Page 61 of Just the Tipsy
I go back to looking at the records for a cat I’ll be seeing in the next forty minutes. He just needs a tooth removed, and since he’s otherwise healthy, it shouldn’t be a major procedure. Plus, it’s a slow day, so I won’t have much going on after that.
JD: It’ll be at the bar, end of discussion. Absolutely no strippers. And no exotic dancers or any performer who takes their clothes off.
Ash: Y’all are fucking boring
My phone lights up again and I sigh — this time it’s Mom. I don’t have to read the message to know it’s more bullshit about the shelter board or whatever other thing she wants me to be a part of.
The more she pushes, the more her disappointment starts to creep through. And the more disappointment comes through, the more I feel the need to cave. I wish I didn’t. Ishouldbe able to tell her to stop and leave it at that. I’m not in high school anymore — I don’t have to fill my schedule with a thousand different activities. But old habits die hard, and the rush of approval and (her version of) success still calls out to me just a little.
I’m about to put my phone on ‘do not disturb’ when a text from Bianca pops up. My heart does an idiotic flutter and I check it. It’s a picture of Sadie, eyes closed close to a fan, her fur blowing back.
Bianca: From last night. She was having a supermodel moment
I grin. As much as I miss having Sadie around the house, I’m glad she and Bianca are bonding.
Me: Cute. Are y’all staying cool at the house?
Bianca: Mostly. The AC is definitely being taxed during the day.
I jiggle my leg. The HVAC system is probably ancient and will probably cost a lot to fix. It’s definitely outside of my bubble of expertise. But it’s been unseasonably hot lately.
Me: Come by later so you can stay cool. I should be out of here by 5:30
I pause, wishing I could unsend it. I don’t want them to be hot, but I don’t want to seem too pushy.
Bianca: I think we will, thanks
I blow a breath out through my nose and finally put my phone on do not disturb. That’s future Waylon’s problem.
I focus again, familiarizing myself with my afternoon patients before moving onto the cat’s tooth removal. Everything is relatively routine, so I call her humans and tell them it all went fine.
The rest of the day is more of the same, borderline boring. Same when I get home — I take Duke on his walk and let him play with Murphy until they’re both tuckered out. Bianca texts me, asking if she can come over to cool off, and I give her the okay.
She arrives a few minutes later, a tote bag on her shoulder and Sadie in one arm. She looks like she’s going to a yoga class in her leggings and fitted top, both the same shade of deep red. I don’t know how many of these matching sets she has, but I hope she has them in every color. They look like they were made for her.
“I figured I’d bring wine or something?” She shrugs and pulls a bottle out. “As a thank you for letting us hang here until it cools down. But I don’t even know if you drink wine, so if you don’t, I can just take it back.”
“I like wine. I don’t know much about it but it’s good with steaks or Italian food,” I say, taking the bottle. “Thanks.”
“Good. I don’t know anything about wine either.” She puts Sadie down, and the dog strolls deeper into the house toward theliving room. “I should have brought food, though. I guess I can run back and grab something.”
“It’s fine. I was going to cook some pasta, actually.” Since today was pretty slow, I feel like cooking for once. “Do you like pasta?”
“I do. Haven’t had it all that often recently, so it’d be a nice change of pace,” she says. “I can only eat so many grain bowls before I go insane and takeout’s mostly a rip off.”
I laugh, walking toward the kitchen. Sadie is sitting at the back sliding door between the kitchen and the back porch, nose to the glass with her tail wagging. I let Duke and Murphy inside and they all greet each other.
Murphy trots into the middle of the kitchen, right where we need to walk, and stretches out with a heavy sigh.
“Tired, buddy?” I ask. “Scoot over there, Murph.”
Murphy lifts his head an inch, then flops back down. Sadie joins him, but Duke sits where I’ve trained him to sit while I’m cooking — out of the way.
“I guess he is.” Bianca smiles. “Maybe he’s just choosing a strategic position to get the most dropped food.”
“That would mean that he’s capable of masterminding anything.” I give him a scratch above his tail. “I like dogs that are just happy to be here even though they have absolutely no idea what’s going on.”
“Kind of like Sadie?” She follows me deeper into the kitchen, which is open and attached to the living room.
