Odd One Out

Chapter Twenty Five - Her Interrogation

"You're sure about this?" Marcus asked for the thousandth time. His window was wide open, his radio was on, and his elbow was leaning out of the window as the wind ruffled his wavy hair. He looked like he could star in a car commercial.

"Please, Marcus. I can't take it anymore. Stop asking me that question," I moaned, sticking my arm out of my window, wiggling my fingers in the wind.

"I just want to make sure you're sure."

"I know. That's why when you asked me fifty thousand times ago, I said I was sure. And then when you asked me ten thousand times ago, I also said I was sure. I'm about to beg you to let me keep your dog at this point. I don't think Marco deserves to live with you and be interrogated like this everyday," I teased dramatically.

Marcus rolled his eyes, "His name is not Marco. It's-"

"I'm not calling him Morbid," I cut in, giving him a glare.

"He's morbidly obese, Mabel. Plus, that's his name."

"I don't care. I'm not calling him that," I huffed.

Marcus laughed, pulling his truck into the small, brick bungalow where his grandfather lived. Marcus had told me how his grandfather had been having a difficult time walking his dog lately and that the upkeep had been getting too much for him. Marcus said he wanted to get his grandfather to live in a retirement community so he'd have a support system, but he was adamant about staying in his home.

I jumped out of the truck as Marcus placed it in park and dusted my jeans off with the palms of my hands. I took in the array of flower pots scattered around the porch and the uncut grass.

The front door swung open and an elderly man hobbled out with a hand shielding his face front the sun.

Marcus shot me a reassuring smile as he beckoned me over and we began to walk up the porch.

"The prodigal son returns," The man said with a straight face. He was so stoic that I found myself lingering behind Marcus just in case his possible anger towards his grandson somehow transferred to me. He wore a pair of brown trousers with suspenders, a plaid shirt peaking out from underneath. His tan face had a pair of large glasses that made him look adorable.

"Hola abuelo," Marcus replied with a grin, leaning down to hug the frail man.

"Don't pretend to know Spanish," the man continued with a stern face. "How many years did I tell you to learn? And now you decide to throw it in to impress a lady."

"Grandpa," Marcus warned. He turned around to find me cowering behind him. "This is Mabel."

I plucked up some courage and stepped out from behind Marcus to wave shyly, "Hi, Mr. Garcia. It's nice to meet you!"

"Hello, Mabel. It's nice to meet a young face. This one barely has time to see me apparently," He jabbed a finger at Marcus. "And please call me Juan."

"I saw you last week," Marcus defended himself.

"That was a week later than I was expecting," Juan retorted without skipping a beat.

Marcus snorted, "What did you do with my dog?" He asked walking into the house and whistling.

"Oh, so now he's your dog?" Juan rolled his eyes. "Please, come inside Mabel."

I followed the two men inside just as a golden retriever dog made a dash for Marcus' arms. Marcus made an oof sound (a bit of an over exaggeration. Marco looked chunky, not morbidly obese.)