Nick had asked him how someone so smart could do something so stupid.
He knew he was supposed to let the puppy out every hour for the first few weeks, but even when his phone alerted him, he would turn off the ringer and work for another two or three minutes. Thirty minutes later, he’d get up to open her crate, only to find her quivering with excitement over a cold puddle, or worse.
“Sorry, Firefly,” he’d say again, as she burst out of her crate bearing her squeaky green squirrel in her mouth, her entire body squirming like an adorable paramecium, black and glossy as a sunflower seed. He had failed to consider that Labradors, the gleaming, soulful companions of legend, began as loud, leaking, licentious hairballs.
He had watched countless videos in preparation, and they all promised housebreaking was easy, provided the humans in the equation were not idiots. Consistency is key, they uniformly admonished. Of course. Obviously. He’d been given the green light to work remotely Monday through Wednesday, and the other two days, his angelic girlfriend not only cared for his son, but also his dog. Somehow, in the midst of toy disputes, spilled milk, and crayon drawings, she also managed to take Firefly to the backyard in a timely manner. It was a marvel.
“It’s not rocket science, Jorgenson,” she said flatly, cradling Firefly as he loaded the crate into his car one night. When he put out his arms to take his puppy, she hesitated. “She needs to go out at least once an hour. Don’t ruin all my progress.”
“Rice, come on. Don’t you trust me? Don’t answer that.” She shook her head and reluctantly handed over the puppy.
“I don’t even want to know what’s happening over there when you’re all at home together.”
It was a disaster. It didn’t help that Joule felt sorry for Firefly and orchestrated frequent escapes. Sometimes, when the house became unusually quiet, Casper would awaken from his work as from a dream, only to discover his son squatting in front of the crate, breathing heavily in concentration, as he attempted to maneuver the latch. Other times, he failed to intercept the prison break completely, until Joule came dashing into Casper’s bedroom in panicked glee, announcing that Firefly was peeing on the floor or eating the couch.
He had no excuse, except for his own ineptitude. If his work had been intriguing and absorbing, if he were frequently required to call in to important meetings, even if he had the excuse of being a free spirit, not built for uninterrupted periods of focused, tedious industry — but none of that was true. He was becoming increasingly aware of his limitations, and it was not a welcome realization. He regretted how much he subjected Joule to screen time when he couldn’t watch him, the only other quietude occurring when Joule finally settled for a rare nap. He was growing out of his need for daytime rest, being just shy of his third birthday. He knew it wasn’t fair to expect a little boy to entertain himself for an hour at a time, and when Joule frequently interrupted him, Casper either responded with a curt “not right now,” or a nebulous “just a sec, bud.” He hated himself for it.
He wondered that so many people could succeed where he was failing, and without recognition or gold medals. They somehow put their heads down and denied themselves, accepting inconvenience and interruptions without complaint or resentment, without expecting anything in return.
He thought of her.
Her careworn face, Miss Stacy skittering around her ankles, Charlotte tugging on her sleeve, and Mark’s grizzled figure on the futon.
He shook his head briskly and finished spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread. He layered it with some slices of banana and cut it into quarters and placed it in front of Joule. Firefly stood on her haunches and waited with gleaming, covetous eyes.
“Want some, Fi-fly?” Casper put down his coffee and gently tapped at the cold, wet nose.
“Don’t feed her, Joule. We don’t want her to beg.”
“But she’s hungy, Dad!”
“We already fed her, remember?” Joule shook his head. “Sure, we did.” Every morning, Joule scooped kibble out of the great bag, scattering the brown pebbles in a trail that Firefly dutifully licked up as she followed him to her bowl.
“No, Dad,” he insisted, “Fi-fly is smartest dog in the whole world.” He pointed to Firefly, who reached up to lick peanut butter off his forefinger. “She’s hungy. Di-nember?”
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. He did remember. Joule had told him so at least three times that morning.
“Sorry, Firefly.” Joule followed him off the chair, wiping banana on his shirt and holding out his hand for the scoop. Firefly, instantly forgiving and forgetting his neglect, licked Casper’s fingers as he held open the kibble bag for Joule.
—
She was sick for a week in January, which didn’t prevent him from seeing her, but then he and Joule got sick, which did. But since she didn’t want to get Sarah’s kids sick, he was left to fend for himself. He found it unconscionable that she was still obligated to care for her sister’s children when he was in such a state.
