Chapter_26_Matilda_Th

This is not good. This is bone-crushingly bad.

We ping-pong back and forth about who left which window open and why.

“We need to put our heads together and find our dog,” Wyatt says calmly.

“You’re right,” I say, taking a deep breath. “You check White Castle. I’ll check Arby’s.” We take off in opposite directions.

I run inside Arby’s, which is practically empty except for a teenage couple with piercings wildly making out in a corner booth. I ask the too-cool assistant manager behind the counter if he’s spotted a dog anywhere, but he blankly shakes his head no.

I dart to the gas station, a sprawling mecca made up of dozens of gas pumps with a parade of cars and trucks coming and going. It’s anchored by a strip mall–like building that houses a convenience store the size of a supermarket.

I run in circles, sweating, in and out of the pumps, looking in every direction, realizing Matilda could be anywhere at this point.

“MATILDA!” I yell, panicked.

A woman trucker overhears me and jumps out of her rig with a look of concern, an upstanding citizen who wants to help.

“Y’all lose your wife or kid?” she asks.

“Our dog is missing,” I blurt out, starting to hyperventilate over the words I just said.

“You try whistling?” The trucker sticks a bunch of fingers in her mouth and unleashes the loudest, most impressive whistle imaginable, screaming, “Ma-TIL-da!”

The two of us look around. Nothing.

“Not sure if she’s ever responded to whistling before.”

“Worth a shot.” The trucker whistles again, somehow louder this time. Instead of Matilda, Wyatt sprints toward us. “You find her?” he asks, out of breath.

“No. Nothing at White Castle?” I ask, desperate.

Wyatt shakes his head and we lock eyes. We both want to cry. I grab Wyatt by the shoulders and pull him into a comforting embrace.

“I’m sorry,” I say, our cheeks smushed into each other.

“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry,” Wyatt says. “This whole trip has been one huge thing after another.”

“I know. I’m just so distracted by everything,” I say. “This is my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault. Let’s just try to find our girl,” Wyatt says as we take off running together.

When Matilda first came into our lives, we were in P-town for the annual Spooky Bear Halloween weekend, between the summer crush of people and the dead of winter.

I remember the streets were covered in red, orange and brown leaves and the autumn air was almost supernatural. The weekend’s events usually included dancing, haunted houses, impromptu after-parties, all culminating in a costume ball.

The town was swarming with people in costume.

Sexy superheroes. Sexy cartoon characters. Sexy blue-collar workers. Sexy biblical characters. Or just a sexy person.

We shared a house in the West End with four friends, which was owned by two queer women who were both retired bankers turned sculptors.

There was the main house where me, Wyatt and our friends stayed and the smaller carriage house, where Shannon and Katya would sit on their porch and drink IPAs, laughing at six grown men running around the house, getting dressed up for Halloween.

After a night of carousing at various venues, all of us dressed as sexy Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, we headed to Spiritus Pizza, where the P-town ritual of buying a slice of pizza after a night of boozing was still in autumnal full force.

We sat on the curb, our green face paint fading.

“Ninja Turtles eating pizza is a little on the nose,” Wyatt shrewdly said. We all laughed.

After chatting up four sexy UPS men, a Lucille Ball, a ZZ Top with a ZZ Bottom and a zombie Barbra Streisand, we eventually called it a night. It was a beautiful, starry sky and the moon was in the shape of a perfectly eerie crescent.

Halfway down Commercial Street, it was breathtakingly quiet. We lost our friends and Wyatt stopped me so we could appreciate the silence. Then he slapped me on the ass and yelled “Cowabunga!” the famous Ninja Turtles catchphrase, as we ran full speed down the empty street, free and exuberant.

We stopped, out of breath, in front of Captain Jack’s, a small pier made up of a dozen colorful cabins, all shapes and sizes, cobbled together to form a unique lodge.

The moon hung over the small beach to the right of the wharf. Wyatt’s face brilliantly lit.

“How are you so handsome?” Wyatt asked me.

“Even dressed like a turtle?” I wondered.

We laughed and Wyatt grabbed my hand as we tiptoed down the side of Captain Jack’s, under the dock and all its sleeping guests. We leaned on a pole as our bodies pressed up against each other, our mouths fusing together. We fell onto the sand, tearing off each other’s costumes, kissing, moving rhythmically, hoping no one would see us.

Or who cares if anyone did see us. That’s P-town!

“I have green paint in my mouth,” Wyatt said in between love bites.

“Never knew I could be so horny for a turtle.”

Our shirtless bodies tangled up in each other. Our hearts pounded in unison. Our combined warmth cut through the pre-November chill. We made each other feel more spectacularly alive than ever before.

When we arrived back at our house, we were surprised to see Shannon and Katya still up, sitting on the porch of their cottage. They’d moved on to sipping whisky.

Their dog, Pancake, a beautiful Airedale terrier, had just given birth to a litter of eight puppies of various brown and black markings a month before. The puppies were all by their mother’s side, sleeping and acting adorable.

“The pups started wobbling around tonight,” Shannon said.

“They look like Bambi on the Titanic,” Katya joked.

“You want one?” Shannon asked us. We laughed at how casual she sounded but she was dead serious.

As if to say, “pick me,” one of the tinier ones broke off from the pack, waddled up to me and Wyatt, nipping at our green Birkenstocks. She yawned and scurried back to her cuddle puddle.

Everyone let out an “awww” at the same time.

When Wyatt and I went to bed that night, we held each other tight, thinking about our hot encounter under the pier, while staring at the moon through our window.

“What if we brought a puppy back to Brooklyn?” I asked.

“We’re so not prepared for a dog, let alone a rambunctious puppy,” Wyatt said, of course. “If you really want a souvenir, I’ll buy you a Race Point Beach hoodie.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We can be fur daddies. Pawrents! It’ll be cute.” I immediately became obsessed with bringing a puppy home.

