I shake Bart’s hand, manage a smile. They all come up to introduce themselves.
The blond who answered the door is Marcia of the famed meatballs that will apparently win Odin to my side. Marcia is a lawyer, like Harlow, and Bobby is a financial planner. They’re in unit three.
Lastly are Liz and Natalie Finder, a lesbian couple who are newest to the building before me, having moved in a few months ago. Liz is a pharmacist and pregnant with their first child through a sperm donor but using Natalie’s egg. Natalie is a headhunter specializing in global marketing, whatever the fuck that is, and I’ve learned more about them in a fifteen-second introduction than I knew about my brother in the last two years.
“What do you feel like?” Bart says, clapping me on the back. “We’ve got Smithwick’s or coffee with Irish cream liqueur. So essentially, beer or coffee. We’re not very multidimensional, but we’re keeping it holiday related.”
“Smithwick’s would be great,” I reply, and Bart heads off.
Harlow reappears, a small plate of meatballs in hand and Odin by her side. I swear he’s glaring at me, but in all honesty, it could be that he has two angled brown eyebrows against the black fur that make him look humanly expressive.
She hands me the plate, which I have no choice but to accept, and gives me very specific instructions. “Take a meatball and tell him to sit. Be very clear in your command while showing him the meatball.”
I do as she says, and to my relief, the dog’s ass hits the floor as his eyes lock on the treat pinched between my thumb and forefinger.
“Now, lower the meatball,” Harlow says, her tone like a warning. “And say the word gentle as you offer it.”
My head snaps her way. “What happens if he doesn’t heed the word gentle?”
“You might lose a finger,” she quips, eyes sparkling with amusement. Which means she’s joking.
I think.
I wait for the real answer and finally, Harlow rolls her eyes. “He’s got a very gentle mouth, but he’s really not allowed people food, so he could get a little excited. I’m making this exception to help you bridge the divide with him. You might get a little slobber on you, by the way.”
Our eyes stay locked for a moment, and I know that this could be a pivotal point where I decide to trust her.
Looking back to Odin, I say in the softest—perhaps a bit pleading—tone I can muster, “Gentle.”
Odin licks his chops—for my hand, for the meatball, who knows—but I go for it and hand him the food.
Surprisingly, not a single tooth grazes my skin as he daintily nips the meatball from my grasp and swallows it whole.
Odin stands, takes a step closer, and sits again without me having to ask. His eyes are pinned on the plate, his meaning clear. Feed me the rest, or I’ll kill you.
I hand him the remaining two meatballs with the request for him to be gentle, and he takes each one without injuring me.
I had thought that might make us friends, and I even consider petting his head, but once he sees the plate is empty, he pads away as if he has no further use for me. I watch as he goes to Liz, sitting on the couch. Odin steps right up onto the cushion next to her and lays his big body down with his head resting on her lap. She strokes him without missing a beat of her conversation with Marcia and Natalie.
Bart returns with my beer as well as a fresh mug of coffee for Harlow. “Just the way you like it,” he says as she takes it from him.
She sniffs and takes a sip, a tiny moan of appreciation. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Liqueur in coffee,” I say, glancing down at her cup. “Good combo?”
Harlow smiles and shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. Never tried it before, but I don’t drink now.”
I blink at her, slightly embarrassed by my off-handed comment. Her saying that she doesn’t drink now means that she did at one point. There could be a hundred reasons why she doesn’t, but I don’t ask because I don’t know her all that well. Hell, even if I did know her well, I wouldn’t ask. None of my business.
She seems nonplussed, though, and Bart doesn’t seem to think there’s anything weird about it either.
“You played great in Phoenix and Houston,” Harlow says, changing the subject.
“You and Gage Heyward are really clicking,” Bart adds, and then launches into a speech on his thoughts regarding the viability of a winning season. Harlow pipes in, and I find myself offering insider knowledge. It’s clear that both Harlow and Bart are die-hard Titans fans.
Neither one of them mentions anything about some of our obvious problems. Maybe it’s uncouth for them to point out that Coen Highsmith has no more consistency in his play, and there’s no talk about the emotional devastation the plane crash brought out onto the ice. It’s all stats and strategy and trash-talking other teams.