Birdie (20 page)

Birdie

"
Birdie?!" His voice is
pure astonishment. I walk nervously around the island, cursing myself for not making it out the back door.

"Shhh," I hiss, not wanting to alert the other party goers to our reunion.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I...I work here. I mean, I work at Pine Oak Library. With those people out there."

He points an accusatory wine glass at me. "You work at the library? My...Katy's library?"

I nod.

"Eh, huh?" He is flabbergasted and struggling for words. His eyes work from side to side trying to sort it out. "But, what? Birdie, how..."

I huff nervously and tell him my next bit of information. "It's Anne, actually."

"It's...Anne. You're going by your middle name."

I nod as he strokes his chin in confusion. "I was having trouble getting taken seriously with Hummingbird on my resumes..." I say weakly trailing off because a knowing look lights up his eyes. It turns quickly to anger. He jabs the wine glass at me again.

"You're Anne?" he hisses, now aware of the fallout that will ensue if people catch wind of the conversation. "Katy's new friend at work Anne?"

I let out a breath. "Yeah."

"Oh my God."

Oh, fuck, I look crazy. "I didn't know, Wes. I didn't know you two were together until I saw your picture on her desk after I started working there. I just...I didn't know how to tell her. I certainly didn’t mean to become friends with her." I pause thoughtfully. "Are we friends?" I never know how those labels come to be.

"Friends enough that she's mentioned you." Now he's the pacing around the island, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Look, I tried to keep my distance but it's a freaking small staff room."

He stops pacing. "I have to tell her. She knows all about you." He closes his eyes and waves his hand to demonstrate the obvious. "Not you now. You Birdie, my ex. I told her everything."

"No, no, please. I don't know how I'll show my face there again. I just started. Wes, I will tell her."

He looks exasperated, hands spread out like he does when he's frustrated and he's giving me the no-can-do shake of the head. "That's too much, Birdie," he says, sounding exhausted from being torn. "I can't keep this from her."

"Look," I say, almost pleading. "I was headed out the back door anyway when I saw you arrive. Just, let me slip away. You didn't see me. Okay? I'll figure out a way to tell her tomorrow so it's not such a bombshell. Or at least I'll be ready. Please. You didn't see me."

He's shaking his head still, his face twisted in frustration but finally it clears and he drops his head. "Okay. Fine. I didn't see you."

I let out a low breath. "Thank you," I say, my chest filled with gratitude. I turn back towards the mess of keys on the wall and start trying them again in the dead bolt. Wes comes over to inspect what I'm doing.

"Try the round ones," he says, pulling some off the hooks and handing them to me. "They look house key-ish."

I bat his hand away. "Not that row, I already went through that row. The bottom ones."

He pulls them, I try them and then hand them back. We have a pretty good system going.

"What the hell do they have locked up around here that they have so many keys?" Wes asks in awe, voicing my earlier thought, and I shrug.

"I have no clue but I won't be looking at my boss the same way tomorrow. This woman has secrets."

"Here," Wes hands me another. His fingers brush mine and my movements slow momentarily. I sneak a glance at him and see he looks away quickly, turning his attention back to the keys.

“It’s been a while,” he says somberly.

I nod. “Five years.”

“Five years?”

I look at Wes quickly and note the confusion on his face. I wince at my mistake. “Seven! I mean seven years. Yeah, long time.” I concentrate once again on the deadbolt but Wes has stopped handing me keys. He’s still squinting at a spot on the wall, not actually looking at whatever it is in front of him. I tap him on the upper arm.

“Hand me the one with the blue ring, will ya?” I ask, motioning for another key.

"You were at the hospital. When I had my accident a couple years back," he says quietly.

I shake my head at the memory but my eyes mist a little. "I told your Mom not to say anything. We've never agreed on anything so readily."

Wes studies me. "I found a journal of lyrics you left behind. These random one liners from different songs. Mom said it was Grant's girlfriend's. I always had this nagging thought that it was yours. It's just something you would've done, you know?" He pauses. "So you
were
there."

"Of course I was there. I came as soon as I found out. I was going to be there for you however I could while respecting your wishes." I fidget a little under his scrutiny. I can't read what he's thinking. Deciding to drop it instead of see where this realization takes us, I slightly change the subject. "I didn't know I lost my notebook there. I thought I'd left it on the bus or something."

The kitchen door opens slightly and I hear Linda pause to instruct someone in the living room on how to work the speakers. Our efforts resume hurriedly. "Shit," I mutter, but in that moment the key I'm holding works and I unlock the deadbolt. I hand it to Wesley and he hangs it back up as I slip through the back door. I hesitate to close it. I don't want to leave like this. But I hear the kitchen door swing the rest of the way open and I click it softly closed.

