When I was little, we couldn’t afford much in the way of entertainment. At one point, one of the few things we had were old videos of the Muppets someone had left in the apartment we moved into. I watched them over and over and over.
And I always felt a little sorry for Kermit the Frog.
I mean, he was funny, sensible, and a very nice shade of green. What did he do to deserve being stuck with the obnoxious, loud, and very pushy Miss Piggy? If I were him, I’d do what frogs do best and hop right out of there.
In this moment, I’m really really wishing I could hop. Sadly, I’m pretty sure I’m stuck here until I can pay the check for this train wreck of a meal.
“How old is your grandma, anyway?”
“How old?” I shrug. “She didn’t tell me.”
“But you can’t take over until she dies, right? Or does she want to step down now?”
Is she actually trying to make macabre small talk about when Catherine Richmond will die? Or is she pressing in order to find out when I might be running the whole company? Either way, ew.
“Because my parents had three kids, so I knew from the start that I’d never be in charge of anything, really. I mean, I’m the second child, but my older brother is a disgusting little kiss-up.”
“I was told that you run publicity and marketing for the company.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s just what they tell people.”
“It’s what who tells people?”
She frowns. “You didn’t say before—where did you go to school?”
“Let’s see,” I say, wondering whether this might be enough to dislodge her perfectly manicured talons from my back. “I started at Bronx Community College, and then I transferred to Brooklyn College for my four-year degree. I saved a bundle of money doing it that way, so if you haven’t actually graduated yet, I’d be happy to send you some info.”
“On Bronx Community College?” She looks like she can’t tell whether I’m kidding.
“Or Brooklyn College. Either one could work, really.” I force a smile.
Her lip is curled, and I bet she doesn’t even know it. “I already graduated. Thanks.”
“Oh, good for you.” I nod as if I’m actually surprised. As if I couldn’t tell that she thought my educational path was a dark alley leading to nowhere good. “So where did you go?”
“Oh, you’re kidding.” Her forced laugh sounds like a car that won’t quite turn over. “You’re so funny.”
“Wait. What did I say that’s funny?” I ask. “Unless you think my very respectable accounting degree is some kind of joke.”
Now she looks unsteady, like she’s trying rollerblades for the first time, and she’s worried she’ll fall and wreck her nose job. “Your grandmother said you have a different sense of humor.”
“She did, did she?”
The Princeton Barbie in front of me laughs this time, but it’s not as forced, thankfully. “She also said you don’t date much.”
“Probably because when I do, it tends to upset my girlfriend.” I probably shouldn’t have said that, but this is getting irritating.
When Princeton Barbie’s eyes widen and her hands clutch at the napkin she was using to wipe her fingers—salad dressing is messy stuff, apparently—I realize she’s actually upset. “Your grandmother didn’t say a word about that. I wouldn’t have come if I knew you had a girlfriend.”
“Ah, well. Granny’s not a big fan of my girlfriend,” I say. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Still, she shouldn’t be setting you up with other people if you’re just going to make ridiculous jokes and blow them off.”
“You did get a free salad out of it,” I say.
Princeton Barbie pops to her feet. “As if I care about that.”
“So, you’re leaving?”
She drops back into the seat with a flounce and a pout. “You’re supposed to stop me.”
“Why?” I’m so lost.
“Emerson.” She sticks out her lower lip like she’s a toddler. “Look, I didn’t want to have to bring this up, but I made a composite of what our kids would look like. They’re really cute, both of them. Look.”
What on earth? “You did. . .what?”
“If you put in two photos, there’s this website that will show you what your kids would look like. It’s important for people like us to know that right away.”
I’m beginning to think that she needs to be evaluated and put on some kind of medicine. She’s not very level. Two seconds ago, she was curling her lip about Brooklyn College. “But that’s hardly—”
“Emerson?”
I can’t help it. I turn toward the voice with a completely unfounded and yet desperate hope that it might be someone on a balloon-strung house that can carry me away from here. Ideally, not to the middle of some talking-dog-infested forest, but I’m not that picky. I’d go most anywhere at all.
“Yes?”
It’s the girl from last night—Elizabeth something or other. And like a lightbulb has gone off in my head, her face jostles another memory loose and I realize this is actually our third meeting. She’s the same girl who crashed into me at the funeral, shattering all that crystal. Is that when she heard who I am and what Grandma was offering? She looked amazing before I doused her in champagne that day—she looked pretty good last night as well.
But today?
Her hair’s in a messy topknot, wisps fluffing out on all sides, big knot bobbing back and forth as she wrestles with a lunging black and white dog. “What are you doing here?”
“He’s on a date,” Princeton Barbie says.
“Nonni?” Elizabeth asks.
“Do you know each other?” I ask.
“It’s a very small world,” Elizabeth says. “Sometimes it’s a real drag that everyone knows everyone else.” She looks like she means it.
