My Boyfriends' Dogs (17 page)

I was so disappointed that tears blocked my throat. I had to swallow before I could talk. “But you promised.”

“I didn't promise. I said I'd try.”

Then I got a horrible thought. “Adam's sick, isn't he! Or . . . he's . . . he isn't . . . ? ” I couldn't even say the words.

“No, honey. Adam's fine.”

“Then why isn't he here?” I knew I sounded like a five-year-old, but I missed my dog.

Amber walked up and hugged my mom. “Hey, Big D. Great to see you.”

“Thanks, Amber. You too.” Mom turned to me. “Bailey, your dog has been eating us out of house and home.”

“So?”

“So he's become king of the gas. Believe me, you don't want that little chubs in your dorm room. I drove him to the vet yesterday, and it almost killed me when he—”

“The vet?” I interrupted.

“Just to see why Adam's been gaining so much weight. The vet gave your dog a clean bill of health and put him on a special diet. With a special food at a special price, I might add. Sarah Jean's watching him for us. Besides, what if you get caught with a dog in your room?”

I hadn't exactly told Mom that I'd been babysitting Mitch's dog in my room. Eve, fed up with being out of the loop, nosed her way through to Mom.

“And you must be Eve.” Mom stroked the dog's head. “She's so pretty. And big. Pleased to meet you, Eve.” She glanced around. “Where's Mitch?”

“He couldn't come.” Mitch hadn't said why. He wasn't into giving excuses or reasons for his actions. Mitch believed people should just “be,” and other people should accept. I was pretty sure my mother wouldn't go for that explanation, though. “We're meeting him at this great pizza place.”

“Okey-doke,” Mom said. “You're the boss, Bailey. This is your world, and I'm just a visitor.” She sounded like she'd rehearsed those lines on the drive up, but it was a nice thing to say anyway.

I leaned down and hugged her. “Thanks for coming, Mom. I can't wait for you to meet Mitch. He's a little nervous about his film debuting tomorrow. It means a lot to both of us that you'll be there.”

“Are you kidding? Who would have thought I'd be going to a movie debut?” Mom locked the van, and we started for the dorm. “Are his parents coming? I'll bet it's going to be a really big night for Mitch.”

I shook my head. “I don't think he invited them. And it's not exactly Mitch's movie.” I glanced back at Mom. “It was a team effort with his whole class. Mitch thinks it would have been better if he could have directed the whole thing himself. I think he might be waiting to invite his parents to something he directs.”

Mitch had let me view the film in editing with a couple of the guys in his film class. The movie was still pretty rough. I knew Amber and Mom wouldn't like it, but it wasn't totally weird, like Lubinski, or a gross-out or anything. I was reasonably confident that my mom and my best friend could fake enthusiasm for my sake.

“Wait a minute,” Amber said as we skirted the sidewalk to the dorm's rear entrance, since we had Eve with us. “All week you've been telling everybody this was Mitch's show, that he was the director, right? That's what you said when you strong-armed our whole dorm, plus all your Grady's Gas and Snack fans, to go see it.”

“I know. I sort of misunderstood that part,” I admitted. I'd really thought Mitch was directing until I watched the editing session, not that it really mattered. “The film was more of a team project. Officially, Mitch was a grip.”

“A what?” Mom asked.

“A grip. Like a movie grip? They always list the grips at the end of movies in the film credits. It's a real job, Mom.”

“I'm sure it is, honey. And I'm looking forward to seeing the film. What's it called again?”

“
Earth
.”

We showed Mom what we'd done with our dorm room. Then we walked around campus until it was time to meet Mitch at Shakespeare's Pizza. Mom filled us in on Millet gossip and the new job she'd be starting next week as church secretary and part-time hospice worker. “It doesn't pay as well as real estate. I even made more at my old dentist's office job, but the people I work with at the church are so much nicer than people with toothaches and root canals.”

Shakespeare's Pizza was Friday-night busy. We waited twenty minutes for a booth, and Mitch still hadn't shown.

“Should you call him?” Mom asked after we'd ordered Cokes.