"Wes, could you bring the bottle of white out with you as well?" I hear Linda say in her singsong voice. I can't hear his answer. I close my eyes for a moment before leaving the back porch and pad across the lawn to the gate.

Wes

I don't taste the
wine I'm drinking which is unfortunate because I'm drinking a lot of it. I've downed three glasses before Katy finishes her one. I'm not a big drinker and I see her give me a sideways glance, but I ignore it as her boss replenishes my extended glass.

"So are you ready for the big day?" Linda asks as she settles herself back in her chair.

Katy brings her hands to her cheeks and gives a little squeal indicating that it's close and there's so much to do but she's beaming with happiness. She loves talking about the wedding and never passes up a chance to hash whatever detail is preoccupying the week.

"I hope so," she stresses happily. "I've been on the phone all week with the caterer because there was a mix up with the hors d'ouevres in the cocktail hour."

Linda lays a sympathetic hand on Katy's. "It'll come together," she promises. "I remember freaking out about last minute details when Jared and I got married but really, the day of, none of it mattered anymore. It all takes a backseat when you look at him as you walk down the aisle."

Katy presses her hand to her chest and turns to look at me to share the moment. I squeeze her shoulder and smile back.

I feel like such a fake.

In that moment when Katy wanted an intimate look with me, I couldn't shake Birdie from my mind. Seeing her tonight shocked me to the bones. So much so that I wish we hadn't broken any and all contact if for no other reason so that I could keep tabs on her and be prepared to not give a fuck for moments like these.

Another sip of wine helps ebb the shock.

The women continue chattering about wedding details while Jared ropes me into a conversation I can navigate numbly on fantasy football picks. The other men in the group - one who came with a woman Katy works with named Claire and one who is a reference librarian at the library, Mark, overhear us and gladly jump in to escape the centerpiece discussion that has the women enthralled. Through the sluggishness of the alcohol, I start to feel normal again until I overhear Claire say, "Did you invite Anne to the wedding?"

Claire had been the one to announce that "Anne" had sent her a text saying she wasn't feeling well and saved me from lying about the supposedly empty kitchen. Linda had emerged from the kitchen with me puzzled as to where she was and I tried to fix my face in my best
What-are-you-talking-about
look when Claire mentioned the text and a chorus of "too bads" went around the room.

With the mention of her now, my mind snaps out of the wine-induced haze and looks to Katy for an answer. I honestly hadn't listened closely when she listed all the people from work she was inviting.

Katy pulls a face that tell me she didn't. "No," she admits. "She started at the library after I sent out all the invitations. I was wondering if we should." She looks over to me. "It sucks she wasn't feeling well. I really wanted you to meet her," she tells me.

My heart pounds. "Another time," I say, then finish my glass and clink it down.

I need air.

I say as much before heading back into the kitchen and out the back door we finally got unlocked. In the yard I'm halfway alert as if she would still be lurking in the shadows behind the house but of course the yard is empty and I deflate a little. She looked very much the same as the last time I saw her with her deep brown eyes and those damn curls that twist any way they please. They're a little longer now, about halfway down her back. And her clothes are more streamlined with the natural progression from jeans and Vans to trousers and flats that a career and bills and age brings about.

I'm not alone long. Katy joins me in the backyard, wrapping her arms around my middle and pressing her face into the space between my shoulder blades. A move we do often and I do my part and bring my hands up to rub her arms.

"This work thing is really eating at you," she sighs into my back and I suddenly remember my moodiness about the subject before coming here. I'd had an awful day dealing with my supervisor and was glad the week was finally done. It almost stopped us from attending. I was tired and not in the mood to swap pleasantries with her work friends but Katy looked bummed about missing it so I gathered the energy and told her last minute I was feeling better.

Now out in the damp heat of the night air, with my concerned fiancée wrapped around me, I don't answer right away. Work is the farthest thing from my mind. Watching Birdie work the keys in the lock and realizing she was the one at the hospital all night after my accident released a wave of emotion that I can't sort out.

"Yeah," I finally lie because I can't even begin to discuss the alternative with Katy. "I thought I was okay but I think it'd be best if we head home."

"I knew after I saw you downing drinks," she says coming around to stand on her tip toes and give me a peck on the lips. "Your boss is a dick. We can pick up another bottle of wine and get you completely sloshed at home and rave about the dick-ness that is your boss if you like."

I smile and press my forehead to hers and sigh. I am lucky to have her.

