I watch him hop into the driver’s seat, his car rattling when he turns it on. As he peels away, he lives up to his reputation, running over my daisies on his way down the lane.
Once I’ve had a long, hot shower, I finally feel human again. I head to the kitchen to reheat a serving of Mrs. Bixby’s veggielasagna. I can’t pass up the chance for a delicious meal I don’t have to cook myself—even if it comes from a nosy neighbor who I wish would mind her own business.
When I reach the kitchen, Nugget is in the corner perched on one of my boots, somehow looking totally relaxed. She cracks one eye open when I take the container of leftovers from the fridge, clearly unamused by the disruption.
I plant my free hand on my hip. “There’s a perfectly cozy chicken coop outside if these conditions aren’t up to your standards.” She shoots me a disdainful stare before fluffing her feathers and burying her head under her wing.
I let out a heavy sigh as I pop the dish into the microwave. “Suit yourself. Don’t come complaining to me when your sleep is disrupted again when I walk around like I own the place… because I do.” Although we both know that’s up for debate.
Ever since I rescued Nugget and brought her home, she’s ruled the roost, basking in being treated like a queen. Exhibit A: the doggie door. Exhibit B: her gourmet breakfast of scrambled eggs sprinkled with cheese. And no, it’s not cannibalism when she doesn’t know where eggs come from, plus they’re packed with protein, vitamins, and healthy fats to keep her energized while bossing us all around.
Once my lasagna is reheated, I grab a fork from the drawer and turn off the kitchen light, tiptoeing to the living room so I don’t disturb her again.
Just as I settle into the couch, placing my lasagna on the coffee table in front of me, my phone chimes with a new message.
Dad: You’re ignoring my calls.
Birdie: I just got home from visiting Mama.
Dad: How is she doing?
Birdie: She misses you.
I instantly feel bad for trying to guilt-trip him and quickly send another message.
Birdie: We watched Gilmore Girls and she smiled every time Logan was on screen.
Dad: She’s alwaysin good spirits when she watches the seasons he’s in. Her favorite is the episode where he gives Rory a Birkin bag.
Birdie: I mean, can you blame a girl?
Dad hearted your message
Dad: I’ll have to take your word for it. Tell Tess I’ll be back on Tuesday.
Birdie: I will. Love you, Dad.
Dad: Love you too, kiddo.
I’ve never questioned his devotion to Mama. It must be agonizing to watch the love of his life go from a vibrant school librarian to someone requiring round-the-clock care within a few years. I only wish he’d pull himself out of his grief longenough to remember that she’s still here with us and that avoiding reality will only make the eventual loss harder.
Mama was diagnosed with young-onset Parkinson’s on her fortieth birthday. What started as a small tremor in her hand gradually turned into a persistent stiffness that made even daily tasks like brushing her hair or putting on makeup a struggle. Her doctor ordered a series of tests when her symptoms didn’t improve, which ultimately led to her diagnosis.
I was only fifteen at the time, and my parents made me promise not to tell anyone—not even my friends. It’s common knowledge that my mama’s declining health forced her to stop teaching, but only her doctor and the nurses my dad hired are aware of her specific diagnosis and understand it will eventually take her life. It’s a heavy burden to carry alone, and I often wish I had someone I could lean on to make it easier.
Dad: Sorry I wasn’t there on Friday.
Dad: Mason should never have kept you in that cell overnight.
Birdie: It’s fine.
We both know it was warranted even though he never explicitly asks if I’m guilty. He doesn’t have to—whenever I’m brought in, it’s always for an animal rescue case. He knows full well I’ll help any creature in need, no matter the risks. I think that’s why he avoids coming to my house. He doesn’t want to run into any of the rescues I’ve been accused of taking. It’s easier for him to stay ignorant and look the other way.
Dad: We’ll talk when I’m back in town. Think you can stay out of trouble until then?
Birdie: As long as there aren’t any animals in need of rescuing.
Dad: This is serious, Birdie. I won’t always be around to protect you.
