Page 24 of Dear Pink

I slow my speed for a second and say, “Okay. Fair enough, but my SUV is parked up there. May I walk next to you?” She doesn’t answer, so I ask, “Do you want me to stop and let you go ahead?” I swear every word out of my mouth is a mistake. Someone mute me.

I must appear pathetic because she studies me hard. “Thank you for helping me,” she says. “I’ll stop, and you can keep going. I’m being ridiculous.”

For some reason, I’m a glutton for punishment. I keep jabbering about my sisters and how strong and fierce they are. I stop talking when she smiles. Go figure it’s my sisters who get her to relax. Her entire face lights up, and I swear I spot a twinkle in her eye. Damn, it’s been too long since I had sex if I’m imagining a connection.

“Six sisters? That’s an interesting childhood.”

“You have no idea.”

We finally arrive at the parking lot, and she picks up speed on the flat terrain, practically running to her car. “This is me,” she says and gives me the cutest salute. Before I can say anything, she throws her bike in the trunk. “See ya,” she yells behind her and peels out of the parking lot, gravel spitting at me.

I consider following her, but that crosses into stalker territory. I blew it. We didn’t even share our names. In a city with over a million people, the likelihood of running into her another time is zero. My heart drops at the thought.

Chapter 7- Gabe

“Missed me,” I yell at the squirrel who nearly runs me off the bike trail. Believe me, I’m totally in favor of biking over him to save myself. I can claim self-defense because I’m 95% certain he’s plotting to kill me. I swear it’s the same damn squirrel every morning. I call him Anton Chigurh, the assassin fromNo Country for Old Men, because of the way he glares with those beady eyes devoid of remorse and his maniacal bowl cut. At this point, it’s him or me.

My adrenaline pumping from the near-death experience, I walk into the office confident today will be an interesting day. I survived the mad squirrel and clocked a quick time on my ride earlier. At the lake this morning, I kept catching flashes of pink on the trail, hoping it was her. It never was.

I replay Pink sliding backward down Flag Pole Hill and into my arms. Her sexy laugh and her eyes, soft and grey, shadowy like she holds a secret. I haven't wanted to learn more about a woman in a long time.

“You have a walk-in this morning,” Gloria says when I hang my helmet on a hook.

Before I inquire more, Lolly scrambles off her bed and greets me with her standard morning lunge against my chest. She almost stands taller than me on her hind legs. I hold her head in my hands and let her slobber all over me. “Where’s Peaches?” I ask her.

Lolly and Peaches are attached at the hip. I worry Lolly will squish her with her giant backside but nothing’s happened yet. Lolly jumps to the floor and nudges me to the corner where we store her bed. There, wrapped in a blanket like a bird in a nest, sleeps Peaches. Before I stop her, Lolly plops onto the bed. Peaches disappears in a tangle of long doggie legs. After Lolly settles, I discover the kitten in the center with a Great Dane wrapped around her like a safety barrier. I pat Lolly’s head and walk to the counter.

“I put the patient in Room 1. She’s a little weird,” Gloria whispers as I take the chart.

“Weird? How so?”

“She’s wearing”—she leans over the counter—“the same trench coat as her cat. They also have matching plaid scarves.”

I open the chart and my knees go weak. “Mister Seymour Whiskers.”

“You know this cat? There are no files on him.”

“Boy, do I know this cat. I also know the owner.” I lean on the counter and contemplate biking home. Yep, this day will be interesting. “When does Andre come in? He can deal with the crazy cat lady better than I can.”

“Not until 1:00.” Gloria comes around the counter and faces me. “Spill it. What’s the story with the feline twins? Should I intervene?”

“No.” I recount the dinner date disaster in a fast whisper so the crazy cat lady won’t overhear us. I’m surprised Gina didn’t spill the beans already, but she detests gossip, another endearing trait that makes us love her the most.

“I wish I had known. I would’ve told her we didn’t have any open appointments . . . ever.”

“It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.”

I exhale loudly, and Lolly crooks her head in distress. “I’m okay, girl. Just getting my frustration out of the way now.”

“You sure I can’t come in with you?” Gloria snickers. She’d love to witness the drama in Room 1. Any shitshow starring me is entertainment for her.

“I want you at the front desk to greet clients.” God forbid another yoga pants lady with her mysteriously ill teacup puppy arrives.

***

I stand in front of Room 1 with the chart in my hand. I can do this. I breathe deep and plow forward. “What brings Mr. Whiskers in today?” I ask, opening the door.

To my absolute horror, the scene’s worse than Gloria described. Tonya wears a tan trench coat, black fishnet hose, and the highest red heels imaginable. Mr. Whiskers’ drugged body slumps over in his own tiny leather wingback chair. He’s wearing gigantic sunglasses. I spot a tote bag on the floor. She must have smuggled the chair inside it.

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