Mind the Gap, Dash and Lily

December 21st

I wanted Dash to be on my team, of course. That’s why I came to London.

But this Gem person?

Not so sure.

I should have been happy for Dash that he finally had a family member he genuinely liked, not just someone he loved (Mom) or tolerated (Dad) out of obligation. But it required a complete shift in my perspective of Dash to see him getting on so well with his grandmother. Dash is someone who avoids family members. That’s who he is. It’s how I under- stand him. That’s why he evolved into such a book person from childhood. Books were his escape from them.

‘You look very fancy,’ I told Dash, admiring his posh clothes and clean-shaven face, while also missing his now-shorn scruff.

He tipped his hat to me. ‘Thank you.’

Gem put her arm around me like we’d known each other for years, not minutes. ‘You are an impossible sausage of adorable,’ she pronounced.

I wouldn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . I couldn’t help it! I was immediately falling into potential deep dislike of Dash’s beloved grandmother. Who doesn’t like a senior lady who used to be a very cool groupie who now carted her grandson to literary challenges? Who is that evil and unkind? Possibly me.

Also, who brings a cat on a leash into a bookstore?

‘There you are, Moriarty!’ said Julia, who had found her way over to our group. She picked up the cat, who swatted Julia’s face in protest but then nestled his head into the crook of her neck with great affection, a very feline game of love me/love me not. ‘He belongs to the bookstore owner. I left him in the office an hour ago. I don’t know how he got out.’

‘Open window?’ I suggested.

‘Probably,’ she said, unconcerned that her error could have caused CAT-astrophic consequences for Moriarty if he’d slipped out the window and then gotten hit by a car.

‘Why does he have a leash?’ I asked.

‘A leash?’ Julia looked confused.

‘A lead,’ Mark said. ‘That’s what they call a leash here.’

Calling a leash a ‘lead’? Now that was an impossible sausage of adorable.

‘I guess I left his lead on after taking him for his walk,’ Julia said, again unconcerned by the inconvenience she’d caused to the cat, both left to fend for himself on the streets of London, and with an unattended leash attached to his neck that could cause any number of problems. Humans. I don’t understand them. So many of them don’t think things through when it comes to our fur friends.

‘Is he the house cat here at the bookstore?’ Gem asked, leaning in for a pet on Moriarty, which was greeted by another swat. I was starting to really like this Moriarty.

‘Our best employee,’ said Julia. ‘Keeps the rodents at bay and keeps the boss calm.’

Mark said, ‘Are we ready to hit the streets, Team Strand?’

I wasn’t ready, especially not after Gem said, ‘I was so excited when I read about this literary challenge. I knew it was exactly what Dash would love to do.’

Wait. Gem thought bringing Dash here was her idea?

‘Did you open today’s Advent calendar box?’ I asked Dash.

‘Not yet,’ he said cheerfully.

That was the box that contained the message directing him here. So he was here because Gem brought him, not me. He didn’t seem concerned at all that he’d neglected my day’s Advent gift to him.

I wouldn’t . . . I wouldn’t . . . I couldn’t help it. I was jealous and enraged. I traveled thousands of miles across an ocean and left my dog-walking business in the care of my brother, who doesn’t even like dogs that much, so I could take Dash on this literary adventure. Not so Gem could think it was her idea!

I imagined biting into a delightful piece of chocolate cake baked by British grande dame baker Mary Berry herself to avoid a sourpuss expression appearing on my face. Dash looked so happy. I didn’t want to ruin it.

I didn’t have to. The couple I’d been worried about Dash noticing now made themselves noticeable, coming over to greet our group.

‘Dash, old fellow! You look inappropriately dapper,’ said Dash’s classmate. I remembered how Dash had told me he cringed every time Olivier called him ‘old fellow,’ because he suspected Olivier said it only so he would sound like the aristocratic British prick stereotype he expected Americans wanted to hear.

Dash didn’t exactly frown, but his eyebrows furrowed, in a way I knew to express displeasure, as if someone served him green tea when he is strictly a black-tea-only old fellow.

‘Hello, Olivier,’ said Dash. ‘Hello, Azra.’ His voice sounded a bit dead. He gestured to me and then to Gem. ‘This is my girlfriend, Lily. And my grandmother Gem.’

‘And I’m Lily’s cousin Mark,’ my cousin Mark added. ‘I’m Dash’s favorite of Lily’s relatives.’

He’s not, of course. Insulting or annoying Dash is usually my brother’s favored sport, but when he’s not available, Mark is always keen to step in. I’d feel bad for Dash except I think he expects them to give him a hard time and would be disappointed if they didn’t. Langston and Mark are like the brothers Dash never had and never wanted. It’s a relationship that works for them, so I stay out of it.

Dash ignored Mark and told Gem, ‘Olivier and Azra are my classmates at Brasenose.’

‘Marvelous!’ said Gem. ‘Are you playing the Daunt Books Bibliophile Cup Challenge also?’

‘We are,’ said Azra.

‘And we intend to win,’ said Olivier.

‘How predictably overcompetitive of you, Olivier,’ said Dash.

‘I had no idea a bibliophile challenge could be so fraught with tension,’ said Mark. He nodded to Olivier and Azra. ‘Team Strand will crush you, of course.’

‘Team Brasenose is not concerned,’ said Olivier.

I could feel Azra staring at me. She was so effortlessly chic and smart-looking that I felt intimidated, like I wanted Team Brasenose to win because she was so innately cooler than me, and I had no idea why. Finally, she said, ‘Are you . . . Lily Dogcrafts?’

‘Yes!’ I said, too eager to impress her.

Azra said, ‘My little sister is obsessed with your dog crafts page. She’s not going to believe I’ve met you. Might I snap a selfie of us?’

‘Sure!’ I said.

