I listen as he rummages through whatever take-out bag he brought with him and appreciate the scent of coffee.
“You know what today is?” I ask, still staring out at the weather. It’s gonna rain today. Last year it was snowing. But it doesn’t usually snow so much in late November, so this year we’re back to normal with the rain.
“Yeah.” Smith sighs, banging a drawer closed in the open kitchen. “I know. But you’re going to work today, right?”
I should go to work. What the fuck good would it do me to stay home? “I have a meeting this afternoon. So probably.”
Smith walks up to me holding a paper coffee cup. I take it, mumble, “Thanks,” and sip the hot liquid.
“I got you the best breakfast burrito from one of the new trucks down near Cheeseman Park,” Smith says. “You gotta taste this shit.”
“Thanks,” I say again, meaning it. I walk over to the kitchen island and grab the one that says ‘Quin’ on the silver-foil wrapper. Open it up. Take the mandatory bite.
“So listen,” Smith says.
But that’s when I notice the rat peeking its head out of Smith’s… gym bag? Sitting on the floor near the couch. “What the fuck is that?”
“What? Oh, the dog.”
“That’s not a dog. It’s a rat.”
“Right,” he says, shaking his head. “So you know Chella said I could get a dog, remember? Last year she gave me that gift and part of it was a puppy?”
“Yeah, but…” I point to the rat—which is sitting inside Smith’s gym bag. Since when does he come here with a gym bag? “That’s not a puppy, Smith.”
It’s small enough to be a puppy. Tiny little thing, for sure. Rat-sized, hence my confusion. And the fur on the top of its head is gathered together with a pink bow.
It stares at me and says, “Arf.”
Really. The rat-dog says, Arf.
“So we go to the shelter last week because she’s dying for me to get a fucking puppy, right?”
“Yeah,” I say, more interested than I have a right to be.
“She’s practically pissed off that I haven’t done this already and Christmas is coming… I didn’t like her present… blah, blah, blah. So we go to the shelter and look around. And I see this amazing husky puppy, right?”
“Right,” I say, taking another bite of my burrito, wondering how he gets to this rat-thing when he starts out with a husky.
“Like this dog talks, Quin. Like this little husky puppy is chatting me up with all this woo-woo howling and shit.”
“OK,” I say, sipping my coffee.
“But then…” Smith sighs. “I hear Chella cooing a few cages down. And I melt, man. I just can’t say no. She gets the people to let her hold the puppy. And she’s talking to it like they’ve been friends forever. And… well, I just gave in, man. I couldn’t walk out of there without that puppy. So here we are. Precious is gonna hang out with me at the gym every day. They say dogs are good for troubled kids and old people, right?”
I shake my head at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? What gym? What troubled kids and old people?”
“Dude,” Smith says, as he takes a bite of his burrito. I wait for him to swallow his food as I continue to stare at the dog. “Don’t you ever listen to me? I’ve been talking about the youth project for six months. Why do I come here if you’re just gonna dwell on the past and be a moping asshole?”
Has he mentioned something about a gym? I have no clue. I know he never mentioned old people. The troubled kids… I’m not sure. That’s a maybe.
“I told you that I decided not to do the whole donation thing anymore. It’s stupid not to spend my own money, right?”
“Yeah.” I snort. “I always thought that was stupid. But whatever. I supported you and your dumb rules.”
“I know,” Smith says, sipping his coffee. “I really do appreciate that, man. For real. But I decided it was time to invest in my own projects, you know? So I bought five gyms.”
“Gyms?” I’m confused. “What kind of charity is a gym?”
“For kids. In bad neighborhoods,” he explains. “I told you all this months ago.”
“Maybe in passing,” I say, defensive.
“Anyway.” He sighs. “I have five gyms and five days of the week to fill. You know Chella quit the gallery and started her own bakery business?”
“Bakery?” What the fuck is happening?
“If you say you didn’t know about that, I’ll punch you,” Smith says. “Hard. Like… in the eye.”
“No, no,” I lie. “I remember now. Just forgot, that’s all.”
“Yeah, well, Chella graduated pastry school last month. Pastry chef,” Smith says, shaking his head, eyes shining with pride. “That was always her dream.”
It was? How did I not know this?
“And we’ve been working on her new business and my gyms. And this is opening week for me, bro. I’ve got a full-on boxing ring in three of them. You know, so the little deviants can kick the shit out of each other and call it sportsmanship.”
I shake my head at him and laugh. “That’s so wrong.”
“I mean it affectionately,” he says, waving a hand at me. “Three of them are boxing gyms and two of them are just regular gyms. And it’s free, right? Like kids in these neighborhoods need a place to go hang out. Stay off the street. Eat and stuff. So I’m gonna take care of all that from now on.”
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Philanthropist.”
“You know it,” he says, shooting me with his finger. “Anyway, I’m gonna spend my time at each one, one day a week. And I’m bringing Precious along to make me more approachable.”
I laugh at the thought of Smith trying to be approachable. “Aren’t the little deviants supposed to be in school at this time of day?”
“You can’t rush progress, Quin. Of course I want them in school, but I never went to school. So I figure I’d hire some tutors and run some GED classes during the day. Get them all up to speed on that in between kicking the shit out of each other. Chella wants to do scholarships too. For the ones who show interest and commitment. So you know, I’m changing the world one kid at a time.”
I stare at him, amazed at how much being with Chella has changed him for the better. Smith has always been generous with his fortune. I would never say a bad word about him to anyone other than Bric or Chella. Or Rochelle. And that’s just friendship talking, you know? I’m allowed to be annoyed with him sometimes because we’re friends and we care about each other.
But it’s nice to see him like this. All settled with a woman and excited about his plans. He used to just let Bric handle all his charity work. Now he’s invested.
What a difference a year makes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Smith asks.
I was the happy one last year and he was the broody asshole.
“What?” he prods. “Why are you staring at me?”
“You’re just so damn… satisfied.”