Meghan pulls her mind out of its funk, and Shark is instantly on his feet. Evening comes on so quickly and it’s already dark in her apartment. She gives the command and Shark flips the light switch in the kitchen, turns in clear expectation of his reward. With a vehemence she doesn’t usually exert, Meghan throws his stuffie across the room. It smacks the opposite wall, and the one decorative touch she’s added to the blank walls of her apartment, a generic but pretty landscape, tilts. She doesn’t know how she’ll get Shark to push it back into line. Marley was the one who hung it there, showing an unexpectedly good eye.
How could he? How dare he? Doesn’t he know how she feels? Doesn’t he care? He’s not the only one with needs. So what if his are invisible to the naked eye? Doesn’t he know how incredibly hard it is to be visibly damaged? He can hide his flaws. She cannot.
Meghan forces herself to open a can of soup for dinner. Shark gets his kibble, which he inhales, and then acts like he hasn’t just had dinner. With every action, opening the can, dumping the soup, adding the water, putting the pot on the burner, she chews on Marley’s words. And then on Don’s not so subtle directive that she confess to Rosie. And then on Rosie and how she actually hasn’t heard from her in a while, which makes her feel all the more guilty. It’s so hard to keep a balance between being a friend and being a liar. Well, not a liar per se, but whatever withholding the truth constitutes as a flaw.
Hey, are you mad at me? A text from Rosie. Meghan had been slow to answer texts; worse, she has merely replied with emojis.
No, why? Texting has the benefit of disguising a guilt-strained voice.
I dunno. We haven’t spoken in a while. What Rosie doesn’t say is that Meghan’s phone goes right to voice mail when she calls. Does she know that Meghan has hit DECLINE CALL?
I’ve been so busy, sorry.
No response.
I’ll call tomorrow. A smiley face. A broken promise.
Rosie hasn’t communicated since that bitter little exchange.
What do they all want from her?
Shark shoves his stuffie into her lap. Play with me. Play with me. “At least you’re easy to figure out.” They play a little gentle tug-of-war while the soup heats. The dog pins his red-rimmed eyes on her; his lips scroll back, revealing his white teeth. He looks like he’s working hard at trying to get the toy out of her hand, but she knows that he judges her strength precisely and never exceeds her ability to hold on. She’s seen him with Spike, and how his shoulder muscles bulge against the torque; how he’s literally dragged the other dog into the dirt. Spike. Oh dear, Shark is going to miss Spike.
The soup is tasteless and Meghan leaves the bowl on the table, wheels herself out of the kitchen. She’s left her phone on the table. “Shark, phone.” The dog has no trouble finding the instrument and mouths it as he might have retrieved a duck for a different kind of owner. He delicately hoists his forepaws to the table surface and, with a desirous glance at the cool soup sitting within reach, he grabs the phone and drops to the floor. He puts the phone in her lap. “Good boy.” His reward, another round of tug-of-war. He is so easy to keep happy. Why can’t other people be as satisfied with simple rewards? Why did they need to have more from her? Love. Friendship. Trust.
“Okay, settle.” Shark, dismissed, finds his bed and performs his circle ritual. Meghan slides from chair to recliner, picks up the remote, then puts it down. Picks up her phone, then puts it down. Picks it up. Texts Got time to talk? and in a moment her phone rings.
“Rosie? I’ve totally screwed up.”
To her credit, Rosie Collins doesn’t do a “This is what you should do.” Instead, she listens, and Meghan can picture her nodding. When Meghan finally comes to the end of her diatribe-cum-vent-cum-self-serving whinge, Rosie takes a breath and then says, “Better?”
“Yeah, a little. I don’t usually do this, you know, talk.”
“I was aware. It’s really hard for you because I think you spent a lot of years keeping stuff inside. Letting things out only on a need-to-know basis.”
Meghan is the one nodding now, and she reaches for a tissue. “You get it, don’t you? You get me.”
“Don’t we sound like a rom-com chick flick?”
“No. Well, maybe.” Meghan laughs.
“Meghan, there’s nothing wrong with feeling things.”
“I wish I could, I mean, where it counts.”
“You think that Marley doesn’t understand that? Do you really think that he doesn’t care that it might not work for you? Or do you think he is convinced that he can make it work for you?”
Meghan hesitates. “I don’t know. Maybe both. No. He’s too much of a gentleman; he’s not selfish.”
There is a pause. Meghan can hear Rosie’s dog in the background; a door opens and shuts.
“Meghan. Don’t you like him enough to want to give it a try?”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know. Life is scary. I’m scared all the time.”
“I’ve been in the killing fields and I was never this afraid.”
“That’s because you were trained; you were doing what you had been prepared for. No one is prepared for love.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not in love with anyone. Except Shadow, of course.”
“They really are enough, aren’t they? Who needs men?”
“Well, let’s not get weird here.”
Meghan laughs again. Rosie, whose life is so upended, can always make her laugh. “Do you think you’ll ever do it again? Love, I mean.”
“No.”
“I think that you will. The right man, a kind, giving man, will show up someday and treat you the way you should be treated.”
“I’m pretty happy right now. It’s not perfect, but I am happy enough. I don’t think I’m lacking anything. Maybe I’m even happier than the happiest day I had with Charles. With him, there was always this balancing act, this need to keep things steady.”
“It’s what you sacrificed your family for, always having to pour oil on his emotional waters.”
“Yes.”
“Still no contact?”
“No. Tucker is on my case now, so you don’t have to be.”
“I won’t. So, nice segue. What’s new in the house?”
As Rosie details the current goings-on in the house, Meghan tests herself. Is it possible for her to stop Rosie mid-description and blurt out, “I put your name in for the Advocacy. I suggested the Baxters give you a chance”? They sit there, the words, filling Meghan’s mouth. But they will not come out. She just can’t imagine that Rosie won’t question her prolonged silence, consider it a hostile act. Maybe not hostile, but certainly inexplicable. Even Meghan knows that her keeping her own kind act a secret is inexplicable.
“Well, it sounds like things are going well.”
“There is one thing.”
“Oh?”
“Mrs. Foster, Charles’s mother, is filing a civil suit.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
As soon as their call ends, Meghan hits the speed dial for Carol and Don.