Chapter 5: A Series of Unexpected Events


Patrick took a detour on the drive home from the beach to Dollar Pills. He pulled into a space unbuckled and got out, ready to head inside the store until Tracey asked him what they were doing there. "I was going to get you some Prenatal vitamins," he replied, "you mentioned to me earlier that you didn't have any." Before he shut the car door, he added, "You can come in too if you want."

Tracey hopped out of the vehicle to join him. As they strolled through the parking lot towards the entrance of the store, she asked, "Can I hold your hand?"

The professor wasn't too fond of public displays of affection. When he kissed her earlier on the beach, he was caught up in the moment but didn't want her thinking, "He must be embarrassed to be seen with me in public," so he proposed a compromise. "No, but we can walk arm in arm."

Tracey smiled, interlocking her arm with his. Once inside, they headed towards the direction of the pharmacy then walked down the aisle that had vitamins. Tracey let go of Patrick's arm as they browsed around. It dawned on her she needed deodorant; her mother had forgotten to pack some, so she went to the opposite aisle to get some. Meanwhile, Patrick searched for prenatal vitamins, not realizing how many different types there actually were until now. They had vitamins for just about everything ones for Women, ones for Men, ones for kids. Patrick came across the ones Tracey needed by chance.

"Here we go Prenatal," he said, taking a bottle off of the shelf. Patrick accidentally bumped into a woman with blond hair, wearing blue jean capri pants, a cap-sleeved t-shirt, carrying a basket, and trying to pass behind him. "Sorry I..."

"No, it's my fault," said the woman, who prepared to continue on her way until she recognized him. "Patrick?"

"Linda, how are you?"

Tracey found what she needed ready to turn the corner of the aisle; until she heard Patrick speaking with someone. As it turns out, the woman he bumped into happened to be one of his former flames, Linda Garrison, a fellow professor who taught American Literature at the University. Tracey stood frozen, listening to them speak.

"It's great to see you," Linda commented, spotting the bottle of vitamins in Patrick's hand. "You do realize those are Prenatal?"

"Of course..." He laughed nervously. It was as if Patrick had no control over the volume of his voice as he began talking louder than usual. "I grabbed them by mistake, I thought they were Men's vitamins, but they aren't, so I'll just put them back." He placed the bottle back on the shelf. Only then did he realize Tracey was no longer on the same aisle, making him wonder where she could have gone off to.

Linda could tell he was nervous. "Are you all right? You seem a little anxious."

Patrick's voice went up an octave. "Me?" He cleared his throat, speaking in his normal tone. "No, I'm fine. How are you?"

"I'm doing good," replied Linda. "It's been a while since we've seen each other."

"Has it?"

"It has," Linda commented. "I haven't seen you since the last week of September before Fall break. I thought you'd return once the break ended two weeks ago, but I came by your classroom, and you weren't there. We all miss you on campus. Maybe it's none of my business, but is everything all right?"

"Nothings wrong I just..." Patrick trailed off, not wanting to lie to her.

Luckily he didn't have to because Linda interjected. "Would you care to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

Her offer didn't come as a surprise to him since things ended amicably between them. Perhaps in Linda's mind, she still had a chance with him. Patrick struggled to respond; part of him wanted to accept the date as far as Linda knew he wasn't seeing anybody. Another part of him wanted to decline the date for reasons he wasn't quite sure of himself.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to put you on the spot," Linda commented, standing there waiting for his answer.

Patrick smiled at her before replying. "Dinner would be lovely."

"Great!" Linda exclaimed, overjoyed. "Come by my place tomorrow around five."

As they embraced, Patrick looked over Linda's shoulder, spotting Tracey at the other end of the aisle, who walked off at the sight of them hugging. He waited till Linda wasn't looking before swiping another bottle of prenatal vitamins off the shelf. Patrick met up with Tracey in the checkout line at the register and could tell she was upset. He purchased the deodorant and prenatal vitamins then they left the store. As soon as he pulled the car into the driveway, she bolted for the front door. Tracey didn't have a key to get in, so she stood there, arms crossed, impatiently waiting for him to unlock it. As soon as Patrick opened the door, she went inside, wanting to be left alone. He rushed in after her.


