This doesn't sound promising. "All right, what's up?"
Jess sighs. "Well, he hasn't called in two days and the Valentine's Dance is right around the corner. You'd think if he was going to ask me he'd have done it already. My mom wants to go dress shopping but I don't even have a date." She's about to cry. "And I checked my smile in the mirror this morning and realized my face is crooked."
"It is not."
"Is too. See," she says, smiling like she's in pain. "The right side of my mouth droops down."
"Let's go to the dog park," I say, heading off a huge rampage about how bad Mitch is and how crooked her face is. Does she really think God can make everyone totally symmetrical... I mean, give the Big Guy upstairs a break. Besides, Jess has been a hypochondriac and hypercritical of herself ever since third grade when she thought she had lice but it was just bad hair spray flaking. She just needs to chill and redirect her energy into positive thoughts. "I need to walk Mutt."
Mutt's my dog. And yes, he's a mutt. Avi gave Mutt to me before I left Israel. No purebred anything in his blood. He used to be a little fur ball, but in the past two months he's tripled in size.
Back at our condo I fetch my dog and the poop bags. Jess and her one-one-hundredth-of-an-inch crooked face is waiting for me when I walk back outside.
"Oh my God, he's even bigger than when I last saw him," she says, each breath causing puffs of steam in the winter cold.
"I know. If he grows any more I'll have to buy a king-size bed just to fit the both of us," I say, bundling my North Face jacket around me. Visitors here wonder why we Chicagoans brave the cold weather when we could be wearing shorts right now if we lived in Arizona. I'll admit Chicago winters suck if you hate cold weather. I love the cold, I love Chicago, and I love the change in seasons. I need to live in a place where in autumn the leaves actually fall off the trees.
Jessica bites her bottom lip. "You don't think Mitch'll be at the dog park with Zeus, do you?"
Yes. "No. Jess, why don't you just ask him to the dance?"
"So I can be the loser chick of the entire school?"
A bit of an exaggeration, dont'cha think? But I don't disagree with her. Sometimes you challenge Jess, and other times you don't. This would be one of those other times.
Besides, Mitch probably hasn't even thought about the Valentine's Day dance. It's January and the dance isn't until the middle of next month. Guys are a different breed, I tell you. I glance at Jessica, who has this pathetic, sad look on her face.
We're walking down the street with my white, furry monstrosity practically pulling my arm out of my socket. Mutt gets über-excited just going out for a walk. But when he realizes we're going to the dog park, watch out. He's a total spaz about the dog park.
"Can't you send him to doggy boot camp or something?" Jess says as she tries to catch up with us.
"He just came to this country five months ago," I argue. "And he had to be quarantined. I refuse to put him in another stressful situation, the poor guy will need therapy."
Jess shakes her head. "He's a dog, Amy. You spoil him way too much."
I do not.
Okay, I do.
But Mutt is my companion. He protects me. He makes me laugh. He's everything to me.
We arrive at the dog park and Mutt can't contain himself. As soon as I close the gate and unlatch the leash from his collar, he romps toward his dog buddies to play.
Mr. Obermeyer, the grumpy old man from the fourteenth floor of our building, sneers at me. "Keep that dog of yours away from Princess."
Princess is Mr. Obermeyer's champion poodle. He hates Mutt. That's just fine because I hate poodles named Princess.
"Don't worry, Mr. Obermeyer," I say. Why the old man even hangs out at the park is beyond me. He doesn't talk to anyone, except to balk and tell people to keep their dogs away from his pampered pooch.
"Look, there's Mitch!" Jess whispers, then hides behind me.
I look over at the other end of the park and see Mitch. "Let's go talk to him."
"No! Amy, you knew he was gonna be here. Admit it."
It gets to be a problem when people call you out on your passive-aggressive behavior.
"Jess, he's your boyfriend." Okay, Mitch used to be my boyfriend, but that's another story. I'm not into him at all. Besides, I'm content with my non-boyfriend. Well, sort of. I hate the "non" part of it. I wish Avi didn't have me promise not to make any formal commitment to him and vice versa.
Jess peeks over my shoulder. "Don't you see who he's with?"
I crane my neck. A flurry of red hair attached to a long-legged girl comes into view. Roxanne Jeffries.
I hate Roxanne Jeffries almost as much as I hate dogs named Princess.
She's smiling at Mitch. The ho. "Jess, get your ass over there," I order, then move out of the way.
"He's smiling at her! Roxanne doesn't have crooked features, just a crooked personality. Do you think he asked her to the Valentine's Dance?"
"No," I say. "He's your boyfriend. What's making you all insecure? You've got gorgeous straight hair I'd die for, perfect features, and perky boobs. Now go over there and claim your man."
There's no way we can stay undetected. Mutt is the biggest, fluffiest, friendliest dog in the place. In fact, everyone in the neighborhood knows Mutt. And everyone in the neighborhood knows Mutt is my dog. Mitch, who thinks he's too cool to wear a jacket in twenty-five-degree weather, has already spotted my beast and waves to me.