“Don’t call me Nonni,” Princeton Barbie hisses.
“She prefers to be called Princeton Barbie,” I say.
Both of their heads whip in my direction.
“Excuse me?” Princeton Barbie says.
I lift my hand and catch the waiter’s eye. “Can I get the check?”
He nods and grabs a black book out of his apron—bless him. I have a black American Express with no limit thanks to Grandmother, but I’m not going to be here long enough to wait for him to run that. I plonk down my own cash for this overpriced meal, like a coyote chewing its leg off. “You’re on a walk?”
Elizabeth nods woodenly.
“Great. I’ve been meaning to start doing that.”
“Walking?” Elizabeth looks amused.
“Yes.” I nod. “Exactly.”
“It’s her.” Princeton Barbie shoots to her feet and chucks her napkin at the table. “You’re already dating Elizabeth, aren’t you? There’s no way you’d actually pick this terrible little diner in this horrible neighborhood otherwise. You must have planned that she’d be walking by.”
“Actually,” I say, “this is my favorite diner in the area. Their egg salad is amazing, and since I don’t eat meat, I’m always looking for a good protein source.”
“Aren’t eggs meat?” Elizabeth asks.
I shrug. “It’s a grey area, especially if the chickens are free range and happy.”
She blinks.
“You clearly haven’t been dating long.” Princeton Barbie stomps her foot. “You should at least give me another chance. I’m way better in the sack—”
I throw up my hands to stop her. “Trust me. Any more meals would be a huge waste of both our time.”
“Why?” She frowns.
I reach out and take Elizabeth’s free hand. The dog leaps up to lick our joined hands. “Because as I already told you, I adore my girlfriend.”
“But you said your grandmother—”
“I’m confident she’ll come around.”
When Princeton Barbie storms off, Elizabeth turns to me and drops her eyes to our hands. In that moment, a tiny thrill runs up my arm and I drop her hand like it’s a burning ember. “Sorry.”
“It’s been a long few days for me, but I really thought you turned me down when I suggested that we fake-date?” Her mouth turns up on the corner.
“I don’t like the idea of trying to pump people for money,” I say. “But I did have an idea of how I might help you.” I pick up my phone and dial Bentley.
He picks up on the first ring. “I wondered when you’d call. This is actually a lot later than I expected.”
“Mom and Dad don’t know,” I say. “I just found out. I’m trying to wrap—”
“I won’t tell them,” Bentley says. “This is your thing.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But I’m actually calling to ask a favor.”
“What?” Bentley chuckles. “Don’t tell me you finally want a job.”
“You said you never give jobs to kids of your friends.”
“You’re different. Dave’s not a contact—he’s my best friend. And you’re smart, a hard worker, and a good kid. I’ve offered you a job at least three times.”
“Good to know I’m an exception, but I’m spending all my time learning about Richmond Steel right now. What I need is something else.”
“Shoot. This should be interesting.”
“So, my new girlfriend Elizabeth runs an animal shelter, but they’re a little tight on funds. Don’t you have some money earmarked for charities? Maybe a little that you haven’t assigned yet?”
“Really? In fourteen years, you never once asked me for money, but two minutes after you find out you’re worth far more than I am, you call me up and start begging?”
“It’s not that—”
His laughter booms so loud that it makes the speaker on my phone sound tinny. “I’m kidding. Geez, relax, kid.”
“Until my grandmother decides I’m worth keeping around, I doubt I can get any money for the shelter from her.”
“We usually have it all locked down by January for the year, but sometimes I keep a little bit in miscellaneous for things that come up. Let me ask you this. If I decide I want a dog, would I get first dibs if we donate?”
“Do you want a dog?” I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. Uncle Bentley’s always traveling. What kind of life would that be for a dog? “So you can board it all the time?”
“Actually, I’m sick of always being on planes. I’m assigning people to do the overseas cases. I think it’s time for me to stick around a little more. But yes, the answer is, I’ll see what I can do. I should be able to get at least ten grand or so. Would that be of any help?”
“Of course,” I say. “Thanks.” I hang up.
“You’re a natural,” Elizabeth says. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be a regular Patrick Rothfuss.”
“Who’s that?” I ask.
“If you search his name online, you’ll quickly learn that he’s a fantasy author that people love in spite of the fact that he can’t seem to finish his series.” She smiles. “But he’s raised also like six million and change for Heifer International—a charity trying to end world hunger.”
“Puppies are cuter,” I say. “Do you have any of those? I think we could do a lot with some good photos.”
“I can always find cute animals,” she says.
“And now I have a goal. Let’s raise more than six million.”
“I like your initiative,” she says. “But why did you change your mind? I thought you said no.”
“Did you meet Princeton Barbie just now?”
She’s smiling again. “You really shouldn’t call Naomi Princeton Barbie. Her dad’s pretty influential.”