"Man, I hope you can work out your family issues," said Franklin closing his front door. Although he didn't mind having Michael stay with him, he was happier to see him leave.

Michael walked out to the street where his son left his Tailgator parked. Jimmy pressed the button to unlock the trunk so his father could load the suitcase into the back end. Jimmy got ready to get in the driver's seat, but his father stopped him.

"Whoa, hey, what do you think you're doing?"

"Uh, driving?" replied Jimmy.

Michael smirked. "No, it's my car. I'm driving," he dictated, gesturing for his son to toss him the keys. He caught them then got in. "What the hell?" The seat wasn't where it was supposed to be. "What else did you mess up?"

He had to readjust everything since his son drove his vehicle, the mirrors, the steering wheel even the preset stations on the radio. As he turned the car over, rap music from the Radio Los Santos station blared through the speakers. The song "Hood Gonna Love It" by Jay Rock featuring Kendrick Lamar started playing.

Jimmy began rapping along. "Keeping-it-G-ain't-nuttin'-you-ain't-gotta-like-it-cause-the-hood-gonna-love-it."

Michael quickly turned off the radio. "I'll worry about changing that back later," he comments before taking off. He was happy to be home as he pulled the car into the garage. "Thanks for coming to rescue your old man."

"No problem," said Jimmy. "Somebody had to Lord knows you can't save yourself," he replied, getting out heading inside ahead of his father.

Michael unloaded the suitcase from the back end then head inside. "Hey, Amanda, I'm home!" He called out to her. When he couldn't find her downstairs, he trudged upstairs only to find his wife transferring his things into their daughter's bedroom. "What's all this?" he asked, setting his suitcase down in the hallway.

"Your clothes," replied Amanda.

"I can see that," Michael said sarcastically. "Why are you putting them in Tracey's room?"

"I figured since Tracey is staying with her... with Patrick, you could stay in her room for now." Amanda went back across the hall, gathering up more of her husband's clothes from their closet.

"Uh, why?" Michael asked, confused. "I thought you wanted me back."

She dumps another armful of his clothes onto Tracey's floor. "I do. I just don't want to have to share the same room with you, not after what you did to Jimmy."

"That's the thing," explained her husband, "you'll be glad to know he forgave me," Michael called for him. "JIMMY, GET IN HERE!"

Jimmy opened his bedroom door. "What?" He asked in an irritated tone, noise from his video game sounding in the background.

"Would you stop playing video games for five minutes and get in here," his father demanded. Jimmy sighed, tossing his controller on his bed, then stood in the doorway of his sister's bedroom. "Jim, tell your mother here that all is forgiven since I... you know."

Jimmy looks at his mother. "Mom, I forgive dad for hitting me. There, now can I go back to playing video games?" He walked off to his room, closing the door before either of his parents could reply.

"You see?" said Michael.

Amanda stood there decisively commenting, "Yeah, I see, but my forgiveness isn't as easily gained as your sons." She walked past her husband, ready to exit the room until Michael remarked.

"So he is my son?"

His wife turned on her heels waltzing right up to Michael with her hand raised, ready to slap him. As he looked into her eyes, he could tell there was a part of her that really wanted to. He flinched as Amanda's hand made contact with his face, but not from being slapped from being caressed.

She kissed him on the lips. "Of course, he's your son."

The landline rang. "I'll get it," replied Michael heading downstairs into the kitchen to answer the phone. "De Santa residence, this is Michael speaking." The call lasted for a while, but when it ended, he returned upstairs. He knocked on the doorframe of the bathroom.

Amanda was wrapped up in a towel sitting on the edge of the tub regulating the water so she could take a bath. "What? What is it? Who was that on the phone?" she asked, shutting off the water.

Michael's face was stoic, but his tone was shaky as he responded to his wife's questions. "That was the hospital calling the house hoping to speak with you about Tracey because you're listed as her emergency contact."

