Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Dove
The entire boat ride to the shoreline, I muttered curses under my breath until Heron finally called, "Anything you want to share with the class there, Dove?"
I glared at my younger sibling as they manned the rudder. We’d borrowed Petey's motorboat for the trip into town. It was slower and choppier than the ferry, but the ferry only ran twice a day in the off-season . . . well, three times a day, while Deacon pretty boy Harrow was in town.
Petey’s boat was a barely held together, rusty catastrophe filled with broken tools and snack wrappers. As I took in the sight, I started to consider whether our family had the budget to rent our own for Hannah’s emergency labor transit instead of borrowing this one.
As of now, they were planning on catching the ferry over three days before Hannah’s due date and renting a hotel until the baby arrived, which I was starting to think was the more sensible plan. Hawk’s anxiety would probably explode if Hannah went into labor at the zoo. Plus, a little hotel babymoon would be nice for them.
I angrily started plucking up granola bar wrappers and putting them into a plastic bag as the cool springtime wind whipped at my face. The sun this morning had tricked me into thinking it was summer, but the boat ride made my teeth chatter as the cold air lashed into me.
“I should’ve worn a windbreaker,” I said, my voice getting lost on the wind. “This is so ridiculous. I have work to do. Samantha has started plucking her feathers again and I think I might need to move her in with Jeremy even though she hates Jeremy because he loves her and she’s better with him even if she doesn’t want to?—”
“What? Are you talking about plucking your eyebrows?” I could barely hear Heron over the whipping wind. “Your eyebrows are fine.”
“What?”
“Huh?”
“Nothing! Never mind!” I screeched right at a lull in the breeze, and Heron’s cheeks dimpled in a knowing smile.
“I can’t tell if this lunch is freaking you out because he’s a movie star or because you hate him,” Heron said with a whistle.
“Definitely the latter.” I hated him more than Samantha hated Jeremy. And in the world of eclectus parrots, that was a whole hell of a lot.
“What?” Heron shouted to be heard over the engine as we picked up speed to get through the choppy water.
“Mom has really outdone herself this time," I shouted back. "Making me meet up with Deacon in town no less. Like I’m not busy enough already!” We pulled into the bay, slowing until we could talk without shouting as we wound our way through moored yachts bobbing in the marina. “You know someone is going to take our photo, and then he'll be able to pretend that I don't hate his guts. This is manipulation.”
“You don't hate his guts," Heron countered. I eyed them incredulously. "Oh, we're not at that realization yet? Got it," they added with a mocking laugh.
“What was Mom thinking? It’s like she doesn’t know me at all.”
“Yeah. I get that.” Heron’s expression soured, and I knew what they were thinking. “It’s gotten worse with all the grandbaby talk. She doesn’t know us as well as she thinks she does.”
Heron’s statement was actually a somewhat comforting reminder to pull my head out of my own ass. I wasn’t the only Lachlan sibling going through things right now.
“Just tell her,” I implored. “I mean, you obviously don’t have to, but . . . I think you should. It’s clearly weighing you down, and you know she’d be supportive.”
“She’s a hopeless romantic. She won’t understand.”
Something had shifted in Heron over the last year. They’d matured beyond Crane’s childish antics, and the two of us had started to surprisingly grow closer. They'd become a friendly confidante for me, and I’d been the first person they’d come out to as asexual last year. They’d known that I was demisexual, so I had probably been the safest person to tell.
On a promiscuity scale of Heron to Finch, I was much closer to the Heron side, but I still liked the idea of physically being with someone. My attempts at one-night stands had made me realize I wasn’t sexually attracted to people unless there was established feelings already there . . . which made my relationship options pretty slim in the hookup culture of dating apps.
“She will understand. Our entire family is queer in different ways,” I added encouragingly. “Well . . . except for maybe Crane. But seriously, no one would judge you for being ace.”
"Our mother is literally trying to set you up with a movie star so you can have a bunch of little movie star babies,” they countered.
“She is not trying to set me up with him!” I balked. “She’s trying to make me apologize to him for calling him a worthless piece of crap on the internet . . . among other things.”
“Oh, she’s definitely shipping you two,” Heron said with a laugh. “And she’s also definitely not ready to accept that I'm never going to have a partner or children.”
“Why no partner though? I thought you wanted to be with someone, just not the spicy stuff.” I furrowed my brow. “Aren’t you panromantic?”
They rolled their eyes at me. "And how many fellow panromantic asexuals am I going to meet on our little island, hm?"
“God, I feel you there,” I grumbled, swiping the strands of windswept hair out of my eyes. “How am I supposed to find anyone to date long enough to even catch feelings for them? Maybe you and I should just move to the city together. I’m sure there’d be people for us if the population of our hometown was bigger than 50.”
