I was going to drop all this junk in the dumpster, but if he’s right, this pile of supposed tinder could be worth a few thousand dollars. The vintage posters on the walls, maybe, too. But I have a sense of energy right this moment. I want to start making visible changes here. I head back to the office and open the first box I find. It’s nothing but empty VHS boxes, and now I’m wondering if they have any resell value. I’d love any way to squeeze more money out of this monstrosity, but I’m also desperate to clear out the musty space and make it my own.
The next box is receipts, and then tax documents and forms from the late eighties. I methodically go through all the boxes looking for anything that can get tossed without too much thought, but…everything requires thought. Hunter isn’t around when I head up the newly cleared stairwell to my apartment. The pile of crusty blankets is gone. He must’ve moved them while I was in the office. It’s so gentlemanly and thoughtful I could just melt into the floor. I add Febreze to the grocery list on my phone.
Upstairs, Maggie, still in the cage, tugs at the door with her beak, angrily growling, “You’d better let me out of here, so help me God!”
I unlatch the cage door, and she flutters through it and shakes herself. “I have the strangest urge to sing ‘How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria,’ ” she says. “Or just scream a lot. But then I also want to consult my lawyer.”
“If you’re done pondering the intricacies of bird law, I’ve got questions.”
“Seems to be all you have,” she grumbles.
“First of all: Why is there a skeleton in the office, and why is the office hidden?”
She cackles. “Found that, did you? Just a fun little surprise for whoever went poking around in my things. Left over from the Halloween scarecrow contest one year. That’s my personal space, and I don’t want anyone in there.”
“Thanks for the heart attack. But it’s my space now, and I plan to use it.”
“Can’t you just leave well enough alone? Is nothing sacred?”
“Sacred? No. Not the janky little office in a defunct video store and not Bilbo Bagbones. Next question: Is there anything in the office that needs to be kept, or can I toss it all in the dumpster?”
Maggie paces around the kitchen, chirping her frustration. “Itshould all be kept and left just like it is. It’s none of your damn business!”
“It is absolutely my business.” She’s got me mad now, too. “Because you’re either a ghost or a parrot, and neither of those things is a taxpaying entity.”
“It’s all important. Tina McGowan does all my accounting and taxes—”
I snort. “If Tina McGowan still hasn’t done your taxes from 1988, she’s a pretty bad accountant.”
“She’s an amazing accountant! I set up that business in 1987, and every year I pay Tina to just do whatever needs doing. The store made good money back in the day. And then it faded out and became more like a bad habit I couldn’t quit. People seemed to need it. Uncle Abraham needed it. And as I got older, I got tired.”
“But it’s still legally a business and all that?”
Maggie fluffs herself. “Yeah, but I don’t know much about the paperwork, honestly. Don’t trust Joyce, but Tina and Colonel will take care of you.”
I huff a sigh. All this sounds great, but the paperwork will have to wait. I want to get to worknow,want to feel the satisfaction of a clean room and knowing I’ve made my mark. I want to Marie Kondo some shit, get thatHoarderssatisfaction of scraping up the flat cats and putting down new rugs.
“So can I toss the junk that’s in the office or not? I want that room cleaned out. Today.”
Maggie looks up at me, cocking her head side to side. “It’s done just fine locked up for ten years, but if you’ve got that much of a bug up your behind, put the boxes in the storage room. You know, the one between the video store and the hardware store?All that’s your space. Why worry about something today if you can worry about it later?”
Yeah, that feels about right.
“Now just take me downstairs—”
I bark a laugh. “No way. I can’t think with you shouting in my head.” I go to scoop her up—
“Not the cage!”
She sounds so desperate that I stop.
“You don’t know what it’s like, being an animal.”
She’s panting, so I stop and stroke her head, trying to calm her.
“I’m helpless. No hands. No phone. No one else can hear me. If something happened to you, I would die in that box. At least if I’m loose, I have a chance.”
She’s acting Very Cockatoo, bobbing her head and generally acting skittish. She really is frightened. And I don’t actually want to give my grandmother trauma. “Fair enough. But don’t come downstairs. It’s going to get dangerous once Hunter starts work. And don’t do that thing where you freak out and splatter against the window.”