“Nah,” Amber answered, handing Mom a menu. “Mitch is always late.”

“He's not
always
late,” I snapped. “He probably got held up.”

“Besides, Amber,” Mom said, “lots of perfectly wonderful people are frequently late.”

I checked my cell. Two text messages, but not from Mitch.

Mom turned to Amber. “So, Amber, are you still seeing Steve?”

“Steve's great,” she answered. “I think we'll always be really good friends.”

“But he's not Travis,” I added.

Amber's eyes sparkled when she talked about Travis. “You'll meet Travis tomorrow tonight. He's coming to Mitch's opening.”

Mom smiled across the booth at me. “Are Mitch and Travis friends?”

“Not really.” I was reasonably certain that Travis didn't like Mitch, although he was always polite. Mitch called Travis “the poster boy for the establishment” because he planned to major in business.

We waited as the restaurant filled. “Let's go ahead and order,” I suggested.

“Great!” Mom eyed the menu again. “I'm starved. How about an extra-large meat-lover's with extra cheese?” She glanced up at us. “Or whatever else you want on it. Sky's the limit. My treat.”

“No meat,” Amber said. “Mitch doesn't eat animals.”

Mitch finally got there just as our waiter set the big veggie pizza on the table. My boyfriend slid into the booth and kissed me. I couldn't help peeking at Mom, who looked a little shocked by Mitch or the way he was dressed—T-shirt and tie, shorts and sockless loafers.

I heard Amber whisper to Mom, “It's Mitch's statement on the duality of man.”

Mom nodded. “Ah.”

Only then did my boyfriend turn to my mother. “Mrs. Daley.”

“Hi, Mitch. Good to meet you at last.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You and Bailey could be sisters.” Even though I'd heard that a hundred times, when Mitch said it, it made more sense. I hoped Mom could see that.

“We're sure looking forward to seeing your movie tomorrow night,” Mom offered.

Mitch took a piece of pizza. “Film, not movie. There's an ocean of difference between the two, and only a handful of sand to tell that difference.”

“Uh-huh,” Mom commented, helping herself to a slice of pizza.

“Which theater will it be in?” Amber asked.

Mitch slammed his water glass so hard the water spilled. “The Rise Theater. Can you believe that? ”

“What's wrong with the Rise?” I asked. Amber and I had gone there a couple of times to see old movies or cartoon fests. It was small, but the seats and floors were clean.

“What's wrong with it?” Mitch asked. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him this fired up. “Do you know what drivel that theater usually shows? And get this. In their second theater tomorrow night, playing the same time
Earth
will be showing, is some vapid cartoon movie!”

I glanced at Amber and Mom, ready to kick them under the table if necessary. We
loved
cartoon movies. It was one of my life details I'd never confessed to my boyfriend.

Nobody spoke for a while. The pizza place camouflaged our awkward silence with laughter and loud voices from other tables, clanging silverware, and a twenty-four-hour sports station on the big-screen TV.

“Anyway,” Mom said, smiling at Mitch, who didn't smile back but did give her his full attention. “I can't wait to see your mo—your film.”

No response.

Amber jumped in. “What's the weather supposed to be tomorrow? ”

Grateful for a neutral topic, I tried to keep it going, even though I hadn't heard any weather reports for days. “I think it's going to be sunny. Really sunny.”

“That's good,” Mom said.

Mitch stared off into space, so I knew he was thinking deeply. “A day without sunshine . . . A day without sunshine is like . . . ” He wrestled with the thought.

Mom, who could never stand to see anybody struggle with words or anything else, supplied, “Night? ”

Still staring at the blank wall, Mitch repeated, “A day without sunshine is like night. Deep.”

Mitch walked back to the dorm with us, picked up Eve, and went back to his apartment. Mom and Amber and I stayed up late popping popcorn and catching up on things. Amber and I wouldn't let Mom go back to the hotel room she'd reserved for the night. I gave her my nightgown and my bed, and I took the floor.

It seemed like I'd just fallen asleep when I heard a tapping. I waited. Then I heard it again.

