Chapter 41 Bird
BIRD
I’m having a hard time trying to figure out the road map under the parking-lot lights of a rest stop in New Jersey. Jessa stands beside me, unwrapping the package of crackers she got from the vending machine, trying to give me one. “No, thanks,” I tell her.
“So,” Jessa begins. “There’s probably a story behind Boston? Why we’re going there right now, tonight?”
“Yeah. There’s a story. It’s kind of huge.
” I pause, trying to figure out where to even start.
My dad’s words from the birthday card I never received echo in my head.
My Birdie. My Birdie, he called me. “I got in this fight with Liv tonight. Actually, we’ve kind of been fighting a lot lately—and I’m not the only one, I hear.
Although, our fights haven’t come to blows. Not yet, anyway.”
She looks down and inhales sharply. “Heard about that, huh?”
I nod.
“You’ve been fighting about me?” she asks.
“About the rumors. Apparently it’s been wreaking havoc on her social life.”
Jessa lets out an anxious puff of air, then says, “How are you doing with it all? Has anyone said or done anything too bad?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s okay. Is it weird that I don’t care? Not really confirming or denying anything. People have mostly just been staring; that’s the most uncomfortable part.”
“Yeah, I hate that,” Jessa agrees.
“Well, Liv has been on me constantly to just get a boyfriend, start dating someone, anyone. And I—”
“You could,” she interrupts. “I would understand.”
“Jessa,” I say firmly, “I am already in a relationship with someone.”
She blinks several times, like she might start crying again.
“I—I’m talking about you!” I tell her, abandoning the line I’m trying to draw along Interstate 78 to wrap my arm around her. “Honey,” I add. “Babe. I’m talking about you.”
“Oh. Okay. I wasn’t sure if we…”
“We were on a break, and you know I side with Rachel over Ross on this. A break is not a breakup. Not to me. I mean, it’s not to you, is it?”
“No. It’s not to me, either.”
“Good. Okay, I’m glad we sorted that out.”
She waits a beat, then clears her throat and brings us back on topic. “So you fought with Liv tonight?”
“I did. And it ended with me pulling up the goddamn duct tape.”
“Finally!” she shouts, and I see her light up for the first time tonight. “Bird… I have to tell you, I’m really loving this side of you.”
“What side?” I ask shyly, because I know what she’s talking about. Maybe I do have a new side, one that’s not so buttoned-up and afraid to take chances.
“The side that kissed me at school and gave zero fucks about who saw. That was completely badass, by the way. Hawt.”
“Really?”
She nods and I look around quickly before I pull her closer to me, kiss her now like I kissed her then, except this time she just closes her eyes and lets me.
When we part, she says, “Yeah, really.”
I laugh and so does she.
“Well, my mom and Daniel are not quite as happy about this new side of me. I got into it with my mom—like full-blown into all the shit swept under the rug.”
“Whoa, I thought you pretty much get along with your mom.”
“Yeah, as long as I do what she wants and never question anything, we get along great,” I say, only realizing now that this is not something new; it has always been this way with her. “I confronted her about my father.”
I fill her in on the hidden letters, I show her the envelope with his address my mom has had all this time. I read the card out loud to her. “He said ‘my Birdie.’ My Birdie,” I repeat.
She murmurs, “Holy shit,” as she reads it for herself, holding the card gingerly at the corners, like she knows this is a fragile artifact to me.
“And… I found out the real reason she’s been keeping him away.”
“Why?” She hands the card over, and I place it back in the safety of its envelope.
“He’s… he’s…” There’s only one way to say it. “He’s gay, Jessa.”
“Oh my god!” she shouts, suddenly coming alive.
“But she told me… She said he… She said he has AIDS. Said she wouldn’t let someone like that around her children.” I can’t help but let out a stifled laugh. “Can you believe that?”
“Oh my god,” she repeats, quieter this time. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Still processing, I guess. I mean, she’s probably lying, right? About the AIDS thing?”
“Maybe,” she says, looking down. “I mean, Liv essentially told the better part of school I was an AIDS monkey once, so yeah, people lie about that shit all the time.”
“I hope no matter how fucked my mom’s logic is, she wouldn’t lie about something that serious.
But if it helped her get her way, she just might, right?
” I ask, but when I look over at Jessa, she doesn’t seem convinced.
“Actually, I hope she is lying, because if he’s sick, if he’s dying…
I don’t know what I would do. I always imagined we’d have this great relationship somehow, someday. But if…”
“Hey,” she says, her voice soft and solid, placing her hand on top of mine. “I know you’re scared. But I’m here and if—if—it’s true, you won’t be alone. Okay?”