His wife sat frozen in disbelief. "That can't be. The number I gave them was for my cellphone. How did they know to call the house?" Amanda wondered. She was in denial, racing to her bedroom to check her phone. Sure enough, she had one missed call from the hospital. Her eyes welled up with tears. "Oh my God, Michael, what happened? What's wrong with her?" she asked, crying hysterically. "We have to go to her." Amanda began frantically searching for her car keys. "Where are they? I left them right there!" she said, gesturing to the nightstand.

Michael didn't care if his wife didn't want to be in the same room as him. He entered their bedroom anyway to console his distraught wife wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to get her to calm down.

"No! Let go! I have to find my keys!" She insisted on trying to hit him, but she broke down in his arms instead.

He stroked his wife's hair as she continued sobbing. Michael felt bad too, but he was trying to be strong for the both of them. He swallowed hard. "You're in no condition to drive. I'll drive. We'll take my car. Tracey's in the Emergency Room at Mount Zonah Medical Center in Rockford Hills."

Patrick was the one who informed the emergency room to contact the De Santa's at home. He was already in the waiting room once they arrived. He went over to the nurse's station. "Excuse me, nurse, what room is Tracey De Santa in?"

The nurse glanced up from the computer. "I'm sorry, but unless you're a friend or family member, I can't give out that information."

"I am," replied Patrick.

"Well, which one are you?" asked the nurse. "Friend or family member?"

"Neither," replied Michael from behind.

He walked in ahead of his wife and son because he spotted Patrick from outside. Michael wasn't sure why his daughter was in the emergency room, but he felt like the professor might have something to do with it.

"I..." Patrick began until Michael grabbed him by the throat, pinning him against the wall.

"What the hell did you do?" Michael angrily demanded.


30 Minutes Earlier


Patrick was aware enough to know something was bothering Tracey, but he made the mistake of asking, which led to an argument over the events between him and Linda in the aisle of the Dollar Pills. Patrick and Tracey were in his bedroom; he stood in the doorway while she sat on the bed.

"What's wrong?" he queried.

Tracey felt hurt. "What's wrong is you'll date Miss Garrison, but you won't marry me. That's what's wrong!"

Patrick looked at her in surprise. He just thought she saw them hugging, and that was it. "You heard us?"

"Uh, yeah, like the whole store heard you. Why'd you say, "Yes?"

"Tracey, why are you getting so defensive?" Patrick could tell their discussion was turning confrontational.

"I asked you first," she replied harshly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Tracey sat with her legs crossed, her nose stuck up in the air.

Patrick put it as delicately as he could. "We have a history. We use to date. I thought that you knew that?"

Tracey stood up from the bed. "I do, but that doesn't excuse the fact that you aren't afraid to be seen with her in public!" She spat. "What is it; are you ashamed of me?"

He decided not to stoop to her level, remaining poised while speaking in a calm tone. "No," Patrick replied earnestly.

His tactic proved effective, throwing her off guard as Tracey became less defensive uncrossing her arms. "Do you still love her?"

The professor shook his head. "No."

"Then why did you agree to go out with her?" Tracey demanded.

Patrick sighed. "I've known Linda for several years; she's one of my oldest friends whose company I still happen to enjoy, but if it bothers you that badly I'll call off the dinner date."

"Do you enjoy her company the way you enjoyed mine?" Tracey sneered.

Patrick's fed up. He'd had enough of her childish games squaring off with Tracey as they both stood staring each other down. "If you must know, Linda and I have had relations with each other, but that's all in the past we're friends, nothing more."

She couldn't believe how passive Patrick was being. "That's it?" He shot her a look of confusion. "You're not going to tear into me? Try to destroy my self-esteem or point out my flaws or brag that you're right and I'm wrong?"

Patrick's face crumpled. It broke his heart knowing the poor example her parents had set for her on how people settle things, shouting, name-calling, and belittling the other person into submission until the other gives up the argument despite whose right or wrong.

