Page 6 of Dog Days

SIX

Gideon

“I resent a six-pound dog named Judi Dench.”

Jackson, my asshole therapist-friend, looked up from his desk. “Our session is on Friday.”

“Yes.”

“This is Wednesday.”

“Yeah, but I met my future husband yesterday, and he has a dog.”

“Is that Thundercloud Subs?” he asked, eyeballing the brown paper bag in my hands.

“Maybe.”

“Is there an Office Favorite in there with light onions and extra Thundersauce?”

“Yes.”

“With vinegar and sea salt kettle chips?”

“Of course.”

“And is that a chocolate banana shake?”

“I believe it is.”

“You may sit.”

Grinning, I set down the sandwich and shake in front of him before pushing the flimsy office chair out of the way and dragging over the love seat from his counseling nook.

“Please. Rearrange my office,” he said dryly through a mouthful of food. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.

I sat heavily and scooted the little couch closer to his desk, unconcerned. “It’s either that or replace that sorry excuse of a chair. Your choice.”

Jackson took a few hearty bites of his glorified egg salad sandwich and a long slurp of the shake, then gestured for me to continue.

“Fine, Gigantor. Just make sure to put it back when you leave. And you have till the end of this sandwich to tell me about your future husband and his canine companion.”

I unwrapped my Capicola sub and dove right in. “I would like to start by saying that this is all your fault, and I think you need to buy the Thundercloud next time.”

“You’re wrong. But noted.”

“So, I got on a dating app like you recommended.”

“Good. How did that go?”

“It was grim. Until I met Alfie.”

“Yesterday, apparently,” Jackson said, already a third of the way through his sandwich.

Honestly, he had appalling lunchtime etiquette.

“Yes. We went to Addiction.”

“Excellent choice. And what makes Alfie not awful?”

I sighed. “Everything.”

Sipping on the thick shake, he gave me the rolling move-it-along gesture.

Fine .

I gave him a super quick rundown of the prompt and the sparkling back and forth and the immediate chemistry.

“I guess my favorite part about him is that he’s funny. He teased me, but like in a really sweet way.”

He set down his sandwich. “You have a hard time getting people to relax around you, but his teasing was confident, no?”

I nodded. “He was never intimidated by me. And he’s a string bean with a little bit of a belly and curly black hair.”

“You do like the belly and the curly hair.”

I moaned through my bite of sandwich. “He’s so fucking adorable. Anyway, I wouldn’t have been able to see him until Saturday, so I asked if he wanted a quick coffee.”

I glanced at Jackson as I said this, expecting judgment, but instead he looked a little proud.

“Nice initiative.” He frowned. “But it didn’t go well?”

I couldn’t help my smile or the flush on my cheeks. “It went even better in person than online…at first. We started off with banter and this epic, life-changing hug, then his dog comes barreling out of nowhere, barking at me like a lunatic.”

Jackson shook his head as he polished off the first half of his sandwich. “Oh no.”

“Exactly. And then Alfie kinda… laughed at me.”

“Wait, what? We don’t let people?—”

I held up my hand, cutting him off. “He didn’t think I was serious, and when he realized I was, he immediately apologized.”

“How did you handle the dog?”

“I tripped trying to get away from the little hellion, knocked over every damn table and chair, then fell and curled up on my side like an idiot.”

“Shit,” he said, starting into the second half. “What did you do?”

“I left. That’s when Alfie texted his apology. Had his best friend pick up the dog while he brought me a coffee.”

“He went to your house?”

I bit my lip and nodded, my cheeks heating.

“What’s this look?” he asked, gesturing at me with the shake.

“He sincerely apologized. Again. Like, really sincerely.”

“And…?”

“And, uh, we hooked up.”

Jackson’s eyes widened. “You what ?”

I groaned. “You’re going to tell the other therapists about this, aren’t you?”

“Oh, one hundred percent,” he snarked, leaning in. “Which is why I hafta ask—how was it?”

“Best sex I’ve ever had.” I fake-sobbed. “We both wanted it so much, you know?”

With a small chuckle, he shook his head. “Man, are you in trouble.”

“Oh God, why?” I asked, panicking.

“I hate to tell you…” he said, not looking sorry in the least.

“What?”

“You’ve got it bad.”

I chucked my pickle spear at his head. “Shut up.”

He caught it easily and took a big bite out of it.

See? Asshole.

“So, talk to me about why you resent this dog. I mean, obviously, she’s not well trained.”

I scrunched my nose. “I don’t think it was a training issue. I mean, Alfie felt really awful about the whole thing and said she was trying to play with me. My biggest worry is that the dog is a big part of his life. I mean, he uses her in his therapy sessions.”

“Wait.” Jackson put down his sandwich. “Alfie, as in Dr. Alfie Fellows?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I didn’t know about the Ph.D., but that’s him.” A thought occurred to me, and I dropped my chin to my chest. “Please don’t say anything to him.”

When Jackson didn’t answer, I looked up and found him staring at me with his arms crossed. “Do you really think I would say something to him without your permission?”

“No?”

“I promise, I would never actually do that,” he said, uncharacteristically serious.

“Thank you.”

He plucked a chip from the bag and crunched on it, looking thoughtful. “Alfie’s got an excellent family practice and is particularly good with children. He wouldn’t use an unstable dog. This is very strange.”

“I think she was more excited than unstable,” I admitted. “I just wasn’t prepared for how excited she got.”

Jackson munched on another chip. “And she has a funny name, right?”

“Yeah. Judi Dench.”

I smiled. Her name matched Alfie’s personality so well.

“So dogs really are nonnegotiable in his life,” Jackson pointed out, rather unhelpful for a therapist.

