Halle Butler - Jillian

We’ll eat there tonight.

Then she got paper towels and went around the apartment, wiping in the order she’d sprayed. It took nine paper towels, more because of how much cleaner she’d used than how much dust and crud was on the surfaces. It hadn’t been that messy.

She took the scrubber-sponge and scrubbed the stove and microwave, then she got the vacuum out of the pantry, emptied the canister into the trash can and went around and did the living room and the kitchen. The bathroom and bedrooms would have to wait for a bit. First things first. The noise of the vacuum made Crispy get up and walk around in that sideways way she’d used earlier. Jillian looked at Crispy and thought, She’ll get used to it. Maybe she’ll even think the vacuum is funny later. Jillian put the vacuum back in the pantry after re-wrapping the cord, then looked around and thought.

The dishes.

She went to the sink and pre-washed the dishes and loaded a full load into the washer, poured in the Cascade and started it. The smell of warm, soapy water and damp, old food filled the kitchen. It mixed nicely with the smell of burnt rubber and dust, but the smell of cleaner was too strong. She opened more windows and lit the candles.

She got the dog bowls out of the shopping bag, then went to one of the kitchen drawers and got out a place mat. She put the place mat down on the ground next to the kitchen table, opened the bag of dog food and then took a minute to carefully pour out a portion from the 25-pound bag into the bowl on the table. She put the bag in the pantry next to the vacuum cleaner and looked at it. She got a chip clip and closed the open dog food bag, then shut the pantry door and filled the second bowl with water. When she set the bowls on the place mat they didn’t fit. The bowls were too big. She would have to buy a bigger place mat.

She kept cleaning and cleaning and cleaning, running around back and forth between rooms and pivoting. She called this “getting into the rhythm.”

The dog would need to pee soon. She gave the dog the rawhide bone.

She put her hands on her body and thought, I need to do the laundry, or no one will have clean underwear.

Crispy sat in the corner looking at the rawhide bone and Adam was watching commercials.

Jillian had to pee.

The sweet smell of the outside, the vacuum and the candles, the sound of the commercials and the dish washer and some cars outside, her kid and Crispy in the same room with her, it was awful not to quite have these things yet. This would be perfect in a second, but there were still things to get in order.

She peed. The bathroom was covered in that layer of lint and hair that gets stuck in the steamed-in soap film. She’d clean that, too.

“Get your shoes on, we need to take Crispy out.”

Crispy skidded away from the leash and was difficult to get down the stairs. She kept sitting down on the walk and Jillian kept thinking she’d get used to it, right?

“We need to talk to her to make her more comfortable.”

They both started saying “good dog” over and over and Adam went up to trees and lifted his leg to mime peeing.

“Pee-pee pee-pee, hahaha.”

Eventually, Crispy took a dump on the median. Jillian had forgotten to bring poop bags, so she looked around. She saw no one. “Come on,” she said and they walked a little faster. She needed to tire them both out so they’d go to sleep so she could work and then, when everything was in place, she could wake them up and they could all cuddle on the couch like she’d been hoping they would. She skipped and galloped to get her kid and the dog to romp. Crispy seemed happy, and even romped a little and wagged her tail in short, weird bursts. Jillian smiled at them both. They walked for 20 minutes, until Jillian’s feet were sore and Adam said he had to pee and Crispy started looking anxious.

When they got back, Jillian straightened out the pillows and blankets on the couch and turned on the tv. She tucked Adam into a little nest and gave him the remote.

“Take a little nap if you need to, I have to do the laundry.”

She put some peanut butter on the rawhide and used it to lure Crispy into the kitchen.

“Here’s your water and food,” she said, pointing to the bowls on the place mat.

She dropped the bone by the bowls.

Her bedroom was dark. Even with the shades drawn, it didn’t get much light. She picked up her bras first and tossed them into the bathtub, then picked up all the dirty clothes, separated out some things that still seemed clean, and took the rest of the pile to the bathroom and dumped it on the floor. She stripped the bed and laid the bottom sheet in the hallway. She went to Adam’s room, stripped his sheets, picked up his dirty clothes and dumped them on the sheet. She put all of her laundry from the floor and the hamper on the sheet pile, got the soap and fabric softener, then bundled up the sheet—like Santa, that was how she felt—and hauled it downstairs.

She didn’t separate the colors, just separated the clothes randomly into two machines and started them with extra soap. The clothes smelled a little musky. Back upstairs she opened her bedroom window and Adam’s, put sheets on both of their beds, made them up with the pillows and everything, tucked a stuffed animal under the sheets on Adam’s bed, picked up his toys from the floor and put them in his bin. She hung up the clothes she’d decided weren’t dirty. She took the bras from the tub and threw them into the hallway. She went and got the cleaner and the paper towels and the kitchen sponge and removed the film of hair and lint from the bathroom and polished the surfaces as well as she could. Then she dried the bathroom a little with paper towels, filled the sink with cold water and hand soap and submerged her bras in it. She turned the fan on in the bathroom, threw away the paper towels, and dusted the surfaces in her room and Adam’s, then she ran the vacuum again.

By then it was time to change the laundry.

She came back upstairs, rinsed her bras and hung them over the shower rod. She watered the two dry-looking plants in the kitchen and put the hot, dull-smelling plates back into the cabinets. The sun was going down, and she didn’t want to know where the dog was, not yet, not until everything was in place and she could enjoy it. She got an old blanket, folded it and put it by the couch.

“That’s Crispy’s bed for now.”

She got hair bands and used them to hold the cabinets closed, like in Emily’s kitchen.

There was no juice in the refrigerator. She needed to go shopping.

She sat down next to Adam and they both called, “Crispy,” and Crispy walked up to them slowly, wagging her tail fast and slow at alternating speeds.

“Crispy!”

Wag . . . wag . . . wagwagwag.

“Good dog, come here, Crispy!”

They all played for a minute, then Crispy sat on her bed. Jillian put away the laundry and made a grocery list and when she looked over at Adam and Crispy watching tv together, she thought she was going to start crying, she was so close to being able to sit with them and relax.

“Will you be a good girl?” asked Jillian.

Crispy looked from side to side.

“We’ll be right back, ok? Will you be a good girl?”

In the car, Jillian said, “We’ll need to get her a crate for when I’m at work, and I think she needs some fetch toys, but we can use an old sock for now. Tie it in a knot. We can use peanut butter for treats, too, to save money for now.”

Just talking out loud.

“What movie do you want to watch tonight, Adam?”

When they got back from the store, Jillian said, “One more thing before dinner and movies, ok?” and that’s when she sent the photo message to Megan.