Chapter 30
Birders were everywhere. Mingling near the glass cabinet of finches frozen in taxidermic flight, sipping cocktails in the shadow of the towering skeleton of a Sonorasaurus, chatting over a table demonstrating the watershed of southern Arizona. The Tucson Science Center, home tonight to the annual gala of the Arizona Ornithological Society, was very cool, but Celeste wished they would all sit the hell down. Linda had taken to the mic three entire minutes before to ask people to take their seats, and barely anyone had budged.
Was Celeste the only one who’d been up half the night in anticipation of the announcement? She’d stayed home because Morgan was there, but hadn’t realized until she closed her bedroom door that this was it. The next day the winners would be announced. Her time with John would be at an end.
But at least they’d go out with a bang. A win for John wouldn’t just validate his knowledge and his work; it would create a path for him to pursue his goals. She wouldn’t push him—she’d learned enough that day in the mountains to know he had to take the steps himself. But she sure as hell wanted to open the door.
Then she’d leave. Morgan’s art show was already starting a few miles away, and though the formal ceremony didn’t happen until later, Celeste hated to miss any of it. The timing was terrible, but perfect too, giving her the tug she needed to walk away from the gala, from the soothing warmth of John’s hand settled on her lower back as they tried to get to their table.
One of her new birding friends waved from across the room, but Celeste veered left, John dutifully at her shoulder as he whispered in her ear, “Watch out, more of your admirers up here.”
She’d become acquainted with many of the other birders through the contest, crossing paths at popular birding spots. Celeste loved a good tangential conversation in the shade of a tree as they scanned the branches, but not tonight. Tonight she was on a mission.
John’s mouth brushed her ear in the passing tease of a kiss. When she stumbled, his hand held her hip to keep her upright, fingers pressing where she was still tender from his grip two nights before, under much more naked circumstances.
In the days since their complication in the mountains, something small had shifted between them. They were still easy with each other, but she’d rebuilt some of her defenses, and she could tell he had, too. Her tendency to shower people with her planning-prone enthusiasm had clearly rubbed against John’s learned defensiveness, exposing rough edges for both of them. And while her instinct that night had been to talk it all out, she’d understood why he’d asked for them to just move on.
They were just birders with benefits, after all, and that didn’t come with emotional entanglements.
But it did come with sex, and they’d been having as much of that as they could. In his bed, on his couch, in his woodshop, and, in one particularly exciting encounter, against a tree in an empty corner of a park. And just like they had in the tent that night when John had muffled her cries with his mouth, they’d poured themselves into each other almost desperately, grappling for any time they had.
Their sex drives were rivaled only by their mad dash to find as many birds as they could, with Celeste setting a rigorous schedule. She’d used a few of her cached sick days to make the most of the past week, focusing on adding to their list while ignoring the dwindling number of days they had left together.
And now, on the last day, everything just felt weird. She was tense and excited about the contest results, anxious and thrilled to get to Morgan’s show, and fighting constantly against the magnetic pull between her body and John’s. When they’d met outside the museum, she’d tried to make a joke about their last fake date, but it hadn’t landed. It had just made John look sad, which made her want to make him feel better. But she’d slapped on a smile and ushered them inside instead.
They finally reached their table, which was draped in maroon polyester and decorated with bright sunflowers. Chris—there both for moral support and to admire “the large repository of preserved gastropods”—was chatting to a woman with short blond hair and an expression so rapt it was clear she was fully in his charismatic thrall.
Next to her, John leaned forward on his elbows. His button-down shirt fit perfectly across his wide chest, and he’d added insult to injury by rolling up his shirtsleeves to expose his forearms. He nodded to the crowd. “You’re very popular.”
“They just like my novelty.” Celeste flicked her fingers against a sweating water glass, sending a few drops flying. She’d had a flurry of hobby-hopping after her divorce but had never stayed still long enough to form new relationships. A nagging worry that she was missing something, somewhere, had her always moving on to the next thing. But six weeks of the Bird Binge had landed her in a community that embraced her with open arms, in no small part because they believed she was John’s girlfriend. Faking it with him had seemed absurd but acceptable when they’d started, but now, as Linda waved at her from the small stage, it felt a lot like betrayal.
“Feel free to vilify me when you tell them about our breakup,” she said with a laugh she wished wasn’t so forced.
The smile on John’s face faltered, and Celeste moved to smooth his lips back into a curve. But she stalled her hand between them, and diverted to a sunflower instead, adjusting it in its vase.
She was doing them a favor by weaning them from the habit of small touches, ignoring the store of knowledge she’d acquired about John’s body. Like how he would laugh if she poked him in just the right spot on his cheek, or how his gaze turned to glass when she scraped her nails under his jaw.
