How to Eat Your Heart: Part 3

Of course there’s not a single FUCKING donut to be found in this goddamned wasteland of a kitchen.  What am I, a monk?  

No, far worse:  a woman.

Gremlin follows me with interest as I stomp around the kitchen.

I open the pantry and scan like the Terminator: steel cut oats, quinoa, almond butter, granola...this isn’t food for human people.  This is food for fairies.  This is food for wee, winged creatures made of glitter and gold dust who flit around in trees.  Not whole, grown-ass people.

I don’t even bother with the fridge, I never keep anything in there anyway except for various bags of congealed vegetables and a bottle of Stoli’s.  (“You can’t eat the bad food, if you don’t have the bad food around,” my mother’s voice rings in my ears.  But you can get drunk off the cheap vodka just as easily as the expensive stuff, so what’s the real lesson here, Mom?)  

And it’s like suddenly I’m abso-fucking-lutely ravenous.  Like when someone gives you a bite of their freshly cracked raspberry creme brulee, and then all you can think about for the rest of the day is how you want to scarf down more raspberry creme brulee, infinite raspberry creme brulee.

Don’t think about Jason Saison.  Don’t think about that picture or the other one.

Never been more empty in my life.  

It’s time for reinforcements.  I already know I’m not leaving the house, consider myself in fortress lockdown mode, so I pull up my InstaCart app and go to town: Twizzlers, pizzas, Ben & Jerry’s, and let’s not forget a bag of Haribo Sour Pasta for good measure and a block or five of Ritter Sport.  I’m about to fuck this shit up into oblivion.

You can call me Self-Soothe Queen.

When the delivery person arrives, I furtively grab my bag of food for the second time today and shut the door like a drug deal gone right.  (Maybe drugs are the answer? No...nope.  No. Nevermind that.  Drugs are not the answer, kids.) [asher has to say that sugar is addictive but Jason brings her desserts]

I change into some sweats and a t-shirt that I got from running a 10K two years ago (the Gobble Gobble Turkey Turkey Trot Trot!), and I set up serious shop in my room.  I lay everything out on a tray on the bed: candy, pizza, ice cream, chocolate, spoon, plate, napkin, wet nap.  Then, finally,  I flop back onto the mattress, Gremlin curls up beside me.  

We feast!

At some point, who could ever know when, I fall asleep.  The Ben & Jerry’s container weeps on its side next to an errant slice of cold pizza.  Everything - because I’m a pro at this - is contained on the tray.  It’s why I’m able to fall asleep with a spoon precariously dangling from my hand.  It’s why I also wack myself in the face with it, when I am awaken in the middle of the night by a high pitched whimper.

“Whawuztha?” I jolt upright.  Damn, that metal spoon hurts.

It’s dark in my room now, and I feel around the bed to make sure everything is in its place...ice cream, pizza, chocolate, check, check, check….but something’s missing.

The dog.

I roll off the bed, to the dreaded sound of dry heaving somewhere into the dark of the kitchen.  When I make my way out, and flip on the overhead lights, there’s Gremlin in a sad, little heap, in the middle of the floor.  He tries to stand but his legs collapse from under him.  I run, gathering his exhausted frame in my arms.  His little body is hot, he’s burning up, his eyes are dazed like he doesn’t know where he is, and his breathing is slow and shallow.  

Pure unadulterated panic courses through my veins.  Was I wrong about him?  Is he running out of life?

Must act fast.

I search the discarded clothing on the floor until I find it: Asher Malone, DVM.  I run as fast as I can to my room to grab my phone, trying not to jostle the precious cargo in my arms.  I type away to Dr. Malone with abandon: hey, it’s April May the dog walker from earlier today with Gremlin, you remember the one, the one with the fun job ha ha and you gave me your card and you wrote your number on it and I really am sorry, but it really is an emergency and could you just please please please please please…”

Miraculously, within forty-eight seconds, I count them, he texts me back.

What’s your address?

And for the second time tonight, I send a strange man my address.

 ---

Another moment of panic hits me hard when I look around my house at the mess I’ve created - clothes strewn throughout the hallway, food out on the counters and across the bed.  I rest Gremlin on a soft cushion on the couch as I flitter around, collecting articles of clothing and trash and then discard them elsewhere, out of plain sight.  

There’s no time to think about the state of my own body, even though it’s bloated and sluggish --- at least I’ve showered.  I want to change clothes, but I don’t want to try too hard, and really, oh my god, is this what I’m thinking about right now?