“Are you still thinking about being a real parent? To a human?” Wyatt asked, hopeful.

“I’ve always wanted to have kids. You know that,” I said. Wyatt knew I wanted to recreate my large family. Our mutual goal to have kids was another thing that attracted us. “Maybe a dog is a first step? A trial run for having kids,” I suggested.

“Dogs and babies aren’t the same,” Wyatt said. “It’s a lot of responsibility and having a dog in New York is extra hard. No backyard for peeing and pooing. You really want to wake up every morning and take the dog out? Then go out three or four more times a day?”

“We can figure it out.” I threw Wyatt a smile that always made him smile back. “I mean, how many times are we going to be presented with a free adorable puppy? Come on. Let’s get a dog, then we’ll get married and have kids.” I smiled again.

“You’re irresistible.” Wyatt gave me a huge, wet kiss. “Let’s sleep on it.”

With that, Wyatt turned on his side and pulled me in close behind him as his big spoon.

“How about the name Matilda? Like the musical,” I said, holding on to Wyatt, eyes closed, grinning, hopeful.

“It was a book first. Roald Dahl,” Wyatt said.

“I know. Then it became a movie in the nineties.”

“Then it was a musical.”

“And then it became another movie. Based on the musical. Based on the book.”

“Sleep on it,” Wyatt murmured again, spent, fading.

“Matilda was the first Broadway show we saw together,” I reminded Wyatt.

“Duh. I remember. Now please sleep,” Wyatt said and then whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” We held on to each other, falling asleep, thinking about our future.

The next afternoon, we would never forget the look on Pancake’s face when we scooped up the tiny puppy that waddled up to us the night before. The protective mom signaled a worrisome look that was tempered by all the humans around her.

“The boys are gonna take good care of your baby, Pancake,” Shannon said as she knelt down and scratched behind Pancake’s ears.

Matilda, the book, the movie, the musical, the movie again, was now a puppy.

We had no idea how much attention we were about to receive.

Taking the lovable three-month-old Matilda on walks in the city reminded me of when I was younger, at the height of my television career, when kids and tweens made their parents stop me on the street to snap a pic and bashfully say how much they loved me on the show.

Now people stopped me on the street but they didn’t recognize that kid from the Disney show. All they wanted to do was say hi to our cute, clumsy, overly friendly, little dog. I was lucky if they gave the human attached brief eye contact.

Even though Matilda chewed up our gym shoes, gnawed on the legs of our kitchen table and destroyed all our socks, we were and are forever in love.

Back at the convenience store, we’re worried out of our minds.

“What do we do? Start putting up flyers? Call the police?!” I ask naively, more desperate.

“Let’s check the convenience store again?” Wyatt says, unsure.

An older woman with a spray tan and a side ponytail jogs from the convenience store toward us. She looks like a sixty-year-old, washed-up cheerleader. “You two lose your dogs?”

“Yes!” I almost jump her.

“There are a couple dogs behind the store,” she says, out of breath. “I just saw them by the bathroom there.” The woman points to the side of the convenience store and takes a hit of her vape pen.

We run as fast as we can.

Behind the store, sure enough, there’s Matilda chasing another fluffy, medium-sized dog in circles. The two are fast friends and not going anywhere anytime soon.

Tails wagging. Open-mouthed smiles. It’s love at first sniff.

I scoop up Matilda as she licks my face, squirming with excitement over our reunion. She lets out a sharp, gleeful yelp, as if introducing her new friend. Wyatt steps in and we both hold her tight, never wanting to let go.

Wyatt and I look at each other and smile affectionately, trauma bonding and feeling grateful. My relief doesn’t last long. My chest tightens, feeling like I’m the one to blame.

We look down at the other dog, peering up at us with forlorn eyes, tail wagging, craving affection. The fluffy ball of fur circles us three, wanting in on our love fest. He has an adorable face and he’s mostly beige with some patches of white.

“He looks like a miniature version of the lion in The Wizard of Oz,” Wyatt says.

“What a cutie. He’s like a cross between a Chow Chow and a Husky,” I say.

“A Chowsky? Chusky?”

I kneel down and pull the stray dog in close. No collar, no tags, no way of finding his owner. We carry him around the gas station, asking people if they know the dog.

“Didn’t you just lose a dog? Now you have an extra dog?” the gas station attendant asks.

“He’s a stray we found in the back with our dog. Know anyone who’s missing a pup?”

“Looks like yours just got a friend,” the attendant says. We laugh and head back to our car. It dawns on us that we can’t just leave this dog here alone.

“What should we do?” Wyatt asks as I set the dog down and we watch Matilda and him get along famously.

We stare at the dogs playing, then we look at each other. That time in P-town when we first met Matilda flashes in my mind again. We look back down at the dogs.

“They love each other,” Wyatt says.

“I guess... we have room in the car?” I say.

“Maybe we’ll find a shelter to take him to,” Wyatt says. “Is this a bad idea?”

Without further discussion, we pack the two dogs in the back and take off.

As we drive, the dogs harmoniously lie together in Matilda’s bed, staring out the windows in silence, watching the landscape fly by like two tired little kids.

The dogs let out the same heavy sigh and fall asleep within seconds of each other. It’s extra baggage and we’ll have to find a home for this little guy once we have our baby.

“What should we call him?” Wyatt asks.

“How about Pancake? In honor of Matilda’s mom.”

“I love it.”

We drive in silence as Matilda and Pancake sleep, tucked into their bed together, each appreciating their new companion.

Wyatt and I squeeze each other’s hand with a renewed bond for each other, realizing the fragility of our little family and understanding that it could fall apart at any second.