“What makes her job so important? Attorneys are a dime a dozen,” he grumbled through a plugged nose. He turned away from the video call to sneeze into his shoulder. Firefly dropped a wet tennis ball on his hand and waited.
“I miss you too, Jorgenson,” she said leaning on her hand. “How’s Joule?”
“He’s fine,” Casper sniffed, then sneezed again. He picked up the ball and threw it. He heard it bounce against the dining room wall, which was still without a table. Firefly skittered after it, the clicking of her nails on the floors the only sound in the quiet house as Joule slept contentedly in his room. “He keeps spiking a fever, but once he has Tylenol, he’s completely fine and dandy. You did this to us. If life were fair, you would be here with me, watching The Two Towers.”
“I’ve already watched those with you. Remember? And you still refuse to sit through even one episode of Gilmore Girls. So don’t talk to me about fairness.” He laughed and promptly coughed. “Oh, you sound terrible,” she said gently. “I’d better let you go.”
“Sure, just hang up on me. You won’t get to do that when we’re married.” She blew him a kiss and promised she’d check on him tomorrow.
He pulled another afghan over himself and shuddered against the couch, trying to focus on the TV screen. He didn’t tell her that the Camry needed a new transmission. The ring would have to wait a few more months. Mom would be pleased. Of course, she would have liked him to wait to propose until Joule was thirty-five.
She always insisted on her adoration for Abigail, as she had taken to calling her again, and whenever Casper challenged her strange hesitation, she refused to explain. Perhaps Mom’s growing resistance to their engagement should have bothered him more, but Dad assured him she would come around. Regardless, Casper was getting past the point that he cared.
Every passing day that he wasn’t engaged to Abby only heightened the roiling urgency in his stomach that kept him up late and blandished his appetite. He had begun to resent spending money, even on groceries, hating the sight of the negative values in his finance app. He had also found himself growing irritable and impatient, and Abby’s insufferable sweetness, glittering gray eyes, and irresistible smile, only amplified the agony. It was becoming harder and harder to be around her with no relief in sight, being helplessly subject to the winds of fate and transmission failures.
—
He was staring at an email when Mom called him and asked him what color balloons he wanted.
“For what?” he asked, pinching the phone in his neck and answering an instant message from Brent.
“For Joule’s birthday! It’ll be coming up soon.” He checked his watch, as if that would make sense of what she had just told him, then glanced at the date on his computer screen. In a month, he would be three. He knew most people wondered where the time had gone, but he didn’t. He knew where it had gone. Spilled formula, raspberries, diaper changes, Duplo City, lost pacifiers, tigers, orcas, and handfuls of lasagna. Day after day of placing his hand on Joule’s chest. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Day after day waking up exhausted but without dread. Day after day being better than he deserved. He smiled at the photo that he had tacked to the wall above his desk. The two of them from last Christmas, Joule clutching Firefly’s tail.
“Joule’s favorite color is yellow, but it’s up to you, Mama. It’ll just be us, right?”
“And the Reyes, and Rices, and the Bruces, and I thought it would be nice to invite your Bible study group, and ours, and…” Mom continued, and he nodded, knowing full well that resistance was futile. He had other things to worry about, and if Mom wanted to invite the entire Danish royal family to the party, he was not going to stand in her way.
—
Abby gasped and gripped his knee as if she were having a heart attack, but her face was beaming with delight.
“We should have Joule’s party here!”
“What, at my house?”
“I can help you plan it! It would be so fun. We can put up the Buchwald’s bouncy house! I think it’s still in the gym at church. They won’t care, everybody just borrows it whenever they need to.”
“Abby,” he rubbed his eyes wearily and sank back against the couch. Firefly whined to go outside.
“I let her go potty,” Joule assured them. At that, Casper leapt to his feet and held the door closed before Joule could send Firefly barreling into the unknown.