“I know,” I whined, banging my head on his desk.

“I thought we were making progress with the dog stuff?”

I let out a frustrated breath. “So did I—until I ended up in the fetal position.”

“Look, I know I said I wouldn’t gossip about you, but I could talk to Dr. Fellows in an official capacity, and we could work out a plan if you’re interested.”

I was despondent as I bit into my sandwich, considering his words.

“Gid, buddy, what’s this look?”

“I really thought I could avoid, you know, actually confronting the dog stuff. Like, in the real world.”

He snorted. “What made you think that?”

His amused look was starting to piss me off.

“Why is that funny?”

“Because,” he said, picking up his sandwich again. After taking a big bite, he continued, “This whole time you’ve been open and vulnerable, even with the really hard stuff. But now we’re looking at this core issue, and you’re acting like a little bitch.”

“Are therapists supposed to call their patients bitches? While eating with their mouths full?”

“You’re not my patient today,” he said, taking another bite. “You brought me lunch, which makes you my friend, and I will definitely call my friends a little bitch if they’re acting like one.”

“So does this mean I get the friends-and-family discount on today’s session?”

“Fuck no,” he said, wiping his mouth. “This is still America.”

We both laughed, but something inside felt quiet.

“You may be right,” I said, looking at my sandwich. “Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me that it’s time.”

“Fuck the universe, it’s me. I’m the one saying it’s time,” he cracked. “And I don’t think it will be as difficult as all that.”

“You have way more faith in me than I do.”

I took a few more bites of my sandwich to avoid his face, which had never hidden his opinion. When I finally made eye contact again, he arched a brow, which meant I had to explain what I meant.

Annoying.

I put down my sandwich, shaking my head. “When she started barking, I couldn’t remember a damn calming mechanism to save my life. It was as if all of this time I’d spent in therapy hadn’t changed a thing.”

I was challenging him, but he wasn’t taking the bait.

“Maybe instead of insulting me on my lunch break, we can shift your perspective,” he said, his eyes a little too knowing. “Is it possible that this is just a matter of practice?”

“Maybe,” I grumped, taking another bite.

“Have you been practicing with your brother’s pit bulls?”

I grimaced. Busted.

“Not… exactly.”

He raised a brow as he sipped his shake.

“I’m sorry. I’m fucking up your lunch,” I said, wrapping up what was left of my sandwich. “I should leave you alone.”

He held up a finger. “I have two or three bites of sandwich left.”

I shifted uncomfortably, then leaned forward, curious about what he had to say.

“Now, we’ve talked in the past about the dogs your family raised and fought. Did the dogs start off mean? Like, you saw them as puppies. Were they mean back then?”

I shook my head. “No. They were sweet. Until they weren’t.”

“So, they were sweet, and they suddenly turned mean?” he asked, leading me. Again, annoying as fuck.

“No. My father always gave them over to my uncle. When they came back, they had scars and tried to bite anything or anyone that came close, save for my uncle and father.”

“And the worst part for you is that you had to care for them, correct?”

I nodded again with that quiet sense in the middle of me. “Yeah.”

“So, you started off caring for sweet little puppies, and then they all came back dangerous animals.”

I nodded. “I got a couple of really nasty bites and some close calls.” Gesturing to my tattoos, I continued, “Most of these I got to cover up the worst of the scars.”

“Now take that feeling of knowing you can no longer trust a dog you helped raise and hold it in your chest,” he said, knowing that’s where I carried all that negativity. After a few moments, he asked, “Can you see it clearly?”

I took a breath and did as he asked, pulling up the picture of it far too easily. “Yes, I can see it. And feel it.”

I curled my hands into fists

“Now, I want to show you a picture, okay?”

I nodded.

“Open your eyes, Gideon.”

Not realizing I’d closed them, I let them drift open. Jackson was holding his phone up in front of me, and I laughed. It was a picture of the world’s ugliest, dinkiest mutt. Tongue hanging out of its mouth, eyes looking at two different continents. This dog was the opposite of every fearful encounter I’d ever had with dogs.

“Oh my God, that is a fucking ridiculous dog.”

“Would it surprise you to know that this is Dr. Fellows’ dog?”

My laughter died a quick death. I grabbed his phone, staring at the picture. “Are you serious?”

All I’d seen was a vicious poodle-type dog. I hadn’t been able to take in the details.

Jackson reached over and zoomed out on the photo, revealing that this gloriously ridiculous mutt was sitting on Alfie’s lap in a totally serious Sears portrait-style photograph. Alfie’s eyes sparkled with mirth, and the damn dog—Dame Judi Dench, of all things—looked like the happiest, goofiest soul on the entire planet.

“She’s so much smaller than she seemed yesterday.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe I had that reaction to this dog.”

“I can. She’s a dog. That’s all your hindbrain saw. But you didn’t have any choice over that interaction. She got away from her handler, and that dog would’ve seemed to you like the biggest, most tortured pit bull you’d ever seen, right? Didn’t she feel dangerous?”

My eyes dropped to the desk. After a moment, I nodded.

He flicked my hand. “Hey, look at me.”

I let my eyes meet his.

“You didn’t have an unreasonable reaction. Your threat response did exactly… exactly …what it was meant to do. It isn’t meant to stop and think. That response is meant to protect you, and it did. What would happen, do you think, if you saw that dog in a calm state in a controlled environment?”

“I’d be nervous as fuck.”

“But would you overturn chairs and tables and fall to the ground?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said, smiling a little too broadly. “Then I have homework for you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of homework?”

“It’s as easy as a walk in the park.”

Ah, jeez.