The dog looked pissed off, but reluctantly jumped off the bed and followed her into the kitchen. Elly frowned at him. Kim had talked her into getting a dog. After many nights alone in her new apartment with a bottle of cheap wine, which usually resulted in Elly pacing around crying, Kim had informed her that she needed something to care for, something that wasn’t about her. Something to make her move on. Elly had pushed for something low maintenance, like a beta fish, but Kim wasn’t having it. She dragged Elly to the pound, where they looked at hundreds of sad faces behind bars before Elly had a nervous breakdown and demanded that Kim take her home. That night, as Elly sipped raspberry tea and looked out her window, she had remembered that her mother had an English sheepdog growing up in Georgia. And that was what she decided she wanted - a dog her mother would have loved.
The next morning Elly drove to a pretty blue farm house and sat down among a squeal worthy litter of Old English Sheepdog puppies. As the puppies climbed and licked every inch of Elly’s bare knees, the crowd parted and she saw another puppy lying in the corner, watching his brothers and sisters as if he thought they were the most ridiculous bunch of dogs he’d ever seen. His puppy face was still adorable, even though he carried what looked a lot like skepticism. She knew right then he was the dog for her. She carried Cadbury (named for the Easter candy; once a year was never enough for those little heavenly eggs) out of the farm and placed him in the front seat of the car. On the trip home, she talked to him. She cried about Aaron. She talked about starting the business and how no brides were calling her. She whispered her true feelings to this benign dog, and he gazed at her with something not like love, but more like the look a person reserves for crazy aunts.
It had taken months before Cadbury became the kind of dog she wanted to have. He was horrible at toilet training, peeing all over her Persian rug, until she had to throw it angrily into a dumpster. He hated his food, he hated being alone, and he yanked on the leash so hard that most walks resulted in bloodied knees. Cadbury rebelled in every way possible, but he did love her eventually. That he did.
They formed camaraderie – much like soldiers, they leaned on each other with an understood world weariness, and the common need for each other. She took him out for daily walks and let him eat most things, and in return he slept by her side on the bed, and didn’t poop inside anymore. His puppy face changed, and he became a beautiful dog – one that strangers complimented with ease. She was proud. Proud that she had not killed him in his puppy years, but also that her mother would have loved Cadbury. They walked around Forest Park in the spring, taking in the pink blossoms on the trees, and in the winter, Cadbury bounded through the thin snow in the striped sweater that Elly wrestled him into. He saw her through the good days, when she was high on life, and through the down days when she couldn’t believe it was two years since she woke up that fateful morning and drove away from the love of her life. He was her dog through and through, even when he was being reprehensible.
Back in the kitchen, Cadbury finally proceeded to get excited about her being home, jumping on her and nuzzling his cold nose against her shoulder. She had been home almost three hours at that point.
“Hello doggie-love,” she murmured.
She donned her favorite outfit: big, comfy pajama pants with reindeer on them and a fitted tank top, sat down on her couch, opened a bottle of wine and settled Cadbury across her lap. She flicked the remote. On the television, a beautiful woman dressed in a teal satin dress offered roses to different gentlemen. Each one smiled at her and kissed her cheek. Elly snorted. There was nothing like the idea of perfect, candle-lit romance to piss her off. She waved the wine bottle at the TV.
“Eat it up sweetheart…it all starts like this, and then it’s late nights at the studio and new paintings and then all of a sudden you’re the unstable one, waving a wine bottle at the television!”
She looked at Cadbury to see if he found the humor in this moment. He huffed at her.
“Yes, you’re right. I’m bitter, I get it”. The doorbell rang. “Chinese food!” she sang out and ruffled his ears.
She opened the door and gasped.
An insanely beautiful man stood at her door. She would have been disappointed if it had not been for his eyes. Those deep brown eyes, the color of chocolate cosmos, or of deliciously rich soil. Framed by long lashes – almost girlish in their length – his eyes were almond shaped. He looked to be perhaps half-Hawaiian. No, Vietnamese. No, Hispanic. No. Elly was really bad at guessing countries of origin. Well, wherever he was from, he was exquisitely handsome. Dark curly hair, skin the color of coffee mixed with cream.
‘Um, hello?” he said softly.
Oh Lord, he has an accent thought Elly, slay me now. Quickly, she rearranged herself, pushing her hair out of her eyes, sucking her tummy in and licking her lips.
“Hi…you aren’t my Chinese food.”
She immediately regretted mentioning food within the first 30 seconds of meeting a beautiful man - the first beautiful man in a long time. Fatty!
“No, I’m Isaac, Isaac Kamaka. I just moved in above the deli?”
“Oh, wow. That must smell delicious!” Elly mentally smacked herself. Food again!
“No, not really, it kind of smells like mustard.”
“Oh.”
Silence.
“So, are you just going around meeting all the neighbors?”
“Only the pretty ones.”
Swoon. She blushed. Noticeably.
“The guy next door – whew. He is a man to behold.”
Elly snickered. The man who lived next door was about 65, portly and had an odd aroma about him.