Page 32 of Just My Ex

“Maverick!” Henry says, and it’s partly a laugh because who wouldn’t laugh when they observe an adult’s involuntary shock movements.

“Whatisthat?” I sidestep away, carefully, my face frozen in a grimace. The only body parts of mine that are moving are my feet and my eyeballs as they roll around wildly in their sockets, trying to assess for further danger.

See, Henry? I can take responsibility for my own safety!

“It’s Maverick!” Henry reaches toward him and lifts up a palm, gently, to let the beast sniff him.

“You’re voluntarily letting that thing smell you? It’s a wonder he can smell anything with the stench he emanates.”

Henry laughs again and looks at me, a mix of wonder and delight. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen him smile like this.

“So, I repeat.” I rub my arms. “What is it?”

“He’s a donkey. Your standard American donkey.”

At that, Maverick shakes his head, not unlike a dog. By now, I’ve backed up so that Henry and I are touching, the lengths of our arms pressed against each other as I angle away from Maverick and Henry, inexplicably, angles towards him.

I don’t hate how close we’re standing to one another.

But that’s precisely the problem, the reason I can’t ever do that again.

The issue is, with this smelly beast, I can’t seem to find it in me to move away from Henry because the trail is narrow and the only other way to go would be toward Maverick.

Which is not advisable considering donkeys are terrifying.

Which fact does not explain why on earth Henry scratches the donkey’s patch of white between his eyes with his left hand, all the while managing to keep his right arm glued to mine.

“Don’t touch him!”

“Why not? I’ve missed my dude.”

“Your dude? He’s probably carrying diseases.” His stench would certainly support that theory. “Besides his terrifying teeth, don’t donkeys kick people?”

“Not this one. But he might bray you to death.” Henry is loving this.

I peel my arm from his. “Since when have you been a donkey person?”

“I’m not a donkey person, per se. I’m just an animal person, you know this. I don’t see species.”

I do know this. I started to catch on when our first several dates involved animals of some kind: visiting a Japanese garden full of koi ponds, helping out at the animal shelter, getting a day pass to the aquarium.

But we never had a dog as a couple because there was a sense of flight, of non-permanence, to our living situation. And the more Henry was gone, the less I wanted to take on that responsibility myself, even though for the last several months, Navie’s been begging for one.

“Maverick’s an institution here. He’s lived on these hills since I was a kid. My brothers and I would come up here and explore, and as long as we didn’t disappear into the trees, Stella was okay with it.”

“Are you sure this is the same donkey? Don’t they all look alike?” I catch a glimpse of his teeth. Those yellow, corn row-style blocks are the stuff of nightmares.

Henry gives me a look like I’m calloused for even thinking that. “Of course it’s him. And he remembers me, don’t you?”

Henry even remotely engaging in baby talk is just … confusing. It’s one thing if it’s our daughter, whom he absolutely adores. That’s cute enough. But to see him turn to melted butter over a donkey?

Like I said. Confusing.

“So, is he like twenty years old?”

“At least.” Henry cranes his neck. “See that break in the tree line? I think Sebastian’s property line ends about there because just over that ridge and through the trees is where Maverick’s barn is. He had a corral that he’d always escape from.”

He turns to the beast I can’t bring myself to think of as “Maverick.” That name’s reserved in my mind for swoony movie characters who fly fighter jets, not lumpy old donkeys.

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