Not the time, April.  Not the time.

I sit next to Gremlin and wait, arms crossed against my chest, foot bouncing up and down.  He glances at me as my weight settles in, his eyes looking worn and bloodshot.

“It’s gonna be ok, Gremlin…” I murmur, and he lifts his tired chin so he can rest it on top of my thigh.  He seems so out of it, but he’s still with me.  My heart breaks into a bajillion Gremlin shaped pieces.

The doorbell rings.  Finally, but also, oh shit.  I get up to answer it without disturbing the creature besides me. 

Surely he can’t be as gorgeous as I remember him from this morning…

But no such luck.  He looks even more impossibly cool than before.  His earring is gone which means he takes it out at night and puts it in in the morning, but his hair is rumpled.  And he’s wearing a pair of navy Reebok sweats with the exact same 10k Race shirt as me.  Gobble Gobble Turkey Turkey Trot Trot!  What is this? A romcom?!  But then I remember that I’m an actual maniac who just sent a naked picture of herself to a client this afternoon and also demanded a veterinarian do a house call in the middle of the night for a dog that isn’t even hers, and I snap back to reality.

Nope, definitely not a romcom.  More like a horror show.

Asher Malone takes one look at me standing dumbfounded in my own doorway, flicks the inside of my right sleeve with a long index finger and says softly, “Hey, I ran that race too.”

Goosebumps prick the sensitive skin under my arm where he touched.  

I move aside and gesture for him to come in but have seemed to have lost my ability to communicate with real human words until I remember again why he’s here.

“You’re a lifesaver.  I’m freaking out.  I have no idea what to do...” I’m breathless, leading him to the dog on the couch.  Gremlin hasn’t moved an inch.

Jason kneels on one knee and sets a small, black leather valise on the ground in front of him.  “Hey, there little guy…” he speaks softly to Gremlin and pulls out a stethoscope, moving it around the tiny, furry body.  “You’re gonna be juuuust fine…” he says soothingly.  I can’t tell who he’s talking to though, me or the dog.

“Well, his heart his beating, but it’s slippery…” he listens for something else, then reports to me again, “And his breathing is ok...not rattled or strained, but very slow…When did he last eat or drink any water?”  He asks.

“He ate like normal today.  Everything was normal, went out like normal, drank water like normal, sat in bed with me like normal...everything was normal until …” I feel myself getting worked up..  “What do we need to do?”

Asher jumps back to his feet, dusting off the knees of his pants; I try, and fail, to avoid looking directly at his crotch.

“Bring me a few towels soaked in cool water.” He says.

I jump to, gathering supplies for him.  He takes them, and we briefly touch hands in the exchange.  Chill, April.

He applies the damp clothes around Gremlin’s ears and paws.  

“This should help with the fever.” Gremlin lets out a ragged sigh.

“He hates getting wet…” I fret, standing over them both, wringing my hands.  “Ok, then what now?  What next?”

 But Asher is still. ”We...just...wait,”  he says.  “And see what happens.”

“Wait?  For what?  For him to die?  And for us to what?  Do nothing?  Are you going to leave me here alone with him?”  I’m horrified.

Asher rubs his palms together, then touches the tips of his fingers to his chin.  “Sometimes, the best treatment is no treatment.  He’s an old dog, but if he wants to stick around...he will.  His choice.”

I whirl around so I don’t let him see that I’ve got tears pooled in the bottoms of my eyelids.  When did I get so goddamned soft?  Oh that’s right, the day I was born.  

 A hand rest on my shoulder and the heat seeps straight into my bones.  Touching!

“I’ve been through this before.  Almost like I’m an expert or something…” He gently turns me around, both hands encircling my upper arms.  Do my arms feel squishy? “I promise I’ll stick around for a bit.”  

We’re face to face now,   I don’t want to look at him directly for fear I’ll burst into flames, but I venture a peek upwards.  He’s giving me a ‘cheer-up, little pup’ kind of smile.  His eyes are hazel.

“You hungry?  Maybe some food will help?” he asks,  “I make an awesome kale and toasted quinoa salad.”

I have no idea what that is, and I certainly don’t want any salad, but I’m so fully mesmerized by the curl of that goddamn top lip that I don’t even say anything when he turns towards the kitchen.  His familiarity is comforting.

“Seems like a yes to me…You will not regret this,” he calls. “You barely need any ingredients at all.  It’s really clean eating too.  I’ve got you totally covered.  Lemme just check in your -”

Before I can even stop him, before I can even yell out a response, I hear the decompression of the fridge door.