"No, I'm not because two people can have a civil discussion without doing those things to each other, and, hopefully, you'll learn that in time."

Tracey meant to respond but felt herself become lightheaded.

"I'm not your parents," stated Patrick. "You don't have to be defiant or rebellious or act out to get my attention."

She passed out before his very eyes. Patrick watched her lay there, realizing she wasn't acting, doing the only thing he felt like he could, call for help.


Right Now


The professor struggled to breathe as Michael's grip tightened on his throat.

"Oh my God, Michael, don't kill him!" cried Amanda.

"Dad let him go!" said Jimmy.

The scuffle between the two men was cause for alarm as two security guards threatened to intervene. Michael saw this in his peripheral vision, so he released Patrick from his grip, who dropped to the floor on his hands and knees, gasping for air.

One of the security guards asked, "Is everything okay here?"

Patrick's voiced strained to reply. "Fine. We're just," he coughed, "talking." He rubbed his throat.

Amanda went to the professor's aid, offering him a hand. "Are you okay?"

Michael was outraged, yelling at his wife. "This is rich before you wanted to kill him, and now the two of you are good friends? For all, we know he's the reason Tracey's in the emergency room!"

A security guard warned Michael. "Sir, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to escort you from the facility."

Michael didn't mean to cause a fuss; he just wanted to know what was wrong with his daughter. "There's no need 'cause I'm outta here," he replied, walking out in a huff.

Amanda got ready to head after her husband until Patrick volunteered. "Allow me I think it's time he and I finally had that chat," he told her, racing after Michael.

"Is Tracey gonna be okay?" Jimmy asked his mom, who took a seat in the chair next to him.

"I hope so," Amanda replied.

Michael walked away from the entrance of the emergency room, wanting to blow off some steam. He wandered down the street, deciding to have a smoke pursing a cigarette between his lips but struggled to get the lighter to ignite. "C'mon light damn you. Fuck!" He swore out loud in frustration.

Patrick came up behind him. "I see now where your daughter gets her nasty habits from."

Michael turned around to face him rolling his eyes with nothing nice to say to him. The professor approached, assisting him. He took the lighter from Michael, igniting the cigarette on the first try.

"Thanks," Michael replied, impressed, taking a long drag exhaling the smoke through his nostrils. "Want one?"

"No thanks, I don't smoke," replied Patrick.

Michael flicked some of the ash from the cigarette. "So why are you out here?"

"Same reason as you," said Patrick.

"Yeah? What reason might that be?" Michael asked curiously.

"Because we both care about Tracey," Patrick confessed, adding. "And it seems like this is the only way I could get a moment alone to speak with you."

Michael glared in the professor's direction, stalking up towards him. "You... if I find out you did something to my daughter for her to end up with the emergency room just so you could talk to me, I'll, I'll..." He searched his mind for the cruelest form of punishment. "I'll release my psychotic friend on you."

Michael's eyes narrowed nostrils flared from exhaling cigarette smoke blowing it in Patrick's face. "Believe me when I say you don't want that. My friend ain't your average psychotic. He's the real deal; I'm talking about drinking human blood and eating household pets. He's aching for a reason to kill somebody, and half the time, he doesn't even need one."

Patrick could see the seriousness in Michael's eyes at what he had just told him. The professor gulped, nervously voice trembling as he tried to assert himself. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about; I will not allow myself to be threatened, intimidated, or bullied over my relationship with your daughter no matter how much you disapprove."

Michael released a chuckle. "Is that so?" He flicked his cigarette away. The truth was Patrick felt quite intimidated by him, especially by his last remark to the point he began sobbing as he turned back to him. "Are... are you crying?" Michael asked.

"Yes," replied the professor tentatively. "Can you blame me? First, your wife tries to shoot me, then you report me to the University, and now you're threatening to sic a psychotic on me."

"Whoa, hey, wait a minute, I didn't do that," Michael defended; raising an eyebrow like it was news to him.

