"It?" He frowns, taking yet another turn in the crowded parking garage.
Finding space for his hulking monster of a pick-up truck is a challenge on a half-empty lot, which this was not. Mall parking garages in December are not for the faint of heart. Pat is clearly only paying enough attention to me to show that he's present and accounted for; the rest is reserved for the grunting pick-up.
Ok, maybe he'll just let it slide. I take a deep breath and open my mouth, about to launch both of us into a conversation on a topic as far away from "it" as I can come up with, but it's too late.
"Wait a minute," Pat's attention is now smack where I don't want it. He swerves around a car that appeared to be pulling out but instead is just straightening out in the coveted spot, and looks at me. "You did it? You are serious?"
"Watch where you're going!" I grab the dashboard as Pat curses under his breath and makes a sharp turn to head up to the next level of the parking garage.
"Why?"
"Why what?"
In response Pat just gives me a look and keeps driving. I sigh. I'll have to explain now. For a moment I wish I hadn't said anything, but it's not like I can hide it forever and then I'd have two things to apologize for and explain.
"I don't really know," I start and am interrupted by the sudden screech of tires as Pat slams on the brakes.
"Sorry," he mutters and we both watch as a car right in front turns on its lights. I stifle a sudden giggle.
"Pat, seriously? It's a Mini."
He glares at me, but we both know that the chance of him fitting into the spot is about as good as me giving a rational explanation for what I've done. With a sigh, Pat pulls around the car and drives on down the packed row.
For a few minutes we're silent.
"You said you won't do it."
It's unanswerable. Yes, yes, I did say that. But then I've said that I'll go to the gym three times a week and stop counting French Fries as a vegetable.
"I know..." I struggle for words. "I did say that, but..."
"So, why then?"
"I just... I just couldn't leave him. I know I shouldn't have, I know that three of them in an apartment is too much, but he was so forlorn and he kept coming by every morning and every evening and probably hanging around under the porch all day, just waiting for me to get home."
Once I start, the words just pour out, "He is so friendly and it's been so cold out and I know they have thick fur for a reason, but come on, it's snowing one day and raining the next and he is just so adorable and I just couldn't leave him outside."
Pat swerves, pulling into a just-barely-wide-enough parking spot and turns to face me. I can see the suppressed smile struggling to break through. He unbuckles his seat belt, reaches into his pocket and pulls out a twenty dollar bill.
"Here", he hands the bill to me. "I made a bet with myself that you won't make it to two weeks of watching that fat furball without letting him in."
I don't know whether to laugh or be annoyed, but I have to know, "And what if I had made it past two weeks?"
He gives me a wry look and shakes his head, "Hon, you know I only make bets that I'm sure to win."
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