“Who's that? ” Amber whispered.

My brain finally deduced someone was knocking at the door. I got up to answer it.

“It's the middle of the night, Bailey,” Amber complained, rolling over.

I kept the chain on the lock, but opened the door to see who it was.

Mitch stood there in baggy sweats, his hair disheveled, and Eve by his side. When the dog saw me, she scratched to get in.

I unlocked the door and slipped out into the hall so I wouldn't wake Mom. “Mitch, what are you doing here? ” I whispered.

Mitch gazed into my eyes, his expression flat. “Why is life so long? ” he asked, as if the fate of all humanity depended on the answer, and that answer had to come right then and there.

I sent Mitch back home to get some sleep. I knew he was worried about his film, no matter what he said. Maybe he had finally let me see through his defenses and into his soul.

Or maybe not.

On Saturday Mom, Amber, and I got up early and hit Columbia's garage sales. It felt like old times.

“There's one!” Amber shouted, spying our first sale of the day.

We came away with six vintage Mizzou drinking glasses, a more-than-slightly-used gold sweatshirt with a Mizzou Tiger still intact, and a black-and-gold tie, which Mom decided would be the perfect gift for the aspiring grip after his film debut.

In between garages I tried to call Mitch, but he didn't pick up.

“Still not answering?” Amber asked, catching me dialing again when we got back to the dorm.

“His cell's turned off. He's probably doing last-minute edits or meeting with the film team. I left him a text message that we'd meet him at the theater if he doesn't get in touch before then.” I forced a smile and tried to act like it didn't matter that he was cutting me out of his big day. But it did. I was his girlfriend. If he was upset or nervous, I should have been there for him.

We played three-handed poker back in our room, but the time dragged.

“Bailey,” Mom said, laying down her full house to beat my lousy two pair, “why don't you go over to Mitch's and make sure he's okay? ”

I'd wanted to go all day. I just wanted Mitch to call and ask me to come. But that was stupid. I was his girlfriend. He needed me, whether he called to tell me so or not. I stood up. “Thanks, Mom. I'll do it.”

It took about twenty minutes to walk to Mitch's apartment, which was more like a tiny room over Berkeley's Bakery in an older residential area of Columbia. Most of the buildings on the block had been torn down, leaving empty lots littered with glass and debris. Mitch seemed happy there—as happy as Mitch ever got anyway. But I worried about Eve. She was a big dog and needed a lot of exercise, and there wasn't any room to run around the bakery.

I climbed the back stairs and knocked. Eve barked from inside. “It's just me, girl,” I called.

Eve hiked up the barking volume and scratched at the door.

“Mitch? ” I called.

Nobody answered, except Eve.

I opened the door, which Mitch never locked on the principle that he didn't own anything. Eve bounded out, overjoyed at the freedom. She ran right past me down the fire escape and to the little patch of stones at the foot of the stairs. There, she did her business.

Mitch obviously wasn't home, so I closed the door and walked back to the dorm, taking Eve with me. I couldn't leave her. Mitch might not come back until the film was over.

When I got back to the dorm, Amber and Mom weren't there. Amber had left me a note saying they were going out for ice cream and I should join them. Instead, I took advantage of the alone time and called all my friends and classmates and favorite customers to remind them to come to Mitch's film showing.

By the time Amber and Mom strolled in, we had to rush to get ready for the big night. Mom and Amber both wore black dresses with sparkly jewelry. I'd learned my lesson. I wore tight jeans and a funky tunic top with a leather choker and slingback, one-inch heels.

“Bailey, are you wearing
that
? ” Mom asked. Then, as if she'd remembered her mantra about this being my world and whatever I said went, she said, “Sorry. You look great, honey. I'm sure you know exactly the right thing to wear to a film opening.”

She was being so sweet. For a second, I felt like crying. In a weird way, I think I was homesick. Here I'd gone all these weeks without being homesick—except maybe for Adam. And now that Mom was with me, I missed her? It didn't make sense.

I looked away fast, before she could see my face. “We better get going. I told Mitch we'd get there early and hold a seat for him.”