Page 43 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
“I meant the account,” he says. “Not the dog.”
“I know what you meant. That’s just... not what I want the account to be about.”
He scoffs, only a little, but it’s enough. “You’re the one who needs the money.”
“I’ll earn it another way.” I attempt to look firm, but firmness is hardly my specialty.
Sure enough, he opens his mouth to reply, but Everett cuts in first.
“Cameron’s doing an amazing job with Aggie,” he tells everyone. “Aggie’s well loved and well cared for, and Cameron is carefully considering anything that might help her recovery.”
“Whoa,” Brandon says through a chuckle that makes my teeth grate. “No offense, but—”
“Oh my god!” Regina pushes back her chair and leaps to her feet, sneaking me ascrew this guylook. “I totally forgot I brought something for Pilot, too.”
“If it’s a tiny T-shirt, I’d also love one in my size,” Minh Ha says.
“It’s better,” Tegan says while Regina digs through a big red purse she left on the bookshelves. “Though I’m sure Reggie would be happy to print you both tees.”
“I want one, too!” Mindy or Mandy says, and pretty soon everyone’s talking about the shirts—everyone but Brandon—and I don’t honestly know if they’re all colluding to shut him down, or if they genuinely love the shirts, or both, but I’m grateful to not fight this battle alone.
Regina’s gift turns out to be a tiny turkey costume made from fabric scraps crafted into an upright circle of tail feathers, and with a bright orange beak and dangling red wattle on a little headband. It’s simultaneously the cutest and most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen, and when Pilot gets Aggie chasing her a few steps while her tail feathers bounce, I laugh so hard my gut hurts.
Dogs are truly, indisputably the solution to everything.
The topic of branding and sponsorship doesn’t come up again, but a couple hours later, after everyone else has dispersed, and only Tegan and Regina remain to help us clean up and set the room torights, Regina catches me checking the Goode Girls account on my phone, smiling at the TikTok of Aggie in her special shirt, with a tiny Pilot dancing around her. These ten seconds make my heart swell, as does the growing stream of enthusiasm from her fans.
Thisis what I want the account to be about. My dog. Living a good life. Happy. Loved.
“No offense,” Regina says in a mock-bro voice, and we all laugh, even Everett, who’s elbows deep in washing dishes while Tegan dries. “But I have a suggestion for you to consider.”
I set aside my phone and collect the last few glasses people left around the room.
“I’m listening,” I say, genuinely curious what she thinks.
“That guy was a dick,” she says. “He needs to stand at the far end of a driving range during a group beginner’s lesson.” She pauses long enough for us all to swap looks of amused agreement. “I get why you might not be up for corporate sponsorship deals or soliciting personal donations, but after everyone here asked about the shirts, I took a peek at today’s comments and saw how many of your followers are also asking about them.” She gives her shirt hem a quick tug, smoothing it out so the text is fully legible. “My company’s already set up to print these. If you’re interested, we can add them to my site as soon as next week. All you’d need to do is post on TikTok telling people where to go if they want a shirt. We’d do the rest, and I’d be happy to split any net profits fifty-fifty with you so you can put the money toward Aggie’s recovery. I’d donate all of it but we’re a small, new company, and honestly? We could use the business.”
Everett turns off the tap.
Tegan lowers her towel.
Regina stands by the bookshelves, patiently waiting, her brows raised in question.
Aggie, exhausted by the day’s activity, is sound asleep on her blanket with her head on her shaggy cow puppet and her increasingly distressed monkey tucked under a paw. Despite my reservations about turning her into a sales tool, Regina’s offer is a generous one, made in the spirit of friendship and not profit. If people love the shirts, of course she should sell them, and if people buy them to help with Aggie’s care, at least they get something cool in return. Everyone wins in this situation—Aggie, her followers, me, Regina, her company. It’s perfect.
“Actually,” I say, “that would be amazing.”
A broad smile breaks across her face while Tegan lets out an excited whoop and Everett walks over to wrap me in his arms, hugging me tight as his eyes sparkle and his cheeks dimple.
“I like this plan,” he says. “And I know you and Aggie are in good hands.”
“Thebesthands!” Tegan calls from the kitchen.
“TMI!” Everett and I say together.
We’re all a little punch-drunk. And a little drunk-drunk.
“Like you two can talk,” Regina teases.
