Page 78 of Playing the Field
Unable to land on anything other than maybe a few plants that are in bloom now, I’m baffled.
My laptop bag hangs from my shoulder, and my purse, heavywith uneaten granola bars and computer glasses, hangs from the other shoulder. At least, I’m balanced. I unlock the door and push it open with the toe of my low-heeled bootie.
The moment I’m inside, Hunter’s dog is on me, sniffing me and licking my hand. Kyler comes up behind him with a treat. “Come on, good boy. Let her at least get in the door.”
Seeing Bogie pulls at my heart, unleashing a mixture of emotions. The furry bear-dog is so full of unconditional love that I can’t help but feel my spirits rise around him, but then I think about Hunter chasing Bogie around outside and the couple I almost believed us to be, and I get sad.
“Sorry, sis. I didn’t expect you to be here.” He checks the time. “Why are you here? Did you get fired or something?”
It’s so like my brother to ask that question without sympathy because he knows it’s probably not true. “I left early.”
“I’m sorry. Who are you?” He squints his eyes in mock concern and taps at my cheek as though testing to see if I’m a real human. “Funny. You look like my sister, but you’re surely an alien pod person because she doesn’t leave early. If you must eat me, please spare the dog.”
I roll my eyes. “If only you were actually funny, you might have a girlfriend.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
He bends to pet Bogie, whose ears perk when Kyler talks directly to him in a serious voice. “Okay, buddy. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’ll hold her down and you lick her within an inch of her sanity, and then maybe she’ll tell us who sent her to take over the earth.”
Shaking my head, I walk into the kitchen. I guess that’s what looked different—the sunlight bouncing off the glass in front of the house, because Kyler is right—it’s the middle of the day. I’m never here, home from work, in the middle of the day.
In the fridge, I find Kyler’s glass container of cut-up carrotsand celery and pair it with my jar of Skippy on the counter. Taking a big swipe of creamy peanut butter with a celery stick, I plop myself onto one of the barstools and munch my snack. If Kyler wants to give me a hard time about being home early, I’m not going to listen to it on an empty stomach.
My brother looks from me to the dog, who has managed to find his leash and now holds it in his mouth. “Easy, buddy. I think Gracie needs our attention for a sec.”
Kyler takes a couple of sticks of celery and starts to take a bite, but then he thinks better of it and swipes it through the peanut butter. Taking a seat next to me, he swivels my stool to face him. “What’s going on? Real talk.”
I shrug and focus on breathing. And another bite of peanut butter on celery.
Kyler hops off the chair as quickly as he landed there and hooks the leash to Bogie’s collar. “Come on, let’s go.”
Bogie sits, tail wagging. Both of them stare at me expectantly until I give in. “So go.”
“I was talking to you. Let’s go.”
I’m too mentally drained to argue or ask questions, so I follow the two of them out the door and into Kyler’s truck, where he lets Bogie ride shotgun. “I promised him,” he explains.
Folding myself into the back seat, I wait while Kyler runs back into the house, returning a moment later with a pile of sweats and towels. He drops them on the seat next to me, hops in the driver’s seat, and speeds down the hill.
It seems pointless to ask where we’re going because it’s not like Kyler is going to change his plans if I object. Twenty minutes later, we’ve navigated the hills in Griffith Park and stopped at the observatory, which is perched atop the tallest peak in the area. Kyler lets Bogie out and sets him free to run off the leash while we walk behind the whirling dervish of a dog, who looks like he’s been caged up for a month.
“Why do you have him?” It’s the question I’ve been trying toarticulate since Bogie ambled out and started licking my hand, but the thought had a hard time fighting through the emotional fog.
“Hunter’s out of town.”
I wait for him to elaborate, reminding myself of the Devils schedule, which doesn’t have any away games before the season opener. “Vacation?” I ask, feigning mild disinterest.
“Mental health day.” He turns to face me, and the weight of his stare tells me he wants to talk about Hunter, even if I don’t.
“Oh. Good for him. We all need those.” The words sound hollow. I know I’m probably the source of at least some of his mental pain.
“Right.” Kyler stares off at the view, which is tremendous. Today is one of those clear days in LA right after yesterday’s wind blew every trace of smog and haze into the ether. The tall buildings and houses down below look like they’ve been carved in sharp detail out of glass and stone against the clean blue backdrop of sky.
It takes me back to the afternoon of paddleboarding with Hunter, when he said that anything bothersome was behind him when he stood at the ocean. I feel like that now. Like nothing can touch me up here. Nothing except the sadness swirling inside me because I take that everywhere I go these days.
I wait for Kyler to tell me more, but he says nothing. I hear his deep inhale, and it prompts me to do the same. All the while, Bogie races around in circles on the grass, occasionally coming back to us as if to check in before sprinting off again. His capacity to entertain himself amazes me.
