Birdie (21 page)

Birdie

"
Hello
."

I look up from the computer. I'm at the reference desk at the library trying to find thirty books on science experiments for a teacher at the local school when a woman approaches. She looks to be in her mid-forties, not quite put together in a sweatshirt and khaki pants. Her hair is in a low, messy bun. Five minutes to closing. I pray her request is short and sweet.

"How can I help you?" I ask with my brightest smile. My smile gets bigger as closing draws near to keep the urgency to leave off my face. I find it a helpful trick.

"Oh, yes. Well, I read a book a few years back and I wonder if you have it."

"I can certainly check. What's the title?"

"I don't remember."

"Do you know the author?"

"No, I don't recall."

"What's the book about?" I ask pulling up Google.

"This woman is having coffee at a café. An outdoors one."

My smile never wavers. Okay, lady. I take a deep breath. "Mmmmhmmm. Do you know the woman's name?"

"Mary. No, Martha. Or Mona, maybe."

Mark blinks the lights and I glance over at him with big eyes.

Sorry,
he mouths.

I give him a short wave to go on without me. Ten minutes and twenty questions later, I've figured out what book this woman is looking for and pull it for her from the shelf. The library is quiet and half dark as I walk her out to the lobby and lock the door behind her, nodding at her continued thanks.

"No problem. Have a nice evening," I tell her, closing the door before she can add anything else.

I sag a little, letting the tension drip out of me as I head back to the desk to grab my things. It wasn't a particularly hard day at work, but I was so stiff with guilt around Katy that it drained me.

The phone rings and I waver, debating. I haven't shut off my computer yet and I told a customer earlier who needed to order a book but had left the information at home scribbled on a pad next to her fridge to call me when she got home. I knew she'd be cutting it close to closing time.

Feeling generous, I pick up the phone. "Pine Oak Public Library, this is Anne speaking."

"I'll never get used to hearing you call yourself that," the caller says.

The air whooshes out of my lungs and I collapse in the chair with surprise. "Wesley."

"Hey."

I blink confused before I say, "Katy's not here. She left thirty minutes ago."

"Oh."

"Yeah. We close at seven." I wait a moment, not sure what else he needs and baffled at why he doesn't know the library hours.

"Why are you still answering the phone?" he asks.

"Wednesdays are my days to close and I'm a glutton for punishment. I can't stop helping one more person."

"Do you like it there?"

"I love it here."

"I'm glad. You were always suited for the library."

"And you were always suited for teaching. I'm over the moon that you're not some slimy politician up in Washington."

"No, Grant's the slippery one."

"Yeah. Congressman Lott. It definitely suits him."

"I suppose everyone's suited then."

"It's like a Men's Wearhouse up in here."

The joke is corny but he laughs anyway.

"So what's for dinner?" I ask him.

"Leftover Chinese. I have all the ingredients for spaghetti but none of the drive to make it."

I think about Katy's chicken parmesan story and smile inwardly. "Maybe tomorrow."

"What are you having?"

"Um, well when I get home I have some enchiladas I made. I'm still used to cooking for me and Lacey so now that it's just me, I end up with several nights of leftovers."

"Oh, right! You need to go. Sorry. Ok. Enjoy your enchiladas."

He speaks the words so fast I can't interject to tell him it’s ok. Instead, I respond with, "Yep. Enjoy your Chinese" and then hang up the phone. I have no appetite. Not anymore anyway. I look at the phone. Then I shake my head, stand up, turn off the rest of the lights, and go home alone to eat my enchiladas.

Birdie

             
“I love it!”

              The words are out of my mouth even before I’ve left the entry hall. I’m standing in Lacey and Peter’s new home. Wood flooring spreads out from the tiled entry way, climbing a slightly curved staircase to a landing I can see decorated in holiday sprigs. I lean forward as Peter helps me out of my coat and Lacey hands me a pear cider.