“She needs her leash, Bud. Be right back, Abby,” he called over his shoulder, clipping the leash to Firefly’s collar and slipping on his shoes. It was a mild day in late February, three weeks before Joule’s birthday. As Firefly nosed about on the dead grass, he glanced at his house. Notwithstanding the meager improvements he’d made inside, the place was still ugly as sin. The heaps of ancient junk, which could almost be hidden behind tall grass in the summer and clothed white and sparkling in winter, now reared their shoulders ominously through the brown, muddy snow. The idea — hosting all those good, responsible, well-adjusted adults who owned their own dining room tables and didn’t use camping chairs for furniture — was unthinkable. The idea of Kerry and Ed politely glancing at one another as they surveyed the regrettable state of their daughter’s future — unthinkable.
“Abby,” he began, as he closed the front door behind him and unclipped the leash, “I don’t know about having the party here.”
“We have all that space for cornhole—,”
“It’ll be March.”
“Maybe it’ll be nice out. And my parents have three folding tables and a bunch of chairs. We could set them up in the dining room, and we could — oh, oh!” She slapped his arm in rapture as she interrupted herself. “The food would be no problem: you could make your lasagna, because it’s Joule’s favorite, and your mom could make those cinnamon rolls, Mama Reyes can make her salsa, and I’ll make my fruit dip! And I can help your mom decorate. When you were outside just now, I found these cute tiger-themed cups and plates at Target. Ooh, they have matching tablecloths, too!” She held up the phone screen. “Aren’t they cute?” she demanded. He nodded and smiled. “We could make it so fun. Please, Jorgenson,” she begged, clasping her hands. He laughed.
“You really want to?”
“Yes! Please?” He smiled and pulled her into his arms. She flopped back against his shoulder and looked expectantly into his face.
“You’re wonderful. You know that?”
—
It was an unlucky coincidence that Mom happened to arrive at the same moment as the Target shipment.
“Those are adorable! You picked those out?” she asked, exalting over the party supplies as he removed them from the box. “Look, sweetie!” she held up a pack of shrink-wrapped paper plates adorned with tigers. Joule regarded them briefly, then turned back to his Duplo train.
“Abby must have ordered them,” he observed. “She’s so excited about this party, I’m not surprised. Makes sense to send them here.”
“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Mom asked. “You know I would have been happy to host. This is a big undertaking. Down,” she cautioned Firefly, who was offering her one of Joule’s socks. Mom had never been a dog person.
“Abby’s right, Mom. I have my own house, so I should start hosting my own kid’s parties.”
“But it won’t just be you hosting. It’ll be her, too. It’s a big step. Almost as if you’re living together.” He was weary of having the same conversation. He responded by assuring her it wouldn’t be like that. But he knew she was right. Abby had cheerfully commandeered the planning effort, designating how the various areas of the house would be utilized to optimize the party flow, and always using the pronoun “we.” He loved it.
He still didn’t have enough for the ring he wanted, and he had considered asking her without it. She didn’t care about a ring, and had told him as much. Yet he didn’t like the prospect of proposing without a gift, offering only himself and nothing else. It hadn’t worked out so well last time.
“One more thing,” Mom stopped with her hand on the doorknob. She hesitated and seemed to be studying the toe molding. “Oh, never mind. It would never happen anyway.”
“What is it, Ma?”
“Would you mind if I made a cake, instead of the cinnamon rolls?”
“Um, well—,”
“Don’t worry, honey,” she assured him. “It’s not my recipe. And I’ve even practiced it. Joule, would you like cinnamon rolls or chocolate cake?”
“Waisins,” Joule answered, furrowing his brow as he fitted two train tracks together.
“It’ll be great, I promise. And don’t forget to double the lasagna recipe. Maybe even triple it. I’ve got some disposable pans if you need them. There are a lot of people coming,” she said with an expectant lift of her eyebrows.
—
The night before the party, Abby, Rosa, and Mom came to help set up. Dad and Nick had tagged along, and after the three of them had set up the chairs and tables, they settled in front of the TV to watch March Madness.
Casper was having trouble focusing on the game. He hadn’t told his folks that he had gone to get coffee with Ed Rice the day before. He didn’t want to tell anything to anyone until he had spoken to Abby. The ring box was hidden in his meticulous sock drawer, concealing the silver band crowned with three small diamonds. It wasn’t much. It was in fact, very little. But even if he had saved for another year to afford the ring he’d chosen for her, it still wouldn’t be worthy. Nothing would be. But he knew her. He knew she would understand, wearing his humble gift with all the tender eagerness her generous spirit could afford.
