Page 31 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
After breakfast, we peruse the outdoor offerings at a toy store, where Everett looks for a birthday gift for his nephew, who’s turning two in November. Aggie gets excited when he slips his hand into a big, shaggy Highland cow puppet and teases her with it. Nextthing I know, it’s coming home with us, thanks to the generosity of the woman running the store, who’s thrilled Aggie’s showing an interest in the toy. She tells us her sister has retrievers and sent her a link to our account. She takes a selfie with us, eager to send it to her sister, who lives near Melbourne, Australia, which boggles my mind as I think about how far one video has traveled.
Last but far from least, I grab a bright pink tennis ball from a dollar bin outside a sporting goods store and Everett films me lobbing it gently toward Aggie. While seated in her wagon, she makes a concerted effort to catch my throws, until she succeeds on the fifth or sixth try, by which point, several spectators have gathered and break into applause, murmuring among themselves as word spreads about Aggie’s history and why her catching a ball is a big deal. The clerk running the outdoor stall tears up as someone shows her our account, and she gives us several balls to take home, insisting we made her day and there’s no charge.
Thus, by eleven-thirty, as we wheel Aggie home after her walking exercises, the wagon is full of bags and toys, making her look like a dragon hoarding its treasure. After Everett helps me get her settled on her bed, we perch on the side of my bed and I open TikTok, shaking my head at the growing numbers. Over two days, one video has garnered more than seven hundred thousand views and the account has almost eleven thousand followers. It’s unreal.
“Want help with number two?” Everett asks.
“I don’t have time before heading to work. We can do it later.”
He takes out his phone with the time in bold on the home screen.
“You have ten minutes, right?” he asks.
“Exactly. Ionlyhave ten minutes.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
He’s missed my point entirely—namely, that the first video took me well over an hour to put together—but his cheeks are dimpled with an eager smile and his thumbs are already flying as he scoots closer, scrolling his album from today. Together, we select a few videos, starting with Arthur and Diana at the tea shop and ending with Aggie catching the bright pink ball as the crowd around her applauds. Everett deftly compiles the shots, efficiently cutting and splicing to tighten everything. I dictate a caption about how Aggie’s enjoying her Sunday morning. He types it in, adds hashtags, tags the businesses that gave us free stuff, adds a trending pop song without belaboring the choice the way I did, and before I know it, we have a second TikTok up.
“You make it look so easy,” I say as he logs out of my account and pockets his phone.
“Only because it’s all for fun.” His pinkie brushes mine as he sets his hand next to mine on top of my boring and not particularly comforting comforter. The contact is subtle, tender, instinctive, and I silently curse my weekend job for ripping me away from him, and from Aggie. “It takes me a lot longer if I’m developing a new brand, testing posting strategies, targeting a specific type of viewer, trying to meet a performance goal, or otherwise selling something.”
I smile at Aggie, who’s pawing at a pink ball. “We’re definitely not selling anything.”
Everett’s pinkie brushes my hand again, more deliberately this time, almost like a nudge.
“You could, though,” he says, “if you wanted to.”
“Why would I want to?”
“I mean...” He gives me a look that suggests I should be able toanswer this one on my own, and I suppose I can, but didn’t hejustsay this was all for fun? Didn’t I tell him the same thing yesterday when I texted him about the account? Doesn’t he understand that’s what I want it to be, for meandfor Aggie? I’m happy to mention local businesses, especially when they show her special attention or give us free stuff, but I know Everett’s talking about sponsorship. Deliberate monetization. Turning fun into commerce. And I’m not interested.
“I appreciate the suggestion,” I tell him. “But even posting that first TikTok was a big step for me, and I’m still pretty overwhelmed by the response. I need some time to adjust, so can we park this conversation for another time? Like, a far, faraway time?”
He draws me into a hug, and after only a moment’s hesitation, I fall against him, exhaling my little burst of stress so I can relish these last precious seconds together before our beautiful Sunday morning ends, while he gives me a reassuring squeeze and says, “Of course.”
Chapter Eleven
In case there was any doubt on the subject, scrubbing toilets officially sucks. I’m two weeks into my cleaning job at Bradfield Hall on the Cornell campus, where I now work an after-hours shift from 6 p.m. to 11 p.m. Tuesdays and Thursdays, mopping floors and cleaning bathrooms. The job’s quiet, I can multitask by listening to veterinary podcasts, and it pays above minimum wage, so I can get by on two nights a week instead of three. All of this is an improvement on my pizzeria job. But still. Little makes me rethink all of my life choices like plunging a stopped toilet.
I’m dragging my feet as I walk home from campus, wondering if this is the best I can do at the adulthood I was racing toward as a teenager and now want to return for a refund. I’m tired of being broke. I’m tired of being tired. Then I walk through my apartment door and find Aggie on her bed, surrounded by a growing collection of toys, able now to scoot herself into a seated position with relative ease, wagging her tail and looking like the sun broke through the clouds.
“Hi, sweetie.” I drop to my knees beside her and throw my arms around her neck.
She bunts the side of my head with her cold, wet nose, sniffing every inch of me with a rigorous curiosity I don’t examine too closely, given how I’ve spent my evening. Her tail wags, her entire body wriggles with joy, and within seconds, the best I can do doesn’t seem so bad.
I get her harnessed and into the wagon, which remains our easiest way of getting around. She can take a few stiff, shaky steps on her own now, and she supports more of her own weight when I use the sling or harness, but the wagon’s still a huge help if we might be waiting for a while in the elevator or traveling beyond the little lawn out front, especially when I’m tired.
With my coat still on, we head out so Aggie can do her final pee for the night. We’re in the elevator, watching the doors close, when someone calls out for us to hold them. I reach out a hand to trigger the sensor and The Lovers soon join me, jogging to an abrupt halt as they wedge themselves into the limited space left by Aggie’s wagon. We exchange brief, polite smiles, and while the doors close again, I lift my eyes toward the flickering fluorescent lights, praying to whatever’s beyond them that The Lovers don’t make out all the way to the ground floor.
It’s been a little over three weeks since the morning at the market, and I’ve barely seen Everett during that time. Between his busy work schedule and my busy life schedule, we’re lucky to sneak in a couple hours together on a weeknight or a weekend morning. The first time we tried to watch a movie together, I fell asleep on him. The second time, he fell asleep on me.
“No way,” says the tall lover, knotting a gray flannel scarf over a navy peacoat.
“Right? I told you!” says the short lover, cutting a sharp contrastwith her partner in an embroidered, faux fur–trimmed, ankle-length coat that makes me think of dramatic heroines in old Russian novels, none of which I’ve read in their entirety. She also has bright orange mittens poking from a pocket, and red earmuffs circling her neck like idling headphones, leaving her natural curls loose, while her partner wears a plain black beanie over her blond pixie cut.
The two of them are looking at a phone together, glancing up at the same time to see me regarding them. I flash them an apologetic smile, hoping I didn’t seem like I was showing undue curiosity in their midnight scrolling, and I’m startled when they both break into big, wide grins.