“Sure, sure,” I say. “But trust me. Calling her that was way better than any of the other exit strategies I came up with.”
“Like what?” Her lip’s twitching.
“I had three options,” I say. “First, I could have pretended that I couldn’t hear her and run off without paying, leaving her with the check.”
She nods. “Not a terrible plan, or at least, not the worst I’ve ever heard, but how would you explain to your grandmother that you went temporarily deaf?”
“That’s why my second idea was to accidentally spill water all over her head.”
“That I’d have liked to see, but. . .” Now her eyes are dancing. “How would you get anyone to believe that you accidentally dumped it on her head? You’d have to aim lower, and spilling something on her feet or lap is so pedestrian.”
“Sure, sure. I thought so too, which is why I was considering holding her down and force-feeding her the hamburger from the next table over.”
“Except you’re a vegetarian. Doesn’t shoving meat into someone else’s mouth, no matter how anorexic they are, constitute a violation of your code or something?”
“Probably.”
“Still. People would’ve paid to see that, and we could’ve used that money for the shelter.” All the humor melts off her face. “But seriously, why did she leave?”
“I told her I had a girlfriend,” I say. “And then before I could explain who it was, you showed up, and you knew her, and I realized that your idea was better than I realized.”
“You just got lucky when I showed up.”
This is clearly my opening. “I guess I did, but you should know that I do have a girlfriend,” I say.
“Oh.” She nods her head slowly. “So that’s why it’s complicated.”
I can’t help cringing a little. “It’s actually more complicated than that, really. I had a girlfriend, but she dumped me, and now I’m trying to win her back. So having a fake girlfriend gets really complicated.”
I expect her to reassure me that she’s fine with telling Lisa that it’s all fake.
But she doesn’t say that. Instead she drops into a crouch and rubs the dog’s head. “That may be a deal-breaker, because I have a major stipulation for the deal. I do need money to save the shelter, and I’ll need to convince the buyers not to go through with the deal so I have time to come up with my downpayment. But the only way this will work is if no one knows we’re faking.” She points between herself and me.
“Why?”
“Have you ever told just one person a secret?” One eyebrow arches. “It’s never ever ever, not in the history of the world, gone well.”
“But—”
“You may not know your grandmother very well yet, but she’s scary, and she’s powerful, and the only way this works, the only way I’ll do it, is if literally only you and I know the truth.”
Well, shoot.
“But you can break up with me at literally any time, and I promise to provide whatever level of drama you want. None? Fine. Lots? Also okay.”
“The thing is, Lisa’s a very low drama person, just like me.”
Elizabeth curls her lip and says, “How fun.”
Ah, sarcasm. The lowest level of humor. “She’s exactly what I want.”
“Duly noted, but trust me when I tell you that dating me won’t hurt your chances. Girls’ brains are quite strange. If you broke up, finding someone else who’s pretty and socially comfortable will only help you win her back.”
“You think?” I’m not at all sure that she’s right. Lisa and Elizabeth couldn’t be more different. What Elizabeth likes would probably royally tick off Lisa.
“Wait, you didn’t break up over infidelity on your part, right?”
“Of course not,” I say.
“And she dumped you?”
“How did you know that?”
“Emerson, one hundred percent of women like a guy more if someone else who is objectively desirable also wants him.”
“Statistically, that impossible.”
“And yet it’s true,” she says. “I swear, I’m not wrong about this, no matter what personality type Lisa is. I need your help right now, but I’m attractive, and I’m well-spoken, and I come from a family that people think is great. Trust me. If Lisa does find out we’re dating, it won’t ruin your chances of getting back together. It’ll improve them.”
She is attractive, in a ‘please park my Porsche while I play a round of golf’ kind of way. Since she was at both the funeral and the party yesterday, I’m guessing that my grandmother would approve of her. If I have to help her save her shelter so she can keep rescuing unloved cats and dogs, well, I’ve done worse things.
I hate even thinking about the time I helped someone try to rob a home improvement store just so I could buy a marker for my mom’s grave. Ugh. “We should make sure we’re clear on all the rules.”
She looks at the table I just left, which hasn’t even been bussed yet. “Do you have a minute?”
“Are you hungry?”
She shrugs. “I could eat, but I bet Lucky’s thirsty, and if we’re doing this, we may as well hammer things out now.”
“Uh, okay.” I sit down and wave the waiter back over. “I’ll have another lemonade.”
“A second date?” The waiter bobs his head. “Nice, man.”
“More like his actual girlfriend caught him.” She fakes a scowl.
The waiter looks genuinely concerned for me.
“Okay, I’ll have. . .” She squints at the menu. “Can you come back in a minute? I haven’t even looked at this yet.”
“I hear the burgers are good, and people seem to eat their wraps a lot, too.”
“Ooh, they have a turkey club. I’ll have that, with extra french fries, and a side of a plain hamburger patty.”
