“Well it’s a bit late now. Gosh, what a big bird.” A big bird eyeing up my muffin. Make that two birds. Three. “This is an unintended wonder.”
Trent leans over, shooing them away from James-Bonding towards the carbs. I tug his arms back. “Don’t scare them.”
“They’re not remotely scared.”
“Now there’s four!” With one boldly attacking my muffin. “Oy. That one’s mine.”
I reach out, not to shoo, but to save my carrot and walnut homemade delight. The kaka buries its beak right down in the middle and takes off with it.
I’m suddenly not sure if this also counts as littering? Just in case, I leap after the bird, but that only freaks its minions out. One clamps its beak onto the edge of the picnic blanket and chases after its fleeing companions. The blanket is yanked away. Food topples and rolls into a messy heap. Trent stares.
It was us against them. Humans against aves. The blanket flutters ahead. A victory flag. The aves have triumphed.
Trent shakes his head.
I offer a lip-biting smile. “They’d get along with your chicken?”
I turn back to the Winged Return. One kaka stands atop our heaped food, while the others peck around it.
Trent digs into his bag and pulls out a backup muffin. He pats the log, and I shuffle over, and with a single plastic plate between us, we share the remaining muffin.
“So,” I say on a sneaky smile, “can we call it your fault for making such delicious treats?”
He delivers me a flat look.
I laugh, and we watch on in fascination as the kakas enjoy their party.
Speaking of party... I nudge Trent and offer up some thoughts for Grandpa’s.
“I like the last idea,” he murmurs, then amends, “Grandpa would like it.”
We sit there for a long time, sides pressed together, atop the fallen log. We stay even after the birds fly off. Even as the bite of the wind grows colder.
Because here, I feel warmth. I feel comfortable.
I swallow and look at him to find his gaze already on me.
“Crooked.” He pinches the brim of Grandpa’s hat and straightens it. The shift of his scent around me... the feel of his warmth waking over me... the doting, the protection.
I feel like leaning my head on him. His shoulders seem able to hold so much.
“I . . . had one once.”
“Had one what?”
I toy with Grandpa’s hat, just enough he bats my hand away and straightens it again. “We should probably pack up and go,” I say lightly. “It’ll rain soon.”
Trent gives me a look. His hand pauses on the hat. Something flickers in his eyes.
“Had one what?” he asks again, more softly.
I meet his gaze. “Family.”
penguins
Mate for life.
Family.
