Page 46 of The Goode Girls of Maple Lane
HANNAH:Sure you did ????
This makes me smile again. She can always get a laugh out of me, even on my grayest days. I also find it amusing that she scoped out Everett’s TikTok. It’s a small account, with about two dozen videos showcasing some of his branding concepts and animations.He really is good at what he does, with an eye for creating a unique, catchy look for every product or company. He understands slogans and how to appeal to specific demographics. If the promotion he mentioned last month becomes a real possibility, he deserves to get it.
Hannah and I continue texting until my wash cycles finish. Then I load everything into the industrial-size dryers, but when I put my laundry card into the slot to start the first dryer, I get an error message. The same thing happens on every machine. I swear I had $20 on my card, more than enough to finish today’s laundry, but it won’t work at all, forcing me to buy a new card, a task that proves impossible when my credit card is declined.
This isnothappening. After being reprimanded at school, trudging home in the cold, wet slush that soaked my feet, and cleaning up barf for an hour, I cannot be stuck with six loads of damp laundry that includes all of Aggie’s bedding, the small area rugs that provide her traction as she wobbles around our apartment, my weekend work clothes, and nearly every towel I own, discounting the ones she’s currently sleeping on. But the more I investigate the situation, the clearer it becomes. Unless a holiday elf twinkles his way into the laundromat in the next thirty seconds to tap his sparkly candy-cane wand to the dryer buttons, thisishappening. And there’s not a damned thing I can do about it. Not right now when I’m already tight on time.
The wagon weighs a ton with everything damp, and dragging it six blocks toward home in crappy weather saps every remaining ounce of energy in my body. I don’t know what to do with it once I’m home, so I roll the bags out of the wagon and into the shower stall, removing only the rugs, which I go ahead and put down soAggie doesn’t fall while I’m gone. Then I hang a towel over the bathroom towel rack, hoping it’ll be dry enough to use later tonight.
In my remaining free time, I give Aggie some much deserved love, burying my face in her floof, assuring her I’m not mad at her, and apologizing for leaving her alone so much this month. When she finally rallies enough to stop looking like the saddest dog in Sadtown, I feed her a small dinner, make sure she’s drinking plenty of water, and eat some cold lo mein from one of Everett’s charitable donations. I know he’s working late tonight so I text Khalil, telling him I’m leaving my apartment unlocked and asking him to check in on Aggie for me. He texts back right away, no problem. God, I’m glad I have friends now. I can’t even imagine...
Before heading out the door, I put on Netflix for Aggie, this time an early 2000s rom-com calledJust Friends, which the trailer suggests will have its moments, but putting Ryan Reynolds in a fat suit is a weird choice for a multitude of reasons. Aggie doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest and she settles in to watch while I give her kisses and then leave her with her crush.
By the time I reach campus for the second time today, I’m ready to zone out with a podcast while I mop, scrub, and hope my mood improves before I head home again. This hope is quickly dashed when I learn the Department of Earth and Atmospheric Sciences had a holiday party this afternoon, and one of the floors I’ll be cleaning is trashed. Food and drinks have been left out, broken glass litters one of the classrooms, and there’s garbage everywhere, not because the trash cans are full, but because people knew someone else would clean up after them.
The carelessness grates but I find my gloves and get to work. No way out but through.
Five and a half hours later, when I get home, sweaty and gross from work, I hang up my coat and fall onto the futon where Aggie’s blinking away sleep and wagging her tail.
“Hi, sweetie.” I throw an arm over her, using her as a full-body pillow while the emotions I’ve been wrestling with all day finally burst free and I quietly sob into her neck.
I know it was one rotten day. Only one. A few bad grades. A short-lived digestive issue. A failed attempt at laundry I still have to deal with. A job that on its best days is mindless and on its worst leaves me cursing humanity through an extra-hot, extra-long shower when I get home. None of that can be classed as tragic. But no amount of internal pep talking, pretty sunrises, or positive affirmations in the world would make me feel good right now.
