Page 54 of Betting on the Best Friend
Mrs. Lipsky gives him the evil eye and makes a big show of pitching the treat into the bushes below them. “That squirrel gets your cashew, you twerp.”
Ahab gives an indignant flounce. “Hello, friend! Hello, friend!”
Mrs. Lipsky makes a clicking sound and produces another cashew from her fuchsia caftan. “Good boy.”
He snaps it up, gives a few parrot chomps, and screeches, “Kiss me, hot stuff!”
“Don’t make me come get that cashew back, you miscreant.”
As if. The second she doesn’t have a witness, Mrs. Lipsky will give him a half dozen more cashews for no reason.
“What are you up to this afternoon?” she asks. “It looks like nothing, which I approve.”
“Lazy day,” I say. “Charlie’s coming over and we’re going for a walk.”
“I approve your walk, and I approve of Charlie. Good choices all around.”
Charlie’s green car pulls into view, and I wave at Mrs. Lipsky as I cross our small yard to meet him.
“Don’t be too good,” she calls, which makes Charlie pause when he emerges from his car.
My cheeks get warm, but I don’t know why. Mrs. Lipsky knows it’s not like that with us.
I shake my head. “She’s spending too much time with Ahab. Need anything before we go?”
“Nah.” Charlie locks the car. It’s not just green but bright green. Bright mossy green, if that even makes sense. It’s a midsize Volkswagen SUV so he’ll have room for shoe inventory, and it’s new, thanks to that inventory. If anyone else drove a car this shade of green, I’d assume they only chose it because they got a discount due to the color. But Charlie? It works. No, it’sright.
He slides his keys in the pockets of his shorts, gray flat fronts he’s wearing with his favorite Adidas and a peach T-shirt with a line drawing of the sun on the horizon. It looks old and soft. This is Charlie’s max comfort setting.
The walk to Pease is only about ten minutes. Sometimes on our walks, we both talk. Sometimes I mostly talk. Today is one of those days.
I catch him up on all the nothing that has happened so far, and he nods but doesn’t add anything. When I tell him about Ahab’s antics, he doesn’t even smile, which means he’s not paying attention. He loves Ahab stories.
“You good?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
His tone is normal, but I don’t believe him. “How did the rest of your date go with the pickleball princess?”
There’s a long pause before he answers. “I don’t want to talk about dating right now, if that’s okay.”
Ah, Sydney is the problem. That’s fine. He’ll talk when he’s ready. “How about pickleball?”
“Do you have a lot you want to say on pickleball?”
“Not really.”
“Pass, then.”
“Hmm.” I mull for a moment. “Movies with scenes involving sports with nets?”
A soft chuckle. “Ranking or rating?”
“Let’s take it easy today and go with rating.”
“King Richard, tennis. A-plus.”
“B- for the movie choice. That was too easy. I’ll go withTop Gun, beach volleyball. A.”
