“I don’t understand why that’s so strange,” Iz secured the lid onto the tank.
“Iz, you’re the only grown woman I know who keeps a frog as pet,” David stood in the doorway, stirring the copious amounts of sugar he’d just poured into his coffee.
“Didn’t you date a guy who kept geckos?”
“Yeah, but that’s different, it’s like a specialty thing, y’know? Not a frog you found in the neighbor’s window well – which, I’ve been meaning to ask, did anybody see you do this?”
“I don’t think so. Why?” Iz flipped the tiny lamp on, illuminating the jerry-rigged fish tank.
“Well, I mean, wouldn’t that be a little weird? You’re hanging out at home, and all the sudden a thirty-something woman is fishing around in your window well?”
“Sweetheart, you’ve been twenty-nine for four years,” David sipped his coffee.
“Well, alright, but I couldn’t help it,” Iz pouted, “It was helpless, it needed me.”
“Everything looks helpless to you.”
“Does too. Your weakness is weakness.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“You’ve got a history of that,” David inspected the frog through the plexiglass, “Frogs, cats, men.”
“I thought you liked Peter,” Iz defended, plopping down into an armchair.
“Which one was Peter?”
“Right, the artist – who was glad for your connections at the gallery, but spent the entire opening flirting with what’s-her-name from the Times.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point,” David tapped on the tank, “Is that just because you think somebody’s cute doesn’t mean you have to like, support them for six months. Especially when you’re not getting anything out of it… And you don’t need to take in frogs.”
Iz brought her knees up to her chest, fitting snugly into the hollow of the chair. She looked at the tank and looked at David and looked at the tank, twisting her mouth in contemplation.
“I was going to name him Herbie,” she said at last.
David straightened up and put on half a smile.
“Herbie’s a good name for a frog.”
Image from Wiki Commons. “Frog eye in it’s protruding eye socket, close up.” Public domain image.