Aggie gloriously, intuitively lets me fall apart, sniffling away while I stroke her ears or her belly. She doesn’t tell me to have a little perspective or keep my chin up. She doesn’t rattle off ways I could’ve prevented feeling like this by being smarter or more responsible. She doesn’t try to fix me. She gives me free rein to be sad, hurt, lost, stuck, angry, demoralized, drained, and generally beaten down by life, the same way Marmie used to let me be lonely and insecure.
It’s such a gift, this level of acceptance. People can’t do this, even people with beautiful, caring hearts like Everett, Khalil, and Regina. We have different outlooks, different priorities. Only a dog looks you in the eyes and truly loves you precisely as you are.
Eventually I collect myself, get Aggie outside, get cleaned up and ready for bed, and slide the futon mattress onto the floor so Aggie and I can sleep on it together tonight, since her bed is still at the bottom of a trash bag with all the other damp things I’ll dealwith tomorrow. As we curl up together to snuggle, two heads on one pillow, I do a quick Google search.
How much can someone make from TikTok sponsorship?
A little bit of digging suggests that for an account the size of mine, I could make $100 to $1,000 per post, pending views, shares, and engagement, more if the account continues to grow. I consider this as I fall asleep with my arm around Aggie, soothed by the gentle rhythm of her breathing, the softness of her fur, and its familiar doggy smell.
In the morning, I send Everett a text.
CAMERON:I’m ready to talk about sponsors
Chapter Eighteen
Friday, when Everett comes over after work, he finds me sitting cross-legged with Aggie on the futon mattress, which is still on the floor where I put it last night. She’s been napping after a long play session while I’ve been poring over my pathology notes, wearing my sleep shorts and tank top under my oldest, rattiest cardigan. Most of my other clothes are still damp, discounting the ones I wore yesterday, which are in even less appealing shape. With no classes for the next two weeks, no more cleaning shifts while academic buildings are locked up for the holidays, and no ready means of returning to the laundromat, all I wanted to do today was wallow in front of bad movies with my face buried in Aggie’s thick fur while she let me hold her without complaint, but I’m determined to use this time wisely.
“You two look like you’re having a picnic,” Everett says as he joins us.
I glance around at the textbooks, notes, open laptop, and assortment of dog toys.
“Except there isn’t any food,” I say.
He drops onto his knees and crawls over to give me a kiss, sneakingin another before crawling past me to attend to the more demanding needs of the overexcited golden retriever behind me. The instant she heard Everett’s voice, she jolted from her nap, overcome with joy. Tail wagging. Eyes bright. Ears perked. I sometimes wonder if I should be jealous of how much she adores him, but I know she has enough affection to share, and I love seeing her so happy. I also love that he accepts us as a package deal. She’s my first priority. That’s nonnegotiable. The only real problem is an unavoidable twinge of worry about how she’ll handle it if Everett and I ever split up. It’s a small twinge, but I know myself. I don’t hold on to things the way he does, and I definitely don’t hold on to people who hurt me. I get as far away as possible.
“I’m thinking it’s a pizza night,” Everett says as I start packing up my books.
“I still have noodles in the fridge,” I tell him.
He cranes around to scold me with a look. “Cameron.”
“Everett.” I attempt to look resolute, and the instinct to resist being treated without the capacity to return the favor is too deeply embedded to skip past entirely, but I’m not fooling either of us. I can’t afford principles right now. If he wants to buy us dinner again, I’m all in.
He gives Aggie a vigorous scratch of her fluffy neck while she licks his face like it’s a rapidly melting Popsicle and she’s determined to catch every drop. Her tail also thwaps away like it always does when he comes over, though the sound is muffled since I’ve started encasing her tail in a thick sock after I apply antibiotic ointment, a protective measure Sam and Sariah recommended during our most recent visit. I love that it’s so cheap and easy, but its effectiveness is impaired by how often Aggie’s wagging her tail andshaking the sock right off. Still, with the antibiotics, the thyroid meds, and her improved movement, the scabs and sores have significantly faded and we’re all hopeful her hair will start to come in as her health continues to improve.
