"You really should just get on with the story."
"That's what I'm trying to do, Marvin. I just need to warm up."
"You've been pretty good about getting right into it over the last few chapters."
"Well they say that spring can really hang you up the most."
"It's not spring yet."
"Close enough."
"What's bothering you really? Phil?"
"Well, it's just that when the story gets more personal, it's always hard to get started. It's easy to write about you. It's harder to write about me."
"You can skip it if you want to. You don't have to tell that part."
"Marvin, I can't keep her out of the story anymore than I can keep myself out of it. We're integral. Don't worry about it. I'll get on with it now."
"You sure?"
"Yes, really. Please let's not make a big deal out of it. The readers wouldn't even know about it if you hadn't started talking to me while I was writing."
"I did it again, didn't I?"
"Yes. You have that talent."
"Sorry."
When Jill arrived at the house, she found Phil pacing, biting his nails, and putting what was left of his hair in danger of extinction. He had not prepared her drink as requested - a dumb request, she thought, as the ice would've melted by the time she arrived - but she knew where the liquor was. Phil told her the story as she grabbed a tall glass and went to the kitchen for some ice.
He sat at the dining room table as she cut herself a slice of lime. She asked him if he had lemons, knowing he didn't. Phil liked lime, Jill liked lemon. Together they were lemon-lime, and this used to make them laugh. But that was a long time ago, when gin tonics and laughter were common. A lot was different then. She dashed back to the bar and grabbed a second glass. Returning to the kitchen, she cut another slice of lime.
Highballs in hand, Jill sat down at the dining room table with Phil and set one of the glasses in front of him.
"Okay. So assuming I have accepted that you have overcome your fear of spiders overnight, that this amazing transformation happened because the spider in question started talking to you, that you made it a bed..."
"This bed," Phil said, reaching over and delicately moving the matchbox from the sideboard to the table where they sat. He placed it between their glasses.
Jill glanced at it. It was a matchbox with cotton balls or something stuffed into it. She exhaled slowly and took a swig of her drink. She savored the flavor on her tongue for a few moments, then swallowed unceremoniously. She looked back at Phil. "Okay," she said, elongating the word. "So that's the bed." She studied his face, concerned. He certainly looked worried, but at least he seemed to be calmer than before.
"That's it. I was lucky to have cotton balls."
"I'll say," she said, hoping she sounded supportive rather than condescending. "Okay then. Assuming I can accept that you made breakfast for it..."
"Him. And I didn't make him breakfast. I was making breakfast for myself anyway. But it would've been rude not to offer. I mean, after I went at him like that with the broom. And if you can't accept all of this, Jill, then I don't know who to turn to. I'm sorry I called you, but as I said, you're the only person I feel I can tell this to. But I swear it's all true and real."
"True and real. Fine." Jill stared at him, then she lowered her gaze, saw the matchbox again, and looked up at Phil again. His expression was pleading. She shook her head and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, Phil. Really I am. I believe you. I just don't know if you know what this sounds like."
"Well, two days ago I wouldn't have believed it if anyone had come up to me and told me the same thing. In fact, I probably would have turned and run in the opposite direction." Phil shrugged. "But here we are."
"So then the two of you went to the grocery store and you left him at the gumball machines."
"Well, he jumped out of my pocket, but yes. He crawled into one of the machines and that was the last I saw of him."
"But he wasn't in any danger."
"He was at a grocery store. There were people around. Anything could have happened to him."
"Phil, he's a spider."
"I know that."
"Okay, so there are spiders all over the place. There's no reason for anything out of the ordinary to have happened to him. I'm sure he did just fine before you two met."
"Yes, I know you're right. And he said he was fine inside the machine just before I left him. I'm just worried, okay?" Phil pulled at a tuft of hair by his left temple. So where is he now? He said he wanted to stay with me. We talked about it."
"Well, that's what we'll have to figure out. Look, let's stay here tonight, and if he shows up we'll be here to greet him."
"How is he going to cover that distance? The supermarket isn't on the next block. He's tiny."
"I don't know, but if he does, we'll be here. But you need a good night's sleep. I'll take you back to the supermarket tomorrow. That seems like the best place to start. And we'll find him. Don't worry."
"Okay. Do you want to sleep in the bedroom?"
"I'll sleep on the sofa. But thanks. Now finish your drink, brush your teeth, and get to bed."
She was surprised at herself and at how well - and how quickly - she had assimilated and taken command of the situation. Then again, old habits die hard. And when it came to Phil, she certainly had the habit. She was used to sorting it all out whenever things got out of hand. Phil became a wreck while she stayed calm, cool and collected.
She sipped at her gin tonic and poked at the lime, sending it toward the bottom of the glass. Bubbles formed on its surface even as it descended, stopping it in midfall and bringing it back to the top of the glass.
Calm, cool and collected. She was good for him that way. And he knew it, which was probably another reason he had called her. Oh well. Now that she was here, she could be that person for him, at least one more time.
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