As she snapped our photo, she said, ‘I bought her the Lily Dogcrafts raincoat for her birthday. It was at the top of her wish list.’

‘The raincoat with the interior lining of pockets for treats and poo bags?’ It cost twenty dollars more than the regular raincoat but was a worthwhile investment, in my opinion.

‘Indeed,’ said Azra. ‘In pink.’

‘That’s the best of all the colors! I personally chose the fabric from a wholesaler that specializes in textiles for rainwear. They customized the pink option to my exact specification. I’m really proud of it.’

‘My sister loved it,’ said Azra. She turned to Dash, looking at him with what I thought might be a newfound respect. ‘Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend was famous?’

Olivier said, ‘To be honest, we didn’t really believe Dash had a girlfriend back in New York.’

Mark said, ‘To be honest, that’s what her family back in New York would also like to believe.’

Finally, Dash laughed, at ease. Being insulted by Mark or my brother probably feels like home to him. But it was more than that. To see Dash in a bookstore is to see Dash in the most content version of himself. Even being playfully insulted.

I wrapped my arms around Dash, both protective and proud of him. ‘My family adores you,’ I assured him.

Dash said, ‘Your family is so big that even if only ten percent of them like me, that’s more people who like me than in my own family.’

‘I’m a family member that’s rather fond of you,’ said Gem to Dash.

‘That’s why you’re the one that matters,’ Dash told her.

‘Americans,’ said Olivier contemptuously.

‘I have no great affection for Dash,’ Mark assured Olivier.

Suddenly Moriarty leapt out of Julia’s arms and sprinted toward the bookstore’s front door. Immediately I sprang into action, practically mowing down several bookstore browsers as I sped after the cat. Dash knows how to handle bookstores and my relatives. I know how to handle animals taking unauthorized expeditions. Just as Moriarty was about to glide out of the open front door, I whooshed down to pick him up.

‘I respect you for trying,’ I told Moriarty. He tried to wiggle out of my arms, but no such luck. I make a living out of these situations. I kicked the door shut and said to Julia, ‘Shall we return Moriarty to the safety of the office? Without his leash on? I mean, his lead?’ I didn’t want to scold Julia, but I couldn’t help but tell her, ‘If you’re not walking him on the lead, the lead really should be taken off, so it doesn’t get caught on something that could hurt him.’

‘Of course,’ Julia said, not interested at all in my wisdom. She took Moriarty from my arms. ‘I’ll return him to the office now. Team Strand and Team Brasenose – get to work!’

She left with the cat. Gem said to me, ‘I don’t think she needs pet advice, my dear. If the cat wants to wander, let him!’

Grrrr.

Dash knows how little I like having my pet care advice challenged, so before I could give Gem a piece of my mind – and some badly needed animal education – he diverted the conversation. ‘Our first clue! Any ideas?’ He read the clue aloud.

Near the heath

Where the bathers find their ponds

Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

Mark had said it was too easy, so I turned to him to decipher the clue, but he shook his head. ‘I have insider information on this one. I’m going to have to insist that Master Brasenose give it a go. Don’t cheat by using your phone.’

Dash said, ‘Don’t have to, Master Took-Six-Years-to- Finish-His-Undergraduate-Degree. Here lies one whose name was writ in water. It’s what Keats asked to have carved on his gravestone. As last words go . . . rather epic.’

‘Aren’t you a genius, Dash!’ said Gem. A customer passed by her carrying a stack of books toward the cash register. ‘He goes to Oxford,’ she told the uninterested customer. Then she mused aloud. ‘Keats . . . Keats . . . heath . . . bathers . . . ponds.’ She paused a moment, then: ‘I’ve got it! The first clue is probably for the Keats House museum, near the Hampstead Heath bathing ponds!’

‘You are the genius,’ Dash told her.

‘And there’s a marvelous Indian restaurant just around the corner from the museum. I’ve been craving a good dosa. You?’ said Gem.

‘You’re even more of a genius,’ Dash said to Gem.

I’d pretty much lost my appetite. I hate Indian food. At least, today I did.

Before we could exit the store, Olivier and Azra breezed past us toward the front door. As Olivier opened the door to leave, he called to Dash. ‘We’ll wave to you from the winner’s circle, old fellow.’

Dash waved his two middle fingers to Olivier, who laughed and then left.

‘Tube or taxi?’ Mark asked Team Strand.

‘Tube,’ Dash said.

‘Taxi it is,’ said Mark.

We stepped outside. It had started raining but Mark was able to flag down a taxi quickly. My first London taxi! I loved the expanse of the backseat, which sat two rows of passengers facing each other. Mark and I sat next to each other, with Dash and Gem opposite us.

‘Where to?’ the driver asked. He had a Cockney accent straight out of Mary Poppins. I was so excited.

Mark gave him the address. Then I added, ‘Pip pip, guvnah,’ in my best Mary Poppins imitation accent.

Gem said, ‘They hate that here, darling Lily. Don’t do an accent.’

I felt my face redden, humiliated. I hadn’t meant to offend.

I hadn’t meant to really not like Gem, but I did. Who was she to scold my tourist enthusiasm?

Mark unzipped his briefcase. ‘Julia assigned these to the team captains to hand out.’ He took out Daunt notebooks and pens. ‘We’re to write our letters to Father Christmas.’

‘To be burned up in the chimney?’ Gem asked. ‘One of my favorite British traditions.’

I’d have liked to burn up all her ideas in a chimney.

There probably wouldn’t be any presents for me under the tree this year. I was a naughty, naughty girl, resentful of her boyfriend’s grandmother. Seriously regretting the airfare I’d spent to come here. I didn’t deserve presents.

‘I don’t write letters to Santa,’ said Dash.

Mark tossed a notebook to Dash. ‘Now you do.’

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