Door To Door

Customer Type #6: The Ones Who Tell You Their Life Story

"Hello, ma'am, I'm Hudson Ellis - I'm a representative of the charity Man's Best Friend. You may have heard of us?"

"Oh," the woman lets out on an exhale. "You're not James," she says simply.

Hudson frowns. "Um, no. Sorry."

"I..." She trails off, and there's a pregnant pause, before her whole body goes limp and she practically collapses into the doorframe. Hudson takes a step forward, concerned, only to take another one when she starts sobbing into the wood. "I'm sorry," she manages, voice muffled, "it's just...I miss him so much, you know?"

"Um," says Hudson. He's not really sure what to tell her. He's never been good with crying girls. 

(Or any girls.)

"James is in Afghanistan," she sniffles. Hudson's eyes widen with understanding. "Oh."

"He's meant to be coming home today," she tells him while wiping her eyes - he notes with some relief that she's crying a little less now. "But I just...I don't know. I've got this stupid idea in my head that he won't, you know? That at the last minute I'll get a phone call and..."

To Hudson's dismay, she falls back into a fit of crying. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches a hand out to rest on her shoulder, figuring she can't arrest him for rape on that count.

She surprises him by falling completely into him, still sobbing. Okay, Hudson thinks to himself, awkwardly bringing his hands around to pat her back. Hugs with random strangers are a thing now.

"I'm sure he'll be home before you know it," he manages in what he hopes is a tone that conveys comfort rather than awkwardness or dismay. "I betcha he's getting off that plane right now. He'll come home for you, right?"

"Yeah," she mumbles into his jacket (which, luckily, is waterproof). "You're right." A few more minutes pass before she pulls away, cheeks flushed a pale pink.

"Oh my God," she says in a near-whisper, tone heavy with embarrassment. "You must think I'm some kind of freak, doing...oh God, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me..."

"It's okay," he says gently. 

She opens her mouth, presumably to say something, then closes it and shakes her head. "Here," she says. "You're collecting for a charity, right?"

Hudson nods with a smile. "Charity for disabled dogs," he tells her. 

“Oh, wow,” her eyes brighten. “My mom and I used to have a blind dog, before I left home to live with James. Hold on,” she leaves him at the doorstep, heading into the apartment. She comes back out a few moments later, bearing two fifty dollar bills.

“Wow,” Hudson says before he can help it. “I mean, thank you so much,” he adds on hastily.

She smiles widely at him. “It’s the least I could do,” she says, dropping the notes into the bucket. “After spazzing out on you like that.”

“Thank you, Miss,” he says softly.

“Aubrey,” she corrects. “Again, least I could do,” her eyes flicker to his name tag. “Hudson.”

Then the weirdest thing happens.

She hugs him again. And he hugs her back. Even though she’s basically a stranger. And it’s nice.

☒

“Hi, sir, I’m a  - “

“You what?”

Hudson purses his lips, hesitating as he looks at the old man fiddling with the hearing aid in his ear, trying to recall the protocol for relaying your message to people who are hard of hearing.