“Okay,” I tell her.
At 10:58 p.m., with only one hour and two minutes left in the entire millennium, we’re finally pulling up outside the address on the envelope.
My father’s house.
I stare for a moment at the brownstone, and I can’t quite make myself believe that my dad is actually inside.
I’m pretty sure I’m parked illegally, but I turn the car off anyway.
I look up and down the street. This neighborhood is filled with rainbow flags and historic-looking brick structures showing their age, but also brightly lit up with decorations left from Christmas—this world feels foreign, nothing like our street back home.
“What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
“I’m sure he does. Who wouldn’t want to see you?”
“You didn’t, at first.”
“What?” Jessa looks genuinely surprised, then gets serious. “What are you talking about?”
“The night we met. At Six Roots. The open mic.”
“Bird, when I first saw you on that stage, the incredible poetry coming from you, I not only wanted to meet you, I was straight-up crushing. I had no idea you knew Kayla, and when I told Dade I thought you were, well, hot…”
“He laughed,” I interrupt, finally understanding.
“Yeah, and I told him to shut up, and then you came right to our table and I figured out you were, you know, Bird.”
“That I am.”
“And in usual me fashion, I freaked, knocked over a coffee, and ran to the crapper.”
I’m laughing now, a silent shaking through my whole body. “Oh my god, Jessa! I totally thought this whole time you two were laughing at me—at my poem! I hated you for weeks over this. Weeks.”
Jessa’s eyes widen as she covers her mouth with her bandaged hand and mutters, “Oh, fuck me…”
I smile at her, at my own absurdly belated realization that she always liked me, she always saw me, she wanted me first. It’s a warm, cozy feeling, knowing that what we have didn’t grow from roots of anger, but awkwardness and awe and one big misunderstanding.
“I can’t believe you never said anything! You’ve been thinking I was that bitch the entire time you’ve known me?”
“I secretly forgave you.”
“Secretly. I. Was. Crushing. Hard. From the beginning.”
“I was too,” I admit.
She leans over and plants a small kiss on my now very red cheek. It’s sweet and innocent and just what I need. I feel the memory of her lips tingle on my skin and can’t wait until the hard shit of the day ends and we can find a real place to crash in each other’s arms.
“And I loved your poem, Bird,” she adds. “I’ve loved all your poems.” She takes my hand and interlaces her fingers with mine. “So, now that we can safely assume he isn’t going to laugh at you and dump a unicorn latte in your lap, think you’re ready for this?”
She’s smiling at me; god, I love her smile—I’ve missed her smile.
I take a deep breath, summoning all the bravery I’ve been building with her.
As we head across the street to the brownstone and up the front steps, Jessa walks beside me.
But I pause before ringing the bell. There’s a party going on inside, and I can see people laughing through the window, wineglasses in their hands, smiles on their faces.
Somehow I was expecting a quiet home, maybe even a little bit dark and sad.
Instead, this home is filled with light and music and happy people.
One woman leans in and kisses another woman, and no one notices.
I notice. Then Jessa takes my hand in hers, looks me in the eye, and says, “We got this.”
My hand is trembling as I press the doorbell. At first I don’t think anyone hears it over all the music and people laughing and talking. I knock instead, and awkwardly look at Jessa and mouth, What do I do? But then the door opens, making me jump.
The man who opens the door, I recognize him—Baker, of Nardino & Baker. Seth Baker. Except he’s older now than he was in the grainy photo, and has an even bigger smile than he did in the picture.
“Hellooooo, stragglers!” he’s bellowing before he realizes we aren’t late party guests. “Oh, sorry, can I help you?”
Jessa nudges my shoulder gently with hers. “H-h-hi, I—I—I’m…”
I trail off, words too hard right now—not enough in this moment to explain who I am. The door opens wider and there he is, older than in my memory but still himself. Still my dad.
“Seth, who do have we here?” He’s grinning, red-faced, likely from the contents of his glass, having a wonderful evening, and here I am, interrupting.
But as he gets a good look at me, his face shifts and he absently passes his wineglass to Seth.
It changes, not into disgust or fear or anger, but something else.
Something like disbelief and joy, maybe, I hope.
“B-B-B-Birdie?”
My heart is thundering and words aren’t coming and I nod and now he holds his hands out toward me, this man I remember so well, but only in pieces, like from a dream: his capable hands holding firewood and showing me how to get it lit, his body demonstrating the moves on the skating rink, his arms around me.
For once, it isn’t a memory as I slam into him and hold on tight. Dad.