“Celeste!” Chris called to her across John as his fingers drummed on the tabletop. “Have you seen the gastropods yet? I can walk you through the collection later if you want. It’ll blow your mind.”
“I can’t,” she answered glumly. Chris’s enthusiasm about snails was oddly contagious. She was going to miss the guy. “I’ve got to go right away to my daughter’s art show.”
“Oh, yeah.” Chris glanced to John as he swallowed. “I remember John mentioning that.” He cleared his throat as the three sat in a heavy silence that left Celeste to wonder what else John had mentioned. “Well, we’ll have to come back, okay?” Chris said with strained cheer in his voice. “The exhibit is not to be missed.”
“Okay.” She nodded, grabbing for her ponytail before remembering she’d left her hair down. “I’ll make sure to see it.”
Rolling her neck, Celeste studied the giant fish model hanging from wires over their heads, its pale underbelly and gaping gills out of place in midair. As John and Chris conferred quietly beside her, she tapped out a message to Morgan, assuring her she’d be there soon. Morgan quickly responded with a thumbs-up and Did you win yet???????
Celeste stowed the phone with a small sigh as her right leg started a fast up-and-down. “Would they get on with it?” she mumbled.
John’s palm covered her knee, stilling her movement. “You okay?”
“I’m totally fine.” She should move away from his touch, but her system was relieved to absorb John’s steadiness through her kneecap in some kind of energy osmosis. “Just excited. Hope you’re ready for your magazine spread.”
“You don’t know that we’re going to—”
“I don’t know, but I believe.” She hit the table too hard, rattling all the silverware. “We’re just two short of your count from last year, with you-know-who.” After Breena’s swipe at Celeste during the Instagram scavenger hunt, she’d stopped using her name. It was totally immature but felt great. You-know-who was across the lobby now, shooting a surprisingly low number of furtive glances their way.
Probably because John had shown her just what he could do Breena-free. They’d spotted 169 different species of birds. Yes, Celeste had been there, but it was obvious she was along for the ride. This was John’s list, and John’s impending victory. And although she had to leave before his victory lap, she hoped he would eat it up.
“Good evening, fine people!” Linda cheered from the stage, beaming like a proud mom at the assembled birders.
“Thank fucking God.” Celeste settled her hand over John’s. Not ideal, but better than knocking over her water with her jittery energy. His fingers flexed under her palm, squeezing her knee.
Celeste was ready for the main event, but Linda had the audacity to embark on a long series of talking points about the association’s work toward conservation and future goals for the organization.
As John’s thumb stroked her knee again, Celeste picked through the phrases she’d parsed to say goodbye. She’d stared at her mirror while she got ready at home, her face surrounded by the halo of colorful notes as she practiced her delivery.
John, I wish you all the best.
Or, less formal: I appreciate all the orgasms, good luck with the birding.
Nothing was quite right. She’d have to settle for something between thank you and goodbye.
As Linda completed her mini–TED Talk, a slide show began on-screen behind her. First were pictures from the opening day, when Celeste had shown up as a girlfriend and left a new birder, then shots of birds the participants had captured in stunning photos, many of which she actually recognized, because apparently she was a bird-watcher now. She laughed at a shot she hadn’t seen yet—of her and John at the bar, Celeste’s arms raised in victory after saving the day with Emily Dickinson. Just on the edge of the picture, Breena frowned.
Finally, the slide show moved through the team selfies participants had posted. Chris whooped and whistled when John and Celeste’s photo appeared, but Celeste barely had to look up to know just how the creases of John’s cheeks held his smile, or how the dappled sun made her skin look pink. She’d studied the picture enough on John’s Instagram.
Tonight when she got home, she’d unfollow him so her thumbs couldn’t find that photo in weaker moments.
“I’m thrilled to tell you that this was our biggest year yet,” Linda declared, beaming. “We had more teams than ever before. And we know what you’re all waiting for, so I’ll get to it!”
Linda inched open an envelope like an Oscar presenter, as if she wasn’t the person who’d put the paper there in the first place. Under the table, Celeste slipped her hand under John’s, rubbing at his calluses with her fingertips. These she would miss most of all. Chris flashed a toothy smile and a thumbs-up as the birders sat rapt, stuffed specimens watching with glass eyes all around them.
Linda cleared her throat.
“The winner of this year’s annual Arizona Ornithological Society Bird Binge…”
Celeste held her breath, squeezing John’s hand.
“…with an amazing total of one hundred seventy-eight birds…”
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
Linda’s arms went wide in celebration.
“Francine and Jose Castaneda!”