Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Dove
One of the many things zookeepers and our animals had in common was our absolute devotion to good food. And the flaky custard cream tart in my hand was no exception. I rocked back and forth like an excited little love bird as I took another hasty bite.
"You are a freaking genie.” My words were muffled by the mouthful of sugary custard as I spoke. “This tart is laced with something, isn’t it? I think I might be high. Food isn’t supposed to be this good.”
“While I appreciate all the sex faces,” Frankie said with a laugh. “It’s just a normal tart.”
Hannah moaned. “There’s nothing normal about this pillowy slice of sugary heaven.”
Frankie waved the comment away, as if we weren’t being 100% serious. “It’s just a little something I whipped up.”
“You know, I love Hawk and all,” Hannah said through giant chipmunk cheeks. “But I think you might be my favorite person in the entire world right now.”
Frankie smiled wider. “Hits the spot, doesn’t it?”
“Not many pregnant women can describe their cravings and have a decorated chef just whip it up for them.” Hannah grabbed another tart off the tray.
“So I’m guessing this should be one to add to the new catering menu?” Frankie asked, bouncing on her toes.
“Hell yeah, you should.” My voice was a little too exuberant as I licked my fingers. “So long as you make double the amount you need every time you bake them. Once the twins taste this, you’re going to have to be on high alert for tart theft.”
I was forever grateful that Hannah and I were Frankie’s chosen food testers for all her new recipes. Heron and Crane always volunteered, but Hannah and I had more helpful feedback than the constantly ravenous twins.
Currently, Frankie was in absolute heaven with the film crew around and a bunch of new mouths to feed. She was really pulling out the big guns, and already two different crew members had professed their undying love for her. I wouldn’t be surprised if Finch put a ring on Frankie’s finger by the end of the week, just to keep all of Frankie’s newfound admirers at bay.
Finch said she’d barely seen her girlfriend the last few weeks. Frankie had been so busy in the kitchen and had already updated the summer catering service menu twelve times based off her results.
Hannah's eyes rolled back as she grabbed a chocolate tart and took the first orgasmic bite. "Holy shit, these are good." She propped the tray that held a selection of tarts on her swollen belly.
Hannah had reached the point of pregnancy where there was absolutely no comfortable way to sit or sleep or move, and Frankie and I had made it our mission to distract her as much as possible. Although, Frankie’s method of cooking for Hannah was far more effective than me trying to show her all the director’s cut Lord of the Rings movies.
I couldn't believe one of my best friends was about to have a baby. I couldn't believe I was about to be an aunt. It felt like just yesterday that Hannah had tornado-ed her way into our lives, and now she was going to be bringing a new member of our family into the world. None of it felt real. But I knew the moment I held that baby, it would be.
Hawk had turned into a broodier father than any bird I'd ever worked with. He even put the village weaver to shame with his hardcore nesting and constantly checking on Hannah. It was kind of adorable. Every little kick, he thought the baby was coming and wanted to make the mad dash to the boat. It would be a two-hour trip to the hospital by boat and car, and he was determined to get there with heaps of time to spare.
“Two weeks,” Frankie said, rubbing Hannah's shoulders.
“Two weeks,” Hannah echoed.
"Or a couple more," I said and instantly regretted it when Hannah gave me a death stare. Due dates were more suggestions than definitive timelines, especially for first-time moms who tended to carry longer. But I wasn't about to be snapped in two by an angry mama bear, so I just meekly echoed, “Two weeks.”
"Tomorrow I'll make you mud pies if you tell me what you're going to name him," Frankie suggested.
Hannah zipped her lips. "Not telling until he's out of the oven," she said, rubbing her stomach. "And you'll make me mud pies anyway because you have a new recipe and you're dying to try it."
Frankie chuckled. “You know me too well.”
Frankie had slotted straight into our family dynamic just as easily as Hannah had. My older siblings' partners had become some of my closest friends. I loved my siblings, sure, but Finch and Lark had always been super close and I'd never had the same relationship with them. Now that Lark had moved away, we were actually closer, but still, Frankie and Hannah knew me in a way my siblings didn't. I was grateful they were a part of my life. I'd probably have left the zoo years ago if they hadn't been a part of it. Even with them here, I still day-dreamed about when I would officially fly the nest.
The phone in the Peckish Peacock rang, and we all looked at it like it was haunted. Who would be calling us when the zoo was closed for the off-season?
Frankie tentatively picked it up. "Hello?" Her eyes widened and she looked at me. "Okay . . . . Do you want to talk to her? Okay. Okay. Uh-huh. Bye." She hung up the phone. "Your mom needs to talk to you in her office."
I held a hand to my chest. "Jeez, you scared me for a second." I stood. “Why didn't she just radio me?”
Frankie shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe because of the filming? She was cryptically vague about it."
"Weird," I said, not thinking much of it. “It better not be a new requisition because my roster of animals is filled,” I added. “Especially with baby-bird season on the horizon. Unless she wants to acquire blue-footed boobies, in which case I’d make an exception.”
“You just want an excuse to say boobies every day,” Hannah teased.
“Are you sure you’re not a lesbian?” Frankie asked.
“Alas,” I said with a mocking sigh. “I sit under a different part of the rainbow.”
“We needed the demisexual representation to round us out,” Hannah said, rubbing her belly. “This family is like queer Pokémon . We’ve gotta catch ‘em all.”
With a laugh, I waved as Hannah and Frankie went back to their taste testing and I headed off. It was a short walk from the Peckish Peacock to the prep kitchens where Mom's office was located.
As I entered, the sounds of Aya’s radio echoing through the cavernous space greeted me. I presumed one of my siblings must’ve turned it on in her absence. The kitchens had been eerily quiet while she was off on vacation. I guessed Heron was the culprit judging by the chopped up fruit in a bucket labeled “tamarins.”
I hummed along to the Mumford and Sons track as I jogged up the stairs to Mom's office door.
But when I opened it, the song on my lips abruptly halted. It wasn’t my mother sitting behind the desk.
My stomach plummeted into my boots. There, leaning back in Mom’s office chair with his Hollywood-muscled arms crossed tightly across his chest, was Deacon motherfucking Harrow.