Wild Roses by Deb Caletti

very little in the world that wasn't
ridiculous to the point that it made no sense. Putting on neckties was pretty
weird, when you came to think of it. Ditto nylon stockings, and grown men using
sticks to knock little white balls into cups, and government-access television
stations. What the hell was normal, anyway? I mean, my God, something is strange
with the world when pompoms are a status symbol. Aliens would someday look at us
with completely baffled expressions. Dogs already do.
    I'd let my father have his lunacy, mostly
because there wasn't anything I could do about it anyway. Control is easier to
relinquish when you have no choice. Besides, I told myself, what he was doing
was harmless, wasn't it?
    Here was another funny but not funny thing.
Remember the poor dweeb walking his dog in the rain? That poor dweeb was Dino,
and that was Dog William, made unrecognizable by hair glued to his body with
water and by his miserable expression. When I came home that night, Dino's wet
wool coat was hung over the stair rail, smelling like a barn animal. His soaking
socks were curled up in something that resembled embarrassment on the hall
floor. He was walking around the kitchen in his bathrobe, his curly hair
straight as a pencil, nothing like the simmering photo of him on the cover of
his Paris journals. It struck me that Dino had aged. Maybe since the
day
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    before. Mom was drying Dog William in a towel.
He looked cute for the first time in his life.
    "Jeez. What happened here?" I said.
    "Dino felt like a snack. Got caught in the
rain," Mom said. She didn't seemed concerned. In fact, she seemed content, just
drying off poor old Dog William.
    "Hey," I said. "I saw you. I didn't know it was
you."
    "You could have given him a ride," Mom said.
Yeah, I could have just invited him right on in the car with Dad. It'd be a
nice, calm ride. Like when they transport violent criminals across state
lines.
    "I don't mind the rain," Dino said. "Good for
the skin." He pinched one of his cheeks. He was pretty cheerful for someone who
appeared recently shipwrecked. It must have been a good day--the weirdness of
the car ride the night before had disappeared as quickly as it had
come.
    "He looks sweet," I said, pointing my chin
toward Dog William.
    Dino batted his eyelashes.
    "Not you," I said. "The dog."
    "My heart is broken," he said.
    "How's this?" Mom put the towel around Dog
William's face. It hung down his back, nun-style. "Sister Mary
William."
    "Dog with a bad habit," I said.
    Dog William had enough of religion and took off
like he was late for his bus. He was probably rolling around on the carpet,
fluffing up and getting dog hair everywhere.
    "I got us something," Dino said. He opened the
brown
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    bag that was on the counter. Really, it did
this soggy tear, as the bag, too, was drenched. Dino held up a package of
Hostess Cupcakes and a packet of Corn Nuts. Hey, good taste. Usually he won't
put anything near his mouth that doesn't have some hyperculinary aspect to it.
Sun-dried gorgonzola, rosemary cilantro crepes with raspberry sauce, that kind
of crap.
    He opened the cupcakes, even approached them
the right way, by peeling off the icing and eating that first. I had a little
surge of positive feeling. One of those maybe-everything-will-be-okay rushes of
hope that usually only comes to me after a big swig of Zebe's espresso. Dino put
his arms around Mom. He lifted up her hair, kissed her neck. She leaned into
him, and I could see the chemistry between them. I hated to see it, but I did. I
knew it explained some things about why Mom was with him.
    Dino left the kitchen and went into his office
in his bathrobe. I heard him tuning and then the brief fits and starts of
playing, which meant that Dino was writing. Mom made a cup of tea, sat down at
the kitchen table, and warmed her hands around the mug. I had some too, even
though it was the kind of tea that tasted like licking a grass welcome