              I take a swig. How this woman knows what drink people need at what moment is something she should market and get paid for. The cider feels good in my throat and I smile widely at her.

              “Tour! Tour!” I demand in the same voice crowds use to lure bands back onstage for an encore performance and she takes my arm, leaning into me a little and laughing. She is the epitome of domesticated bliss. She makes nauseatingly wonderful googly eyes at Peter before leading me into the kitchen.

              “Who did all the unpacking?” I ask as we move from room to room with short notes on each, some typical, some Lac-ified.
The first place we had sex
she says of their dining room and I make a mental note to eat my dinner on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. Even though there’s a good chance that location’s not much safer.

              “Peter,” Lacey answers in her
get serious
voice and I make a face.

              “The question was rhetorical.”

              The bathrooms, study, the bedroom (funnily enough one of the rooms that has not yet been christened) are all lovely in creams and grays with splashes of bold color, true to Lacey’s style. We finally make our way back to the formal living room where Peter’s stoking a fire – “In
Texas
?” I ask to which Lacey responds “I can’t get the north outta him” – and we settle around it with our drinks while Peter gets up every few minutes to check the roast.

              “Aren’t you supposed to leave roasts alone to roast?” I ask as he gets up for the third time and Lacey waves me off.

              “He insisted on doing everything himself. It’s his first roast.”

              “Wow, you’ve got it made. You go from me making dinner all the time to future hubby taking the reins. How’d you manage to get out of meal prep your whole life?”

              “I’m lucky,” Lacey answers, placing a hand on my knee. “In so many ways.” Her eyes are shining and her usual bite is tempered with sentimental statements. The lighting is dim in this room and the glow of the fire creates a dreamy orange haze around her jet black hair.

              “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” I comment, smiling.

              “Not this kind of happy. I’ve never loved anyone like I love Peter. I love our life together. It’s just working you know? I’m in the suburbs!”

              She laughs and I laugh with her and we clink our bottles. “Who woulda thunk?”

              “What, Peter?”

              “No. The burbs.”

              “Oh, I know. But-” she shrugs. “Peter made a good point. If we’re going to buy and it’s going to be long term, we should think where we’d want to be if we start a family.”

              “Is that a near thing or a far thing?”

              “It’s a whatever happens thing,” Lacey says coyly. “After the wedding, I’ll just stop taking birth control and if it happens, it happens.”

              “I’m going to be an aunt!” I squeal as Peter comes back into the room with two potholders on his hands shouting a bewildered, “What?!”

              Lacey has to take a minute calming him down and clearing up my statement while I sprawl on their rug unable to breathe because I’m laughing so hard.

              “
Will be
as in hypothetically,” Lacey grumbles to Peter as she kicks my rolling body in the side. It only makes me laugh harder. She leans over me and mock glares. “Quit scaring my fiancé.”

              After dinner, I make the solitary drive back to my apartment. Most of it is now packed. I have less than a month left on the lease and I’ve been moving the non essential boxes slowly to my new, smaller, one-person-sized place. I thought it would be my ultimate achievement finally living alone. For all the years I’d felt lonely growing up, I’d always lived with someone.

              I thought choosing to live alone would give me power over the emptiness, like I was taking charge and making decisions in my own life. But Lacey’s glowing eyes and her life with Peter is poking holes in my theory. Seeing Wes again is making me relive the biggest regret of my life.

              The stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Birdie

"
Pine Oak Library, this
is Anne speaking."

"It's Wednesday."

I smile. It is five after seven and even though I locked the doors on time tonight, I found myself lingering as I packed up my stuff.

"It is Wednesday,” I answer.

"I was just seeing if you were still playing the library version of Mother Theresa. No soul turned away."

"That's how I roll."

"How was your day?"

"Mostly okay. There was a delightful abstract art project scribbled on one of the tables in the children's area. I had a blast scrubbing that off."

Wes laughs. "Sarcasm noted. I myself had a similar day, only my experience is more pathetic because my clientele is college aged."

