The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(55)

Nina’s phone was lying on her pillow, on speaker. “I assume there’s a booty call exception to that rule.”

“You assume correctly. See? It’s a good system. If I have individual wake-up times attached to everyone I’ll mess it up. I like to keep it simple.”

“Well, I guess we all better bend to your will then.” Nina might have been a little cranky, still, and she was definitely undercaffeinated.

“It would be best. Besides, you had to wake up in order to answer your phone, so no harm, no foul.” Nina could tell from his tone of voice that her new nephew was a morning person, that despicable breed. She said nothing, but turned her head and pressed it into the pillow so her phone slid down and rested in her little ear divot.

Peter was still chirping at her. “So, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me today to visit my mom? She lives in Culver City, and I need to get my dog’s claws trimmed.”

Nina opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling. Nope, she had to ask: “What do those two things have in common?”

“My mom’s a vet. She taught me a lot, but not how to cut dog claws without messing it up and making them bleed. The last time I tried, the house looked like a Quentin Tarantino movie for days.”

So, here she was, at ten on a Sunday morning, sitting in the front seat of Peter’s car, with the world’s smallest greyhound resting on her lap. Neither she nor the dog were entirely sure this was a good idea.

“So,” said Peter. “Something about your face tells me you had a good night last night.”

She turned and looked at him incredulously. “How on earth can you tell that?”

“I have mad skills.” He grinned at her. “I learned that phrase from one of my students, and I’m afraid it’s become a habit.”

“I’m not sure anyone even says that anymore.”

Peter shrugged. “And yet I still do. You might conclude I don’t care what other people think of my vernacular, and you would be correct.”

Nina and the greyhound rolled their eyes at each other. Then Nina said, “Well, I did, as it happens. I met this guy and at first I didn’t like him and then I did and we kissed and then I messed up and then I got another chance and this time went better.”

Peter laughed. “Well, that sounds good, I think. Can I ask a round of rapid-fire questions?”

“Sure.”

The greyhound swallowed nervously.

“What’s his name?”

“Tom.”

“What does he do?”

“I think he’s a carpenter, but it’s unconfirmed. He smells of sawdust, but for all I know he’s homeless and sleeps in a sawmill.”

“Is he cute?”

“Yes.”

“Is he sexy?”

“Very.”

“Is he funny?”

“Yes.”

“And, I’m sorry, did you sleep with him already?”

Nina shook her head. “I would have, to be honest, but the first time I invited him in he said no, and last night he left before I had a chance to invite him again.”

“Hmm.”

Nina looked over at him. “Do you think that’s a problem?”

“No.” Peter slowed the car to let someone cross. “Just interesting. My observation of young men in Los Angeles—admittedly, I have a different cross section than you do, probably—is that they’re all ‘sex first, talk later.’ Maybe he’s from out of town.”

“Not really. Pasadena.”

Peter made a left and started looking for a parking space. “Ah well. Pasadenans are weird.”

“They are?”

“Yeah. Caltech is there. And the Jet Propulsion Lab. And CalArts, where all the great animators study. It’s a strange intersection of pocket protectors and Miyazaki movies.” He found a space and parked deftly. “Let’s go.”

Peter’s mom, Becky, lived in a part of Culver City that Nina hadn’t visited in a while, and she was surprised to find it had become totally gentrified, with the requisite chain coffee place named for a whale hunter, a juice place, a frozen gluten-free yogurt store, and an organic grocery store where the carrots were priced individually. Peter rang the doorbell and apparently his mother released a pack of hellhounds, who dashed themselves against the wood with the fury of a thousand wolves who hadn’t eaten in some time. Once the door opened, they were revealed to be three small mutts with enthusiastic tails and hanging tongues, whose only goal appeared to be declaring their undying love for Peter’s dog, whom they’d clearly met before.

Becky was the woman who’d waved a peace sign at Nina back in the lawyer’s office, and she greeted her now with a lazy smile. “Hey, you brought my newest sister,” she said, kissing her son. “Ignore the mess.”

Most of the time this is something people say when their houses are immaculate, and the idea is you say, ‘Oh, you should see mine,’ or something similar. In this case it really was a mess, and Nina found it enormously relaxing. She counted two more dogs, older and less enthusiastic, who nonetheless waved their tails at her from their sleeping stations on the sofa and floor. Several cats were watching her cautiously, or sarcastically—it’s always hard to tell with cats—and the whole place was covered with a fine patina of fur. There was a vague smell of woodsmoke and the inside of dogs’ ears.