Page 82 of It Couldn't Be You
Gabriel’s laugh lit up his whole face. “He carries it well!”
“How’s Midnight like him?” I asked, resting my phone against the cookbook as I poured chicken broth into the pot.
“Midnight likes the company, I think. You know how Midnight is so old and chill, so if anything, he finds Jack London pretty entertaining.”
“Ahh, Midnight has a little brother,” I cooed.
“How far he’s come.”
“I wonder if he’ll miss Jack when y’all move?”
“Or be relieved to get his yard back.” He rustled with something out of the shot. “No, no, Jack London, that’s Midnight’s.”
“So we’re saying the full name every time, are we?”
“JACK LONDON!” he shouted. “Be right back!” He darted off the screen.
I folded my shredded chicken into the pot, then some sweet potatoes, carrots, and celery, all to the sound of Gabriel rescuing Jack from something that was “not a chew toy!” from the sounds of it.
“I’m back,” he said, returning with the pup by his side. Jack London sniffed the screen.
“Hi, there,” I said. I was grabbing a few seasonings from the cabinet.
“You cookin’?” Gabe asked.
“That I am. I’m making some soup for dinner tonight.” I twisted the cap off the jar of garlic powder.
“Ah, I could go for a warm bowl of soup.”
“They do say soup is good for the soul,” I said. “Or something like that.”
“You should bring some to Coffee & Commas tomorrow,” he said as Jack gave his cheek a big lick. He pushed his snout away.
“You dork, if you want soup, why don’t you just come get some tonight? I can’t eat this whole pot anyway.” That was a casual and friendly invite, right? Maybe how pathetically I wanted him to come over was not casual or friendly. But, I at least sounded the part.
“Could I bring young Jack London with me?”
“Is he housetrained?”
“That’s what they told me. We could test it?” He gave a hopeful smile.
“Good Lord.” I squinted at the screen. Gabe and Jack were both looking back at me. “Okay, but no accidents!”
“Yes, ma’am,” Gabe said obligingly.
Gabe came by a few hours later, bringing Jack along on a leash. I poured us two mix-and-match ceramic bowls full of soup. We ate them sitting side by side at my kitchen bar while Jack rolled around on the kitchen tile with a chewy toy bone. We discussed Gabe’s book and his original plan versus what it looked like now. He opened up documents and showed me outlines, rough drafts, and emails with his publishers. He laid it all out for me.
We wound up sitting on my couch, both with blankets, talking about the detours our lives had taken this year.
And, maybe it was shared ups and downs we were tussling with, or just the fact that he was Gabriel and I was Emma, but sharing it all with him, all the fears and hopes, Word docs on my laptop, emails with editors, and prayers in my journal felt as easy and restorative as exhaling after holding in a long breath.
“Maybe you can come along and be my assistant?” Gabe joked at one point in the evening. Jack London asleep by our feet.
“Hey, for some of the easier stuff, maybe I actually could tag along here and there,” I nudged his leg with my toe.
“You really up for that?” he asked, but I wasn’t sure if he meant the task of toughing it out in nature or something else, more akin to me running out of the car on Valentine’s Day.
We ended up opening a bottle of wine, and our conversations moved from our careers to our families, then catching up on all we’d missed the past couple of years.
