Page 34 of Tequila Tuesdays

I tried to reason with her. “Ava, Olivia’s more qualified than I am to help you with your finances. She’s getting a degree in accounting, for God’s sake. And you two work together better than we do. I’m sorry you feel like we didn’t consult you. As Dad would have said, it’s not a material breach. We should have, we didn’t, but it’s not significant. So let’s move on.”

“Harley, I don’t want to ‘move on,’ and I don’t see why you can’t keep doing it.”

Olivia cut in. “She’s doing more than enough. She’s burned out and needs a break.”

Ava seemed to deflate. “Okay. If that’s what you think is best.”

Olivia cleared her throat. “Now tell me what you’re both bringing to Thanksgiving dinner so I can be sad that I’m here stuck with a frozen turkey pot pie.”

A few minutes later, Ava went home to get ready. She seemed to have calmed down, but I could tell she was still mad.

The Thanksgiving meal was delicious, and we ate out on Sheila and Grace’s beautiful patio overlooking the tropical pool area. While we ate, Grace told us about her golf round from hell.

“They paired me with three older men because the course was crowded this morning,” Grace told us. “It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but they all groaned out loud when the shop assistant told them I’d be playing with them. In front of me.”

I shook my head. “What jackasses. Did it get any better?”

Grace grimaced. “Hell no, it got worse. They were terrible golfers, and they brought their own booze and ‘pre-gamed’ until the beverage cart came around. That’s what they called it. They were piss drunk by the end of the round.”

I grabbed the chocolate pie and lemon bars I’d brought for dessert, and we talked some more about our best and worst golf days.

We were cleaning up, and Grace asked me if I wanted any leftover turkey scraps for Gary. Ava tensed. She probably wasn’t happy Grace had asked me about the leftovers instead of her. I ignored Ava.

“That would be nice, thanks.”

Ava fumed as we finished cleaning up, but she held her tongue until we’d said goodbye and walked out of their house.

We were less than fifty feet from their front door when Ava started in. “You stole my dog,” she said in a hurt voice.

I sighed long and loud. “Let’s not kid ourselves. We’re his humans, and he puts up with us in exchange for kibble and walks.”

She ignored my attempt to deflect an argument. “You even named him.”

“You called him doggie for two months,” I retorted.

“I was trying to decide! I think you did it on purpose just to get under my skin.”

I looked down at her. “That’s not true. He’s a dog, Ava. He likes walks, food, and the dog park. And people spending time with him. It was inevitable he’d prefer me.”

“What are you saying? I took him for walks.” Ava looked affronted.

“Yeah, in your flip-flops. For maybe five minutes so you wouldn’t be late for your morning tee time.”

“So? He had a big yard with lots of room to run.”

“I’m sick of this conversation, and this is the last time I’m having it with you. When you left for two months last summer—and the summer before that—to get out of the heat, you didn’t give Gary one single thought.”

“That’s because I knew he’d be with you.”

“Exactly. You knew I’d take care of him. When you first got him, I found his water bowl bone dry on more than one occasion. And you forgot to feed him sometimes.”

“That only happened a few times,” she said more softly.

“I shudder to think what would have happened to him if I hadn’t been around. So yes, he prefers me. He’s my dog now. I’m claiming him through adverse possession—look it up. And you need to stop whining and guilt-tripping.”

“I can’t talk to you when you get like this.” She started walking toward her house.

I stared at her back. “Yeah, you never did like hearing the hard, cold truth.”

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