As soon as his family left for the night, the moment Joule had gone to sleep, they would sit down to watch basketball, with Firefly nibbling a chew toy at their feet. He would finally tell her what she meant to him, daring to use the tired, hackneyed phrases everyone else used because they were true, and he couldn’t improve upon them. That she was his best friend, and that she made him happy. That she was rare and beautiful and funny. That she was the answer to his prayers. He would say all of it without a trace of fear, knowing she would understand. Then he would ask her, already knowing the answer. Then, tomorrow, they would finally tell everyone what they had all been expecting for months.
“Jorgenson, come take a look at this,” he heard her call from the dining room. The three battered folding tables, with chairs arranged neatly around them, had been covered with tablecloths and set with napkins, cups, and plates. The walls were decked with balloons, streamers, paper cutouts of jungle animals, and a Happy Birthday banner. It actually resembled a dining room for once, as opposed to being only a space for Firefly to play fetch and occasionally urinate. It resembled a home. He gave Rosa a squeeze, and Mom a kiss on the cheek, but when he came to Abby, he hesitated, suddenly shy, knowing full well he was being closely watched. Finally, he took her hand and kissed it.
“I’m glad you like it,” she said, beaming. “Now, I should go.”
“Wait, what?”
“Sarah just texted me. She needs me to go over there and stay with the kids. She thinks Rich might’ve torn a ligament and she wants to take him to the ER.” Casper’s stomach plummeted. Rich, who was always busy traveling for his very important job. Rich, whom he’d had three conversations with in three years. Rich, who just happened to be in town that same day for no other reason than to ruin his plans.
“What was he doing?” Rosa asked.
“Racquetball,” Abby said, rolling her eyes. “He’s very competitive.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, as he walked her to the door. “What about tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here,” she promised, stepping into her shoes. “It’s not like they’re going to admit him.”
“I don’t want you to go,” he said lamely. Abby took a furtive glance toward the dining room, then kissed his cheek. He clung to her, hating to wait another moment. But he let her go, ruthlessly impugning Rich’s life priorities in his thoughts. It didn’t really make him feel any better.
As he lay awake in bed that night, snapping the ring box open and closed, open and closed, he considered asking her before the party. Or maybe, after. But he wasn’t going to wait another day.
—
In the morning, he took out Firefly first thing, as quietly as he could. Then around her neck, he tied a yellow bandanna that Abby had custom-ordered. He tiptoed into Joule’s room and gently placed Firefly on his bed. Quickly and clumsily, she stumbled over the lumpy blankets to Joule’s pillow and promptly licked his face. Joule grinned through closed eyes and threw his arms around her neck.
“Fi-fly has lellow on her!” he cried with delight as he gazed at the bandanna. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t read the script, which read, Happy Birthday, Joule! “Lellow is my favorite! How she know that? Why she so smart?”
“She’s the smartest dog in the whole world,” Casper said, repeating Joule’s oft-repeated claim as he sat down and stroked Firefly’s glossy coat. “Hey, Bud — guess what I got you for breakfast.”
“Waisin Ban?” Joule’s eyes widened.
“You betcha. But let’s get you dressed first.” Joule insisted on wearing his orca shirt, which was an odd choice, considering his current obsession with tigers. As Casper helped him pull off his pajamas, he looked at the pink seam running down Joule’s sternum. He placed his fingertips over the place. Joule tucked his chin into his chest to see the scar.
“Tump-tump, tump-tump,” he whispered. Casper smiled, his heart filled to bursting. Thank you. Thank you. Never one to stand upon ceremony, Joule quickly pulled his shirt down over his belly and raced out of the bedroom without any pants, with Firefly in hot pursuit.
He had splurged on Joule’s birthday present, though admittedly, he personally wanted to own it. Joule, being three years old, still did not expect gifts on his birthday or any other occasion, but Casper never missed an opportunity to surprise his son. Joule, being three years old, would have been content playing with a ziplock bag filled with sand, but Casper had found a Duplo castle, complete with a drawbridge, a secret treasure room, and a trapdoor. It would make a formidable addition to Duplo City, which was permanently set up in front of the TV. Joule, being three years old, jumped up and down with excitement as soon as he revealed the Duplo logo under the wrapping paper. Firefly barked and danced around them.