"Wow. So did they write
For a good time call Heather
in red or green crayon?"

"Purple."

There is a pause in the conversation and in that moment of neither of us talking, I’m hovering next to my desk, purse in hand, and wondering if I should sit down or if this is another brief exchange.

The pause goes on for so long, I’m about to wish him a good night when he says, “Tell me about your Christmas.”

I drop my purse to the desk and get comfortable in my desk chair. “It was good. Just me and Tim. But it’s been just me and Tim for so many years now, it felt warm and fuzzy and right. We made chicken salad sandwiches. We drove through this old neighborhood here in Houston that used to put up crazy Christmas lights every year. My mom and Howard used to take us there. Each street was a different theme. One street was angels. One street did the Twelve Days of Christmas. One street had a Disney theme. But turns out many of the homes have new owners now and only a handful of them still put up lights. So a forty minute drive to look at three okay houses and one really awesomely decorated one.”

“That sucks.”

“Kinda. But we paid homage to its awesomeness. Got some hot chocolate, put down the tailgate of the truck and just stared at it while we drank since there wasn’t anything else to look at.”

“Did the owner freak out?”

“He finally yelled out of his front door that he was going to call the police and Tim yelled back that he was the police.”

Wes’s laugh is full bodied and I chuckle too, remembering Tim shaking the last of his hot chocolate on their lawn and grumbling that that’s what we get for showing the house a little appreciation.

“What about your Christmas?” I ask Wes.

“Not as animated. Brunch at my parents’ house and dinner at Katy’s.”

“How are Donald and Bunny?”

“Still very much Donald and Bunny. Although I get along much better with the latter these days.”

“And Grant?”

“Engaged.”

“That’s awesome! To whomever she is.”

“
She
is Becca and that is awesome. Only took him eight years.”

Another long pause. Wes finally tells me, “You can ask about Stephen.”

“How is Stephen?”

“Better. He’s been clean since the accident. He’s living in Plano. Works as a mechanic and lives with his girlfriend. We don’t talk much but I keep up with him on Facebook.”

“Ah,” I say knowingly. “So you stalk.”

“It’s not stalking when it’s your brother.” He waits a moment. “It is when it’s your ex girlfriend though.”

My pulse quickens. “Which ex?” I ask.

“I only have two and I don’t give a shit what Rachel’s up to.”

I have trouble putting any volume in my voice. I clear my throat a few times. He says nothing. “So. Um. Yeah.” That’s my brilliant response. I palm my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed that I have nothing better to come back with. Then I lower my hand and sit up straighter. “Hey, how’d you find me?” I demand. I didn’t use my name on my profile page.

“There are exactly two Tubey’s on Facebook and one was in Japan,” he answers, sounding proud.

“You did better than I did,” I mutter.

“My screen name is Camel Lott. And I don’t have a picture as my profile or anything searchable. I’m politically trained in low profiles.”

“You should talk to Katy,” I advise.

“Yeah, I saw. It’s no biggie. Grant’s been doing more of the lawyer stuff than the congressional state stuff and Dad’s retired.”

“I know. Mayor Snow now. Tim loves him.”

Wes laughs. “City employee raises helped, I’m sure.”

“It didn’t hurt.”

Wes and I talk for a while longer about his work at the community college and my new apartment and whether or not leftovers are safe after five days. Wes: “Um, I still have a bit of the poor college kid in me. I’ll stretch it to seven.”

Before long, an hour has passed and Wes is hedging towards hanging up. I feel the shift and my feet, which had been propped up on the desk in a lounging position, drop to the floor and I sit up straighter as I realize what he’s doing.

“So, I’ve still got some stuff to do around here before I turn in for the night…”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I say. A flush creeps up my neck. “Totally. I was just thinking the same thing.”

“So…”

“So it was fun catching up.” I smile. “Good night.”

“Good night.”