"Yes, you did," argued Patrick. "I distinctly remember your last words to me were "Wait until the university hears what I have to say about this." Right before your left my property after your wife attempted to shoot me!"

Michael was shocked. "I mean, yeah, I said that, but I didn't make any report to the university."

"I beg to differ," insisted Patrick pulling out his phone to show him the e-mail. As Michael read it, Patrick comments, "Although it didn't mention who made the report, I had a pretty good hunch it was you."

Michael shook his head, handing the professor his phone back. "Believe me when I say I make good on my threats; it wasn't me."

Patrick threw his hands up in defeat. "I feel like I'm at a complete loss, my career is over and, my life is ruined," he complained, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk.

His comment didn't resonate well with Michael. "Let's get one thing straight your career might be over, but your life isn't ruined just because you knocked up my daughter. You need to get your shit together," Michael said, pulling the professor to his feet.

"How?"

Michael scoffed, then sneered. "Stop wallowing in self-pity on the sidewalk, for starters." In a more serious tone, he continued, "You can't afford to be selfish because it's no longer just about you. Like it or not, you've got responsibilities now Tracey's pregnant, she's pregnant with your baby, and you're gonna be a father, so its' time you started acting like one."

"Assuming she wants to have my baby," Patrick remarked.

"Oh, she's having the baby," Michael dictated.

"How can you be so sure?" The professor wondered.

Michael sighed. "You wanna know how I know because it's a rarity for my daughter to care about anybody other than herself. That's how I know she loves you and wants this baby."

"She really loves me?" Patrick asked.

"Yeah, I've seen the way she looks at you," replied Michael. "It's the same way I used to look at my wife once upon a fucking time ago, but that time has long gone. Don't get me wrong, I still love my wife, but we've had to overcome a lot of bullshit; our relationship has been complicated. It's probably my fault. It's probably definitely my fault." Patrick understood, patting Michael on the shoulder, trying to draw him in for a hug, but Michael backed away. "I ain't into that touchy-feely bullshit. Let's get inside."

Before they head in, Michael asks the professor, "Does Tracey know about the letter?"

"No, why?"

"Don't tell her," advised Michael. "Not yet. It would devastate Tracey. For now, let's keep it between us."

They head back into the emergency room, and the moment they do, the doctor came out to the waiting room to speak with them. "I'm Doctor Fletcher; I assume you're Tracey's mother."

"Yes," replied Amanda. "How is she? What happened?" she asked anxiously.

Doctor Fletcher explained, "Aside from being anemic, your daughter passed out from malnourishment; she said all she had to eat today was a hotdog." Patrick hung his head in shame. The doctor continued. "I don't mean to lecture you, but..."

"But you're gonna," retorted Michael.

Doctor Fletcher glared in his direction before continuing. "Tracey's seven weeks pregnant, and she still hasn't taken prenatal vitamins, which are crucial during the first trimester of pregnancy. To prevent her anemia, make sure she gets enough iron in her diet. Tracey can take iron supplements, eat well-balanced meals, and add more foods that are high in iron. Please keep in mind that even though I examined her, I am not her primary healthcare provider. If she doesn't already have one, she should seriously consider getting one. She is stable, but we will be keeping her here to monitor her overnight. If one of you would like to come back to see her, you may."

Amanda got ready to accompany the doctor, but Michael stopped her. "Wait, it should be me."

"What, no, I want to see her," argued Amanda.

The doctor got ready to walk off. "I don't have time to stand here and wait around for you to figure this out. I've got patients to attend to."

"Wait, I'll go."

Doctor Fletcher led that said individual through the double doors of the waiting room. They round the corner then walked down the hallway to the room Tracey was assigned. A nurse checking Tracey's vitals encouraged them to come in as she and the doctor stepped out. The visitor took a seat in a chair next to Tracey's bedside. She lay there resting her eyes as she felt someone hold her hand. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting that person's gaze.

"Hey."

Tracey's eyes came into focus. "What are you doing here?"

"I love you," replied Patrick.

Tracey's brows furrowed in confusion. "What happened to your neck?" she asked, observing the noticeable hand size bruise.