Oh no!  My fridge! My deep shame.

“Whoa!” he calls out with a laugh at my nearly empty fridge.  “No, salad then, I guess.  It’s like a black hole in here.  But maybe a little of this?”

He reappears in the doorway with the bottle of Stoli’s in his hand.  “I think I saw a halfway molded lime too.  In my experience, this will work just as well at soothing nerves.” He gives an incredibly sexy smile.  I die.  Come back to life.  Then die again.  “Plus, it’s vegan.”

Oh yes, vegan.  Vegan is good.  I own a Vitamix.  I am vegan now.

“The lowballs are in the cabinet above the stove…” I say.

  “Lowballs?”  Asher steps back out into view, two mugs in hand.  “Who are you, Marie Antoinette?  You think you’re fancy with your lowballs?”  

One of the mugs has Male Tears scrawled across it.  A handmade gift from Aisha when she took that pottery class.  The other is covered in line drawings of boobs.  Come to think of it, also a gift from Aisha.

I gesture at the mugs, “Yeah, isn’t it obvious.”

“I think it’s only fitting that I take this one,” he says: Male Tears.  “And this one for you…” He hands me the Boob Mug with just a hint of hesitation when he must realize the implication.

Boobs.  Yes, I have boobs.  Everyone knows it because I fucking send people pictures of them all fucking day long.

Even a brief thought of my interaction with Jason adds to my already reeling mind. 

I refuse to engage that line of thinking right now.  Not with this Asher Malone guy in my house, handing me a boob mug full of vodka.

We settle in on the couch, a resting Gremlin between us.  His arm stretches out over the backrest, beckoning to me, his other holds his mug.

“Prost,” he lifts his mug to clink with mine. “To this little guy; he’s looking better already,” he means Gremlin of course.

“Uh, yep, cheers,” I stutter, grateful when the bitter tang of vodka touches my lips.

A moment of silence passes between us with only the sound of Gremlin’s shallow breathing.

“I probably shouldn’t have texted you in the middle of the night…” I say breaking in, I’m feeling guilty now that my initial spike of emotions has calmed.  

Asher nods his head, understanding, “You think I’d get the wrong idea?”

My eyes go wide, “Oh, no, no, no not at all…” I’m blushing, and I hate it.  Denial.  “I just mean, I probably could have found a better way to handle this.  One that doesn’t involve completely inconveniencing you...an almost total stranger...quite so much…”  I gulp my drink and stare at the Turkey wearing a Pilgrim hat on Asher’s shirt.  On our shirt.

“So, you definitely don’t want me to get the wrong idea, then?”

Oh...

I hide my mouth behind the mug and then lower it in a rush when I remember the boobs,   “I guess I couldn’t say for sure.  Exactly, how might one define wrong idea…if there was a wrong idea to be had...” The words come out slow.  Dangerous territory I’m treading now, I can scarcely believe it’s happening.  Did I mention before that I’m desperate?

His lips are a slight curve, and the bowed line of them mesmerizes me again, “Like the wrong idea that you wanted me to come here for more personal reasons than this dog...”

The eye contact is making me sweat.

“But I don’t even know you,” my voice is barely audible.

“Would you like to?”

Yes.

“It’s possible.”

“Ask me anything.”

Wanna bang?  Don’t ask that.

“How’d you do on the Turkey Trot?”  

“First place in my age group.  You?”

“I slept in and missed the race.”  

There’s a beat, and then he laughs, “Ok, then.  What else?”

“Why’d you agree to come here in the middle of the night?”

Asher tips the rest of his drink back in one and wipes his mouth with his hand, “You want the polite answer or the real answer.”

My pulse quickens, “Both.”

He shrugs, “Polite answer? I’m just that dedicated to my practice and my cause.  I gave you my card and I meant what I said. Real answer? I am but a man.  And I’ve wanted to kiss you the second I saw you.”

He sets the coffee mug down on the end table.  The metallic thunk echoes in my ears.

What’s happening...

 Then he leans forward with intention, over Gremlin heading towards me.  His hand slides closer over the back of the couch, his fingertips near my shoulder.  The realization that he plans on kissing me is sinking in fast.

Here it comes.

Slow motion.

“Why?” I hear the words come out of my mouth without my permission.  Why would I do that?