“I like living at the zoo. Cities seem like a sensory overwhelm nightmare.” They shrugged. "I've just accepted it's not going to happen for me. I'm going to be the fun auncle and that will be that."
"You're twenty-two,” I lamented. "You can't give up on love already.”
“You have," they pointed out.
“I’m twenty-seven years old,” I countered, putting on my Pride & Prejudice voice. “I’m the one in fun aunt territory.”
“We can be fun aunties and auncles together,” Heron replied. “The rest of our siblings will have enough kids to keep Mom busy for the foreseeable future.”
"I really, really hope so,” I muttered. "And Mom is not setting me up on a date with Deacon Harrow,” I added, unable to let it go. “That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said. She's helping him avoid a PR crisis in exchange for him to continue filming at the zoo."
"Oof," Heron said. "He threatened to pull filming from the zoo?"
“I have no idea.” I shrugged. “I’m just guessing based on how adamant she was I come today. I wouldn't put it past him though.”
"Damn," they said. “He used to be such a nice guy."
“Did he?” I asked. “I can’t remember anymore.”
We both knew that was a lie, but Heron, being one of the most emotionally intelligent of my siblings, decided to leave it alone.
The boat pulled into the harbor, and when I got to the wharf, I saw Deacon's assistant, Luca, waiting on the end.
"I'm to escort you to your lunch," he called as I climbed the stairs up the wharf.
I looked at him like he had two heads. “ Escort me?”
His smile softened. "Deacon would come himself but his reps insisted that it would draw a crowd. He has a reservation for you two at Seafarer’s Table.”
I frowned at Luca’s work attire—a tan blazer with a black T-shirt underneath, slacks, and shined black loafers. I looked between his perfectly pressed clothes and then down to my work uniform. “Seafarer’s Table? I was told we were having lunch at the pier for a photo op. As in the pier that is all food trucks, not fine dining?”
Luca shot a quick but noticeable look at my clothes that had my cheeks burning. He gave me a half-smile, half-grimace.
“This would've been great information to know before I came in wearing khakis covered in mud and bird shit,” I groused. “I thought we were just getting burgers or something. Who has lunch at Seafarer’s Table?”
Luca cringed. "I'm so sorry. I should’ve been more clear in my communication with?—”
"It's not your fault. It’s Deacon’s.” I blinked at his overly repentant expression. "I know you probably have to apologize for Deacon all the time, but you don't need to do that with me, okay? In fact, I insist.” Luca gave me a tight smile but nodded. "I should've asked for clarification on the dress code. Normally, lunch at the pier in this town means pizza, burgers, or fish and chips.”
I waved to Heron as they tore off into the midday sun. They were going to run some errands around town while I had my lunch, and then we were going to ride home together. My mom’s fridge had a running list of things we needed from town and it was the job of whoever was running into town next to grab it and do a supply run. Crane needed some WD40, Wren needed embroidery thread, Finch needed a specific brand of protein water, and Hannah had requested a giant bag of chocolate-covered pretzels.
My phone let out an ear-piercing ding! but it was only a photo Hawk sent to the family chat of our tiger with her tongue sticking out. Hannah’s due date was so close now that I had my phone notifications set to extra loud and obnoxious so I didn’t miss anything. I kept getting butterflies in my stomach all throughout the day, getting excited all over again for my friend. I knew Hannah was more than ready to serve this baby an eviction notice.
Luca inclined his head, and I started following after him. I shuffled my boots a little extra when we reached the gravel road, hoping it would rub most of the muck off them before I entered the elegant restaurant.
I swung my arms as I walked. “Let’s get this photo op over with.”
“This isn’t just for an amicable pic," Luca said. "Deacon wanted to have lunch with you to ask you something.”
“Ask me to publicly apologize I'm guessing,” I replied, staring at my still mud-splattered boots as we wandered the waterfront. “Or issue a retraction or whatever it is you people do.”
“Something else.”
That piqued my interest. What else could Deacon possibly want from me? “Could I get a clue?”
Luca had a cute, boyish smile when he deigned to show it. “Nope.”
“Can I buy a vowel?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Ugh, you're seriously not going to tell me, are you?” I pouted my bottom lip.
“Oh honey, that does not work on me,” he said with a laugh. “Do you know how many pouting divas I have to deal with on a day-to-day basis?”
“Fine,” I gritted out, catching up to him. I eyed him up and down. “You know, I think you might be the only person on Deacon’s team that isn’t a total douche nozzle.”
Luca nodded as we reached the front door of Seafarer’s Table. “I completely agree.”