Still holding her hand, Patrick uses the other to cover the injury. "About that... it took being choked by your father to realize I wanted to be here," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"My dad's here?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes, he's in the waiting room, so are your mother and brother. They're all concerned for you, as am I but only one of us could come back, and your father decided it should be me."

Tracey's hormones made her crying making her more emotional than usual. "I'm just glad that you're okay."

Patrick gave her hand a gentle squeeze smiling at her. "Are you kidding? I'm glad you're okay; you gave me quite a fright. I had no idea you were anemic."

"I wasn't always," she admitted. "I became anemic after I found out I was pregnant."

"From now on, I promise to start taking better care of you," said Patrick gazing at her lovingly.


Sunday, October 26, 2014

The next day Tracey was discharged from her overnight stint in the emergency room. Protocol required her to be escorted by a nurse in a wheelchair. Once they made it outside the double doors, Tracey walked the rest of the way to her father's vehicle, parked just outside the entrance. He was there to pick her up because Patrick was busy running errands. Michael got out to assist his daughter with her door. When she was safely seated, he closed the car door, circled around to his side, got in, and took off.

Tracey noticed that her father was driving more carefully than usual. "The speed limit is forty-five, daddy."

"I know that," he replied, concentrating on the road and traffic.

"So then why are you driving like an old lady?" she wondered, watching as other cars passed them.

"Because I'm your father, and I love you, and I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."

The drive from the emergency room to Patrick's place took longer than anticipated, but eventually, Michael and Tracey arrived, pulling into the driveway. On the way, he assured her Patrick would meet up with them later. He attempted to assist his daughter in getting out, but she refused his help.

"I appreciate your trying to help me, but I can walk just fine," Tracey assured him.

Michael followed closely behind her, making sure she wouldn't fall as they walked down the walkway. She opened the door, letting herself and her father inside. The lights were all out except for some candles that were burning. Tracey looked down on the floor, noticing a trail of rose petals.

"What's all this?" she wondered.

"Follow the flowers," her father encouraged.

"What for?"

"Just do it; you'll thank me later," he replied, taking a seat on the couch.

Tracey followed the trail of rose petals that led into the kitchen. She was pleasantly surprised to find Patrick in there with a present for her. He was on one knee holding up a small dog with a red ribbon tied around its neck; attached to it was a small box. Michael cued the music from the living room as a romantic song plays in the background. She took a deep breath in trying not to cry as Patrick took the small box from around the dog's neck, which took off in Michael's direction. The professor opens the box, revealing an engagement ring.

Tracey had to fan herself to keep from crying. "Oh my gosh."

Patrick took her left hand in his. "I realize that this is happening suddenly and is probably unexpected."

"Very unexpected," she comments, grinning ear-to-ear.

Patrick clears his throat before continuing. "In the short amount of time that we've known each other, I've grown to love you very much. It's not how I planned for things to happen. I mean, there's probably another simpler path we could be on where we did take things slowly, but maybe we're just doing it out of order is all getting pregnant then married. The point is, I'm glad we spent that night together, and I'm standing here now with you because of it. You once asked me if I saw you in my future, and I can tell you with the utmost confidence that you most certainly are. I turned you into a mother, which I don't doubt you'll be amazing at because your father told me how much you care for me, and I know you'll love our baby just the same. Now I'm asking you for your hand in marriage to make you my wife. Tracey Marie De Santa, will you marry me?"

Tracey can't help from shedding a tear. Her father stands in the entryway of the kitchen, holding the dog under his arm. "I caught this holy terror trying to chew up one of the throw pillows on your couch."

"What about my father?" Tracey asks, turning around inquiring about his input. "Daddy, are you okay with this?"

She and Patrick direct their attention to Michael, who addresses his daughter. "Tracey, I love you, you'll always be my little girl no matter how old you are, but this is one decision that you have to make on your own for yourself."