The momentum of the kiss is halted by my question, and Asher groans a little, stabbing his hand through his mussed hair.  He falls back to the couch, and I watch as he lightly scratches the flat plane of his belly - the shirt lifting just an inch to reveal a small glimpse of a happy trail.  “I guess I just have a sixth sense about people.  I’m good with energies.  I can feel the vibes, know when they’re right…”

“And you think I’m right?”

“I think I’d like the chance to find out.  Unless...you don’t…”

“What kind of vibes do I give?”

His palm has traveled upwards to his chest now, rubbing back and forth absently.  

“Sexy ones,” he says, eyes heavy.

All cops are bastards but somebody call 911 because this man should be arrested.

“Another drink?” My voice squeaks as I jump to my feet.

With a gentle smile he passes over his mug, “Sure.” 

In order to get to the kitchen I have to scooch by him on the couch, squeezing between it and the coffee table.  Never before have I been so aware of every curve of my body, never have I been so aware of the closeness of someone else’s.

As I shuffle by him, breath caught in my lungs, the side of my leg brushes against the hard bone of his knee; it’s like every touch with this guy is a thousand volts.

“April?” he says, stopping me.

“What?” 

Before I react, he grabs my wrist in his hand, pulling me over him, drawing my face right up to his.  The mugs land on the rug beside my feet.  

“Can I do this now?” His voice is a whisper.  “Or do you have more questions?”

I manage a tiny nod, “Yeah…I mean, no.  I mean.  Yes, please.”

His draws me forward with light pressure against my neck, and a surge of energy hits me when our lips touch.  His are soft, insistent, warm.  I tumble onto his lap, as my hands find their way on his abs.  I want to wrench up his shirt and drag my hands down every inch of his skin, but I tell myself to fucking chill, instead, circling my hands around his neck, threading my fingers through his hair.

“You’re so fucking hot,” his voice is husky as I feel his hands trail down my low back, grasping on to either side of my hips, pushing me down against his lap.  The sensation of his erection beneath my body makes me inhale sharply, which he takes as a cue to deepen our kiss.  His tongue flicks into my mouth, tangling with mine.  It’s driving me wild, making me dizzy, making me wet, making me hungry for more.  I hear the sound of a soft moan.

Oh, that’s me.  It really has been a dry spell.

I feel a light scratch on the side of my hip.  Strange, but ok, Dr. Malone.  We keep kissing, but the scratching happens again until I glance over to see what he’s doing.

“Gremlin!” I yell, breaking away Asher.  Gremlin  is scratching at my hip, trying to get my attention!  He’s awake.  I fall off of Asher’s lap, and he quickly adjusts his pants in the process.  

“Ahh, look who’s up,” Asher says.  He’s good natured about it.  Enough at least.

I examine the dog.  Eyes look clear.  I press my hands around his damp fur, temperature is down.  And he appears to wants something.

“What do you want? You want some water? You hungry? You wanna treat?” Gremlin scratches at me some more.  “You wanna go outside?” 

Gremlin spins in a circle.  “Outside?”  Another circle.

I turn to Asher, “You don’t have to come with…”  He leans in and gives me a bite of a kiss.  Shiver.

“Let me just...rearrange...”  He - ahem - adjusts again, bold this time.  I want to avert my eyes but they zero instead.  “Good to go.”

He follows me out, Gremlin is leashed up and walking like normal.  

We’re standing in my front yard now, under the stars, in matching shirts.  If this wasn’t such a weird situation it might be, I don’t know, romantic? Cute?  I sneak a peak at him as Gremlin sniffs the ground with intent.

“So, this  has been weird, huh…” I say.

He shakes his head, smiles a bit, “Weird? Nah.”

Gremlin scratches at the grass with his tiny paws and then begins circling the area.

“Uh oh, I think we have lift off…” I say.

Then Gremlin pops a squat right in front of us, back leg shaking, dropping a deuce right in the here and now.  He walks a bit too, a trail of poop behind him.

Like I said, not a romcom.

When he’s done,he  freezes, and then, in joyful refrain, sprints around the yard like a puppy and not an old dog with a sarcoma on his leg who almost just died tonight.

“Oh my god…” my hand is on my mouth.  “Does this mean he’s ok?” 

“Like I said, sometimes you just have to wait”

A moment passes between us and the air turns awkward.  You know how that happens?  It’s like when the lights go out in a bright room.

Asher must feel it too because his mouth turns downwards in a thin line.  I think about how that mouth was just minutes before on my own and feel the pinch of a blush.

We both speak at the same time,

“You can stay,” I say.

“I can leave,” he says.

A pause and then he smiles, “You want me to stay?”