I Wonder

Frankie

“Did you get the stool sample, Frankie?” Dr. Ellis asks.

I tug off my gloves and toss them in the garbage. “Yes. You don’t pay me enough to scrape liquid feces into a container, though.” I walk over to the sink to scrub my hands and arms all the way up to my elbow.

“How much is enough? I thought you did this out of love for animals.” He laughs, grabbing the container from the sample collection tray. “I hope my sincere thank you will suffice,” he adds as he walks through the door into the lab.

I wouldn’t say a love for animals is enough to make these tasks enjoyable, but that’s what keeps me coming back. That’s what propels me into the next exam room, where I find a gorgeous Himalayan cat alongside its gorgeous human.

“Hi, little one,” I greet the cat, not having the nerve to address the guy with her. “Let me get you set up for the doctor.”

The cat is wearing a crystal emblazoned harness with a matching leash and looks perfectly healthy.

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I ask, “What brings you guys in?”

“My mom insists her eyes are more watery than normal. So here I am, on a Wednesday morning, bringing her spoiled cat for a checkup.” He chuckles, not looking the least bit bothered by the situation. He runs a hand through the length of his light brown crew cut, leaving it mussed.

“Oh. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Dr. Chen will be in shortly to look at her.” I continue with my tasks, making sure all the equipment Dr. Chen will need is available. The entire time, I feel eyes on me, which gets more awkward by the second. “What’s her name?” I ask, trying to break the silence.

“Lovely. Mine’s Whit. And yours is…?” He looks at me expectantly with his smiling grey eyes.

I don’t get the impression he’s trying to flirt with me. I think he just has a charming personality without putting in any effort. So I answer, knowing I’m wearing a nametag; my name is not a well-guarded secret. “Frankie. Why Lovely?”

“Her full name is Mademoiselle Lovelyworth, but no one calls her that. My mom can be a little extra.”

I look down at the cat’s file and notice the extensive list of visits she’s been in for—all of which have been non-issues. “Sometimes peace of mind is worth a quick visit.”

“You know, I once broke my pinky finger after my sister shut my hand in the car door, and my mom told me to ‘walk it off’? But the cat has a hangnail, and we have to rush her to the vet. I didn’t see a doctor until my hand swelled up like Mickey Mouse.” He smirks, turning up one side of his face with a ridiculously handsome dimple.

Dr. Chen walks into the room before I can try to rationalize his mother’s neglect, but I’m not even sure what to say about that. We work quickly to examine the fluffy cat, not finding anything wrong, as expected. With a clean bill of health, Mademoiselle Lovelyworth gets the all-clear to go home. Dr. Chen exits the room, leaving me with Whit and Lovely.

“Hey, Frankie?” Whit asks after picking up the cat.

“Yeah?” I spray some disinfectant on the exam table, too anxious to make eye contact. I may be bordering on misanthrope, but I know what his tone is getting at.

“Can I take you out sometime? Somewhere that has nothing to do with my mother’s cat’s goopy eyes?”

I pause in the middle of wiping the stainless steel. “Eye goop is the least of our worries here. But uh…” My words trail off so I can try to find the right way to answer.

Objectively, he’s the best-looking man I’ve ever seen in my life. GQ would sell a lot of copies with him on the cover. Based on our brief interaction, he’s funny, charming, and kind. Clearly, he’s a devoted son, despite his mother’s shortcomings. Really, he seems like a catch.

Yet, going out with him doesn’t appeal to me at all. There’s no spark. No interest in getting to know him better. I’m not intrigued, wanting to peel back the layers of who he is.

“Sorry, Whit. I’m flattered, really, but I don’t have time to date right now. My life is… complicated.”

His smile never falters. “She’s stunning, hardworking, and mysterious. My loss.” He turns toward the door, looking back over his shoulder to add, “I’m sure I’ll be back in a few weeks because Mademoiselle Lovelyworth’s meow is a quarter-octave higher than normal. Maybe things will be less complicated then.” With that, he chuckles and walks out of the room, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Brad and I get home just before 4pm, so I decide to take him out to the backyard to play before I make myself dinner and get some studying done. I have an essay to write about ethical considerations of genetic experimentation, which I haven’t started on yet.

The neighbours’ door opens and closes, and I hear someone walk down the steps. Since I made the assumption about who the person was before, I wait for whoever it is to speak first. Neither Keith nor Austin have come outside when I’ve been out here, so chances are, it’s Blake or Oscar.

Brad brings me his ball, but refuses to let go, so I tell him, “Calare.” Thankfully, he drops it.

“Frankie! My guardian angel. My saving grace. The ace up my sleeve. The feather in my—”

“Hi, Blake.” I laugh, wondering how many more idioms he’d have come up with if I didn’t stop him. “How’s your screenplay coming along?”

“If I can get Spielberg on board, it should be in line for an Oscar in a couple years. Keep your schedule clear, Frankie, because you’re going to be my date on the red carpet.”

“Can’t say I enjoy being in big crowds or on camera, but if you make it to the Oscars, I’ll be there.” I feel confident making that promise, because, no offence to Blake, but I don’t think my story idea is really Oscar material.

“All the Oscars will be jealous. I’m holding you to that promise.”

I’m not sure what he means by that, but I don’t ask. “Right,” I drawl.

“What’s new with you, anyway? We haven’t had a backyard chat for a while. Gosh, you bring a girl a flower and get ghosted. That’s cold.”

I finally toss the ball for Brad again after he’s waited so patiently. It’s somewhat depressing that I never have anything “new” happening in my life, and it revolves entirely around classes and the animal hospital. I don’t even have a hobby to talk about. I blurt out the only semi-interesting thing to happen to me for weeks—maybe months. “A guy asked me on a date today.”

“Ooh, do tell. When’s the big night? Is he hot? What’s he like? Tell. Me. Everything.” His excitement over that confession is a little surprising. Not that I ever got the impression he was interested in me, despite his eccentric jokes, but I didn’t think he’d care much.

“No, I’m not going. I turned him down.”

“Listen, Frankie, I get that it’s hard to compete with me and my excellent taste in floral arrangements, but you gotta give the man a chance. Unless he’s like… eighty. Or if that’s your thing, I don’t—”

“It’s not.” Seriously, I don’t even know what to do with this guy sometimes. Yet, he’s still the closest thing I have to a friend. I’m starting to think he’s not the best person to go to for advice, though. “He just… I don’t know. It didn’t feel right.”

“No attraction? Again, it’s hard to compete with me, but not everyone can have a winning personality, a chiselled jaw, and six-pack abs. We’re a rare breed.”

“You’re a rare breed, all right.” I contemplate how else to explain my lack of interest in Whit, because I’m not sure I have a reason for it. Just instinct.

Before I can attempt to explain, we’re interrupted by his back door opening.

Oscar says something to Blake about it being time to go. I can’t make out the rest of it, but he doesn’t sound too happy. Unsurprising.

“If you’ll excuse me, Frankie. It’s time I go beat Oscar to a pulp. If you never hear from me again, I was unsuccessful. It’s been a pleasure.”

Much like everything else that comes out of Blake’s mouth, those few sentences leave me confused. Yet, the most confusing part is the concern that takes hold of my gut, clenching like a vise over the thought of Blake beating Oscar to a pulp.