark looked at both of us and then dropped his head in his hands. “Not you guys too.”
TOPHER
Hey.
ME
Hey—how’s it going?
TOPHER
Can’t complain. You around this weekend?
ME
So here’s the thing.
I’m dating someone.
TOPHER
Damn—you’re a total heartbreaker this summer.
ME
Ha ha, no. It’s the same guy as before.
TOPHER
Oh.
Really?
ME
Yep
TOPHER
Well. That’s new.
ME
It really is.
? ? ?
“Let me see if I can do it,” my dad said, looking down at the six dogs I was holding, three leashes in each hand. His brow furrowed as he looked at them. “Fenway, Bertie, Leon, Duffy, Crackers, and . . .” His voice trailed off as he stared at the Pomeranian in front of him. “I don’t know that one.”
“Bella,” I said, and my dad nodded. “But that was really close. I’m impressed.”
“You get good with that when you can’t ever forget a donor’s name and you get brand-new colleagues every two years,” my dad pointed out.
I’d been heading out on an afternoon walk when my dad had wandered into the kitchen and asked if he could tag along. I’d hesitated before agreeing—what if he saw the reality of what I was doing and was disappointed that it wasn’t more impressive?—but had said he could come. Which meant that I’d already suffered through at least three “take your father to work day” jokes. “Ready?” I asked, intending this to be for my dad, but all the dogs looked up at me, tails wagging furiously.
“I can take some,” my dad said, then took a small step back as he watched the two biggest dogs, Bertie and Fenway, lunge forward. “Uh, maybe not all of them.”
“Here,” I said. I separated out the leashes for Bella and Crackers and handed them to him. “Let’s go.”
We started walking, taking up most of the street with all the dogs. I’d gotten better at scouting new routes, looking for really quiet streets with ample trees and bushes. This was a new route, but I was already liking it—and so were the dogs, judging by the amount of ecstatic tree sniffing going on.
“Do you remember,” my dad said, his words coming out hesitantly, “that stuffed dog you used to have?”
I stared at him for a moment, trying to remember which one he was talking about—at one point my stuffed animal collection had been vast. But a second later, there it was. My dad had given it to me when I was something like six, a small black stuffed dog that came with its own leash. I remembered how thrilled I’d been to get it, how I had carried and dragged it with me everywhere for a while.
“Yeah,” I said, looking over at him. “Of course.”
“I was just thinking that maybe it was good practice for this,” he said, nodding at the dogs and their leashes.
“Was that a Christmas present?” I was searching my memory, trying to recall the details. It was like one day the dog had always been with me, but I couldn’t call up how it had gotten there.
“No,” my dad said, looking offended. “Don’t you remember? I had to go to that summit in London, and brought it back with me. It wouldn’t fit in my carry-on, so it rode next to me on the plane.”
I smiled, fighting down a lump in my throat. How had I forgotten about this stuff? It was like I hadn’t let myself remember it in years and years—that my dad had been more to me than the last five years. That at one point we’d been really close, and the dog he flew across the ocean with had become my favorite because it was from him.
We walked without speaking for a few minutes, as I concentrated on making sure leashes weren’t getting tangled and that everyone was getting along. It was a beautiful day out—sunny but not too hot, and the street we were on was tree-lined, the sunlight filtering through the leaves. “So what do you think?”
My dad reached over and scratched Bertie’s ears, then patted him on the top of his head. “I think . . . ,” he said, looking around at all the dogs in the sunshine, and then smiled at me. “I think you picked a pretty great way to spend your summer, kid.”
“Yeah,” I said, tugging on the leashes in both hands, more relieved than I’d realized I would be to hear this. “It has its moments.”
TOPHER
So who is this guy?
ME
You don’t know him
TOPHER
Try me
ME
His name’s Clark. Do you know any Clarks?
TOPHER
CLARK?
ME
Told you
TOPHER
What, did he time travel here from the 1930s?
ME
Ha
TOPHER
Well, call me when you’re free again.
Or have your old-timey boyfriend send a carrier pigeon.
ME
Talk to you later, Topher.
? ? ?
I dipped my toes into the hot tub and looked over at the very intense Ping-Pong game that was going on between Palmer and Clark on the lawn. Wyatt was in the pool, Toby was perched on the edge near him, and Bri and Tom were both floating on the oversize rafts Clark had bought last week, shaped like donuts and pretzels. None of this was a new or unusual sight because, as I’d predicted, my friends had pretty much moved in.