"How about you and me at home but we skip the sloshed part and the rant part? " I answer. "I don't need those. The you part I need."

Birdie

“
What’s for lunch
?”

Lacey’s voice is overly cheerful on the phone. Saccharine even. She’s called me three times already and the hands of the clock have barely scraped past noon.

“I’m having a roast beef sandwich, celery sticks, and a side of chicken shit,” I mutter. I take a loud bite of celery and crunch in her ear because she can’t stand it. I can almost see her wince and she sucks in a breath. Serves her right. Nosy.

“So I take it you haven’t told her?”

I had filled Lacey in on everything that happened last night at Linda’s.

“No, I haven’t had a chance to. We had our Monday morning meeting and we’ve been swamped since we opened the building. Mark and Claire are out on the floor holding down the fort and I volunteered to man the phones if they were too busy to answer them on my lunch break so the rest of the staff could get away for a minute.”

“Suck up.”

“Whatever I need to do to put her in the best mood possible before I tell her that her fiancé used to be the love of my life.”

“ ‘Used to’ is a liquid term, isn’t it?”

“ ‘Used to’ is the necessary one. He’s moved on, Lace. I’m too late. And I’m not going to even entertain mind fucking him with lingering feelings. I got his message loud and clear the last time we spoke.”

The phone trills and the light on line two blinks at me. I wait a beat but it continues. Mark and Claire must still have a line in front of them at the reference desk.

“Gotta go, Lacey. Work.”

“Tell her!”

“I will,” I say, before cutting her off and punching line two. “Hello, you’ve reached Pine Oak Library, this is Anne speaking, how may I help you?”

There’s a slight pause before the caller says, “Katy Winthrop please.”

I have a pause of my own to steady my voice before I answer, “She’s out to lunch. May I take a message?” My heart pounds. I’m pretty sure it’s Wes.

“No…no message. Thanks.”

I press the receiver harder against my ear and close my eyes before forcing myself to say, “No problem. Have a nice day.”

I wait a moment. Silence. I start to lower the phone when I hear a hesitant, “Birdie?”

I whip the receiver back up so fast it clocks my ear and the top of it stings a bit. I rub at it muttering an “ow” before I realize I have yet to respond. “Wes?” I ask anxiously.

I hear him let out a low breath. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Um, so…” I start to stammer as he simultaneously says, “How have you been?”

“Since last night?” I ask puzzled. “I slept okay, I guess.”

“No, I meant in general. We didn’t have a lot of time last night to catch up,” I can hear the smile in his voice. It relaxes me.

“Yeah, right. Well…I sleep okay most nights in general.” He chuckles at my joke. “How have
you
been?” I ask.

“Pretty good, actually. I teach now.” I almost answer with an
I know
but I catch myself and bite the inside of my cheek. I know bits and pieces, a lot more than he knows about me but I don’t tell him so. I don’t want to bring up this fact and turn everything weird. Not when we’re finally talking for the first time in seven years.

"That's great!" I exclaim instead.

"Yeah."

His response shrugs off my compliment and after a moment of hesitation, I add to it. "No, really Wes, it's amazing. Great was too tame. You always said you wanted to teach instead of go into politics and here you are. I've met Donald and Bunny Lott. Standing up to them deserves a medal."

"Yeah," he repeats, but this time there's a hint of pride as he considers the validation. “So how’s Tim?”

“Same old, same old. Still lives in that trailer. I can’t get him to consider something with a foundation where I don’t have to call home frantically every time the weatherman reports a strong gust of wind in central Texas.” I stop suddenly when I realize my words and from the way Wes’s breath hitches I can tell he caught it too.

“You said home.”

“Yeah,” I confirm softly. “It’s the first time I’ve done that, actually. I guess you’re the witness.”

“Wow.”

“Somewhere along the way, I guess Shenoah, well, the people – Tim – became home.”

“Funny how that happens,” Wes says. “Some people become so familiar to you in such a short time.”

The conversation feels heavy all of a sudden like a weight of a thousand words hanging between us. He feels it too because he abruptly states, “So I’ve got to go. I have a class in a few minutes.”

“Mmmhmm, okay.”

I go for nonchalance but the sudden end to the conversation feels cold like we’d just had a moment suspended in time but it’s being snatched away. Until he adds quietly, “It was really good to talk to you Birdie.”

“You too, Wes,” I add earnestly.

A long pause.

“Did you tell her yet?” he asks.

I shake my head and then remember he can’t see me. “No.”

Another long pause. “Don’t. Not yet, okay?”

My voice drops to a surprised whisper. “Ok.”

“Bye, Birdie.”

“Bye, Wes.”