Page 13 of The One You Chose

I’ll tell Retta-Mae “Hi” for you.

Hungry,

Jeremiah F. Deir

Adoption Coordination Director

Port Madison County Humane Society

There, not too much. Just a friendly request for a food recommendation. Nothing nefarious in that. I certainly had a bunch of new coworkers I could ask for ideas on food, but this way, I could keep talking to this person.

I wasn’t sure why I kept writing to this E. McConnell. Our exchange before had more than served its purpose. I responded politely and thanked her for her help. So why did I keep writing, then deleting an email to her? Or him. It could be a him. No, something told me it was a woman. I wasn’t sure what the pull was, but I kept thinking back to Lina and the pull I had toward her. How when I saw her, I just knew talking to her would be worth it. I had never asked a woman from a bar to go home with me, and certainly not after only a few minutes. But something told me to ask her and it was the best night of my life. That same voice was telling me to write to this E. McConnell.

Three more applications, a tidying up of the small inventory in our pet supply store, and a small tussle with a Russian blue and a British Maine Coon that left me with a scratch on my hand I was starving. Checking my email once again I saw E. McConnell’s name and brightened.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Pizza Pie

J,

Yes, I am a Ms. It’s not too far of a jump to gender stereotype my field. 97% of preschool teachers are women. It’s actually something I would like to see change, but I digress.

As for pizza, I would recommend Flippy’s down the street from the Humane Society, their stuffed crust pizza is pretty good. Now, personally, I think that if you are in Ridgewood and just want takeout; you need to get your pizza from Ridgewood Market. I know I can hear your skepticism from here. A grocery store? But I promise, it’s worth it. They have great pizza. Just don’t go in the middle of the day, that’s when all the high school kids are down there. It’s a zoo.

Of course, I’m assuming since you work with animals all day, you might like the zoo, but a gaggle of sixteen-year-old girls sitting at plastic tables can be a bit much for even the bravest of men. (I should know, I used to be one of those sixteen-year-olds.) Let me know what you think of the pizza.

:)

With a pizza box balanced on my hand, I let myself into my new place. Cooper and I went to lunch together and he insisted I bring home the leftovers.

Over pizza and jo-jos, Cooper had relegated me with all sorts of stories about the people who lived in Ridgewood. He knew everyone and our lunch was interrupted at least a dozen times by people young and old coming over to say hi to him. I lost count of how many times I had to wipe pizza off my hands with a napkin after Cooper introduced me.

True to E. McConnell’s word, the pizza at Flippy’s was good. They didn’t have my favorite hot sauce there, but tabasco could work in an emergency. The entire lunchtime I was trying to ask him about Lina, but the phrasing was holding me back. Cooper knew everyone and seemed to love talking about everyone. As a new guy in town, I didn’t want my business broadcast on Radio Ridgewood.

How could I tell him I met Lina on Thanksgiving and was still obsessing over her a week later without raising red flags? Cooper was a smart guy, he’d see right through me. Instead, I ate the potatoes and pizza as I plotted the best way to track Lina down.

Hours later and now home, I was no closer to finding out who she was. In a city of eleven thousand people, a beautiful dark-haired woman shouldn’t be that hard to find. But all my efforts had been in vain. I went to the Skol House a few more times; I went to Ridgewood Market every day hoping I’d see her next to the Dungeness crab and live oyster tank, but no.

My new place was stuffed full of boxes on top of boxes. Christening my fridge with a six-pack of beer and the leftover pizza, I turned to survey the small home.

Less than eight hundred square feet the Easter egg-colored bungalow was wedged between two other pastel-painted homes in what I was told locals called “the skittle houses”. Years before it had been the old military housing left to rot and had been inhabited by the lowest-income families. Now the houses were smushed together in neat rows with no cars allowed in the driveway and a maximum of two potted plants allowed on each porch.

This rental home was only a jumping-off point for me. If this job worked out, and I had hoped it would, I would find a bigger place later. Until then the two-bedroom place would fit nicely with me and my stuff.

I set to work, assembling my bed and making it. I’d need a place to sleep. In the bedroom’s corner were my clothes packed up into boxes. I wasn’t about to go through those. I could still live in my uniform of slacks and one of the Port Madison Humane Society shirts I had been given upon hire.

Heading to the kitchen I popped open a bottle of beer before opening the first box labeled “dishes and shit." Staring down at the mish-mash of a packing job I did when I left my last place, I cursed.

I really needed to be a better planner instead of working in the moment. Taking a swig, I realized that applied to too many things to count.

ten

Horns All Blow

Fitz

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