I must be making a face.
Because she slouches in her chair and pats Lucky’s head. “What? I like to eat, and so does my dog.”
“I just wouldn’t have pegged you for a border collie owner.” But then I think about how she crashed into me because she was racing without looking, and I look at the dog’s face, which is objectively quite beautiful, just like hers, and I shrug. “Or maybe not. Maybe you’re a perfect fit.”
“Actually, she’s a shelter dog who was kept in a box for her entire life. Now she can’t bear to be stuck in a kennel, so I’m keeping her with me until we can find her a perfect home.”
“Running an animal shelter must be really tiring.”
She rubs Lucky’s head until the dog tries to climb into her lap. Then she shoves her off and glares. “Actually, saving animals has always been the only thing I wanted to do. I started when I was supposed to be in college.”
“Supposed to be?”
“I spent my first semester’s textbook money on a racehorse I saved right off the track.”
“You did?”
“I bought him for five hundred bucks, but later I found out you can often get them for free. I’d train them for a few months, and then I’d sell them to someone who needed a reasonably priced horse who could do a normal horse kind of job. Some became therapy horses. Some became jumpers. Some of them just started doing trail rides or joined lesson programs for kids.”
“Thoroughbreds did? Really?”
“They get a bad rap,” she says, “but only because they don’t take the time to properly train them. All they want is one that can run. If you had a terrible diet and bad hoof care and people only cared about making sure you ran fast so you never learned basic manners, you’d be flighty and fractious and rude, too. But if someone took the time to teach you how to use your hind end the right way, and they taught you how to hold the bit properly, and they didn’t tear at your face, you might completely change how you behaved and what you were suited to do.”
Clearly she’s passionate about this, and it’s actually kind of fun watching how her face transforms when she’s talking about the horses changing. But. . .she said she runs a shelter. Not a barn. “I might have missed something, but what does saving horses have to do with the shelter?”
“Right. Sorry. Yeah, so I sold four different horses in my first year of school, one every other month or something, and I then had this little pile of money, and I got all excited about what I could do with it.”
“And?”
“I met Floof.”
“You met. . .what?”
“She was this tiny little dog who was blind in one eye, and she was super growly and scared because of it. But she never felt safe. The woman who owned her was on her way to dump her at the county when I ran into her, and adopting her changed everything for me. I decided to take that money and try and save more little dogs like her. It grew with time, but later that year, after I failed out of school, I managed to convince my parents to let me use one of their underutilized buildings. I turned the rooms into kennels, and later I added a wash rack, and I’ve been saving animals that were on a kill order from the New York State system ever since.”
“That’s. . .” I can’t help staring at her. I would never have guessed that she dropped out of school so she could spend all her time trying to help neglected and abandoned animals. “It’s impressive, really. What’s the shelter called? I want to look it up.”
“At first I was going to name it something to do with death row, but people didn’t really get it. They all kept saying it was depressing. So instead I called it Posh Pets, because that’s who we cater to—people who have money and want a unique animal with a story they can tell.”
“You only focus on adopting dogs to rich people?”
She laughs. “Not hardly, but quite a few of my pets need surgeries or special care. They’ve lived hard lives. I often match them with people who can afford that, and in this area. . .” She shrugs. “It’s rich people more often than not.”
“How do you find the homes for the pets?”
“We’re staffed by a lot of part-time volunteers, many of whom found a dog or cat with us. We’re open for people to come adopt every day from eight until noon, but we actually find most of our adoption placements through social media. I have a friend who donates her time to photograph each new pet, and then I post on our page and ask people to share and comment to help find the pet a new home.”
“That’s actually pretty nice,” I admit. “I don’t hate the idea of helping you.”
“My big problem right now is that my parents are selling my building,” she says. “This big company’s buying it so they can build a huge storage warehouse for things they need most in their supply chain.”
“I kind of overheard part of that,” I admit. “On the day you crashed into me.”
“Sorry about that.” She bites her lip. “I might not have been very polite. I was pretty stressed, and I also thought you were a waiter, for some reason.”
“And you don’t need to be nice to waiters?” I can’t help being annoyed by that, even though I’m sure they all feel that way.
“No, it’s not that. I just figured. . .” She frowns. “Well, I guess since it’s part of their job, yeah. I didn’t think I needed to worry if you had to clean it up.”
I shrug. “That’s about what I expect from rich people.”
“Says the man whose grandmother is richer than the Hiltons.”
“That’s my grandmother, though,” I say. “Not me, and I was a waiter that day.”
She blinks. “You—what?”
“I’m kidding,” I say.
“Oh.” She still looks confused. “Well, don’t worry. I plan to help you get your name officially changed to Richmond. Soon, it’ll be you who’s rich, too.”
“I sure hope so.” But as I say it, I realize that it may not be true.