She turns to look at the professor. Her father's input didn't discourage her from accepting Patrick's proposal, but it also didn't help her to make a decision either. Tracey closed her eyes, deciding to listen to what was inside her heart. She slowly opens them, meeting Patrick's gaze, who was still on one knee awaiting her reply.

"Yes! Yes, a thousand times, yes I will marry you!" Tracey replied enthusiastically.

Patrick slid the ring on her finger then got up from the floor to hug her. Instead, Tracey kissed him passionately right in front of her father, who dismissively cleared his throat. They broke the kiss.

"Sorry," Michael said, "I guess I'll have to use to that." He remarked, handing the dog to his daughter.

"She's adorable!" Exclaimed Tracey in excitement. "What's her name?"

"I haven't picked one out yet," replied Patrick. "I got her for you; your father shared with me how much you wanted a dog like the one from that reality show."

"Awwww," cooed Tracey.

"Yeah," said Michael. "She and her mother are obsessed with the reality series The Real Cunts of Suburbia. They kept asking me to get one, but I kept refusing; I figured now that Tracey isn't living under my roof..."

"Thank you!" said Tracey placing her arms around her father's neck for a hug.

"You're welcome, all right, I'm taking off," said Michael headed for the front door.

"Wait," said Patrick. "Do you think you could stay and watch over Tracey for me?"

It was close to four in the evening, and Patrick agreed to meet Linda at five at her place for their dinner date. He meant to call it off, but he got caught up in the events after Tracey's stint in the emergency room.

"Why what for it ain't like you're going anywhere," said Michael.

"About that..." The professor trailed off, not knowing how to explain himself.

Luckily Tracey did. "He's gotta go to the pet store and get things for Tiffy."

Her father's face scrunched in confusion. "Who's Tiffy?"

"My new dog," his daughter explained. "It's short for Tiffany." She babied the dog. "Who's a good girl?"

"Right dog stuff, so I'm just going to..." said Patrick looking at his watch before heading out the door. "I shouldn't be gone longer than two hours." He kissed Tracey goodbye then went on his way.

"Two hours; what the hell are we supposed to do for the next two hours?" asked Michael.

"I'll make dinner," said Tracey setting the dog on the couch then heading into the kitchen.

Her father laughed. "All you know how to do is bake; you can't cook!"

"THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERYTHING!" Tracey yelled back at him.

Michael sighed as he heard her clank pots and pans around. He watched as the dog began chewing up another throw pillow. "Hey, cut that shit out!" he scolded. It growled at him, causing him to back away, placing his hands up defensively. "Easy there, Cujo." Since his daughter was busy in the kitchen, Michael decided to call for help with the dog dialing Franklin's number, thinking he'd know what to do.

"Hey man, what's up," greeted Franklin on the first ring. "You air out your family issues or what?"

Michael chuckled into the phone. "In a matter of speaking. Hey, you know stuff about dogs; how do you get them to stop eating throw pillows?"

Franklin scoffed. "Pfft, damn, what are you asking me for? I can't even train Chop to stop shitting near the pool."

"I'm asking because Tracey's fiancé got her a dog..." Michael let those words linger for a moment.

Franklin was shocked. "Wait, what?! Tracey's engaged?"

"Yeah," replied Michael. "It's a long story one I don't feel like telling you over the phone. Seriously what do I do?"

"Fuck," commented Franklin. "What kind of dog is it?"

Michael stared at the dog as it continued destroying the throw pillow. "I don't know; I think it's a mixed breed."

"Mix of what?" wondered Franklin.

"If I had to guess, I'd say half dog half-demon," Michael replied sarcastically.

Franklin released a chuckle before coming up with a solution. "Send me a picture of this thing, and I'll tell you."

Michael took a photo of the dog sending it to Franklin. "What is it?"

Franklin laughed into the phone. "HA, HA, HA! Man, it's a Pomeranian my aunt had one of those things, but it died. Those things is tricky as a motherfucker watch out," he warned him, laughing some more.

"You didn't answer my question; how do I..." said Michael, but Franklin ended the call. "Well, it's not like it's my throw pillow."