They spent the rest of the morning on their stomachs, rejigging the railroad tracks and incorporating the massive castle into the existing city limits, as Firefly stepped on their hands and nosed their faces. Casper’s phone buzzed.
>> Do you have the lasagnas in the oven? Love, Mom.
He chuckled at the addendum, which she attached to every email and text.
>> Soon!
>> They will take at least one hour to bake. Love, Mom.
And forty-five minutes to rest. At this point, he had probably made as many lasagnas as she had. Anyway, the party wasn’t till three o’clock.
>> Got it. Thanks, Ma.
>> We will come at 2:00 to help. Love, Mom.
Joule handed him a clock piece and directed him to install it on the apple tree so the birds would sing in time to wake everyone up.
The next time he glanced at his watch, his stomach dropped. 1:52 p.m.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot.” He raced to the oven and set it to preheat, then took out an armload of boxes of dry lasagna noodles out of the pantry. He filled a pot with water and set it to boil. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.” He tore open the fridge door and pulled out the packages of ground beef, celery, onions, and carrots. In a fit of arrogance, he had elected to make everything the day of, including the bolognese, which took no less than ninety minutes to simmer, and that was pushing it. He had planned, in some kind of hubristic stupor, to be chopping and assembling everything at a leisurely pace, while Joule played contentedly with his new Duplos and Firefly didn’t chew the couch to bits.
He had barely set the butter in the pan to melt for the mirepoix when he heard the rattling of paws, the sudden smack of plastic on the hard floor, and Joule’s horrified shriek, all enhanced with the magnificent acoustics his meager furnishings afforded.
“No, Fi-Fly! Dad!” Joule cried. As Casper knelt beside him to help rebuild the damaged city walls, he heard the front door open behind him.
“Where’s the birthday boy?” he heard Mom sing out. Firefly skittered over to the door, whining with delight. “Down, Firefly. Can’t you see I’m holding a cake? Be nice.”
“Hey,” Casper called, reinforcing a double-wide stack of blocks.
“There he is!” Dad announced.
“Hi, Gampa. Hi, Gam-Gam.” Joule didn’t look up from the train car he was assembling.
“Wow, Duplo City looks good,” Dad observed. Firefly whined desperately to be acknowledged.
“Honey, didn’t you say Abby was coming early?” Mom asked. “For heaven’s sake! Down, Firefly!”
“Yeah, she should be here any minute,” Casper answered, rising to his feet. “Just keep building on to this, Bud,” he directed Joule. “That wall needed to be redone anyway.”
“Then whose car is in the driveway? I thought Abby drove a Buick,” Mom mused, looking out to the driveway. “Did she get a new car?”
“I hope not. That Honda looks pretty old,” Dad replied.
“Oh no,” Mom breathed. “Oh, Dirk.”
“Come say hi to Grandma and Grandpa, first.” Casper lifted Joule in his arms and went to greet his parents. “Mom, time sort of got away from me and—,”
He stopped and stared out the front window. Oh, God.
A green 2010 Civic with Wisconsin plates.
Oh, God.
He watched her get out of the car. He watched Charlotte get out of the car.
Oh, God.
“Sheila…” Dad began.
“Honey, I didn’t know she was coming. I promise. I didn’t even technically invite her! We were talking about the weekend — and, well I meant to tell you that I had sent her a friend request, but —,”
“But Sheila, what is she doing here?” Dad muttered. They were making their way toward the house.
“Honey, the party just came up! It just came up and I said, Oh you know you’re welcome to come — but I was being polite! I thought she knew —oh, no. Honey, I didn’t really think she would ever actually—oh, my goodness. Honey, I’m so sorry.”
They were walking past the front window toward the door. Charlotte looked to be about nine years old now, with serious blue eyes, purple glasses, and a dimple in her left cheek. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Reagan approach. She was wearing her navy blue winter coat, and he saw the sky blue scarf he had given her, and a gift bag clutched in her hand.
In a moment they were standing in his house like a figures cut from a painting.
She offered him a timid smile and said something, but her voice was too quiet for him to hear her. Then she looked at Joule in his arms. Her mouth trembled and her face turned pale. Her chest skipped beneath her heavy coat as she took a ragged breath. When she looked at him again, her eyes were pink and trembling.
The smoke alarm went off. The butter was burning.
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Katie Bertola 