Chapter Forty-Two #2
But, yeah, I had known a lot of people who were a little bit extra with their pets.
My mom had a Maltipoo that had a more extensive nighttime pampering and soothing routine than she did, had his own space on every couch, had specialty food delivered to the door every two weeks, went to a groomer to be fluffed and trimmed every third week.
She put sweaters on him for every holiday, dressed him up for Halloween, put him on her Christmas cards.
But nothing, nothing anyone I had ever seen a fur-mom or fur-dad do compared to what Barrett, a feather-dad, did for that macaw.
Every other day, he brought in food in a container that he had cooked specifically for the bird.
Never you mind that he literally never prepared anything for himself.
Diego got about ten different fresh vegetables, three fruits, and two grains.
He also had feeding schedules, bathing schedules, some special harness thing that also worked as some sort of bird diaper so he could take him out with him.
There was an entire shelf in his storage closet dedicated to treats.
He had a giant plastic container in the corner full of toy parts.
And he actually sat down at least once a week and made toys for Diego that the bird would literally destroy in minutes when it took him hours to make them.
All the while he stood by and praised him for the destruction.
"He's a, ah, little extra with him," I agreed, shrugging. Because even if it was a bit over the top, I found it sweet. He wasn't a lovey-dovey, 'give me snuggles and kisses' kind of pet owner, but he was incredibly dedicated regardless.
"He was the same way with the pig. Before he passed."
"The pig?" I asked, attention piqued.
"His sister-in-law got him a guinea pig.
She thought he needed something in his life.
This was before Diego. Anyway, yeah, he actually built this giant cage for it.
I've never seen anything like it. It had tunnels and houses and three floors.
Every kind of small animal toy and treat you can think of.
Fed it fresh veggies every day. His pets have always eaten better than him.
He lives on grease, I swear. You should see him poke at vegetables when I serve them.
Speaking of, we would all love to see you at dinner sometime. "
More like grill me, try to figure out why I was the one Barrett decided to bring into his life when, clearly, he was not the dating sort.
"I will have to talk to Barrett about it.
He's on a case lately. And, well, you know how he gets when he's on a case.
" They had to. Since I did. And I had only been cleaning for him for about six weeks.
Piling my laundry back into the basket, I lifted it.
"Do you want me to hang around?" I asked, looking out into the lot where only one light was located, flickering a little half-heartedly.
"Hang ar..." she started, then understood. "Oh, no! Tig is here. He's just finishing up a call in the truck. Seriously, though. If Barrett comes to dinner the next time, you have to come. Or, really, even if he doesn't come, we'd like to have you there. Do you cook?"
"I microwave," I admitted, watching her shake her head.
"What is it with the girls in this town? No one ever knows how to cook. I swear, I know a woman who can wilt lettuce by looking at it. Well, no matter. You can just come and hang out while we cook."
She sounded so sure, so set on the idea.
I felt a stab of guilt at lying to her, getting her hopes up.
Clearly, she—and likely everyone else at Sawyer's place—saw Barrett as a little brother, one who needed a little extra help, attention, to make sure he stayed on the right track.
Kenzi likely thought I was part of that, that I was a sign that he was prioritizing things other than work, that I would bring him down to Earth a little bit more.
While all I was really doing was trying to find ways to trick him into letting me out of the deal we'd made.
It wasn't often I felt guilt, but there was no denying I was feeling it then as I sent her a smile that hurt my cheeks. "Sounds awesome. I can't wait," I told her, making my way to the door. "I hope that coffee stain comes out."
"He surprised me with breakfast in bed," she told me, smile going a little wicked.
"I thanked him properly. The duvet has paid for our sins.
But it was worth it," she told me, waving goodbye as she reached for her phone with the other hand, likely calling everyone else in Barrett's life to tell them she'd met me, that she'd gotten a little scoop, that she'd gotten me to agree to come to dinner sometime.
On my way out, the gaze of a giant man in a truck fell on me, sending me a small smile and a nod as I made my way to my car.
His gaze seemed to stay on me until I got in, put the car in reverse to pull away.
Though I had the feeling it had less to do with being nosy, and more to do with wanting to make sure I was safe and on my way.
I was barely in my front door when I reached for my own phone, hitting the contact that would call up Barrett's office since I needed to hit him up sometimes to make sure he was even around so I could clean.
"What?"
"What? That's how you answer your business phone?" I asked, smiling a little at the rudeness. Whoever thought it was possible to find a lack of manners somehow endearing?
"Clarke," he said, voice airy. An exhale.
I swear it was like the rush of warm air shivered over my skin, something that made my insides wobble a little unexpectedly.
"You were here already this week," he added, and I could hear the glasses tapping the phone as he pulled them off, the sound of them falling, clinking against the side of a mug on his desk.
He was likely reaching up, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Tired. He'd had circles under his eyes when I had seen him a few days ago.
And since the case was not solved yet, he likely still hadn't had more than a few snatches of sleep.
"I know what you are up to, you dirty little liar, you," I told him, pulling open my fridge, grimacing at the empty contents before reaching for the last Greek yogurt, figuring it would have to do.
"What on earth are you talking about?"
"You are going around telling your friends and family that you are fucking me," I declared, smiling when he choked on the coffee he'd been trying to sip. "Yeah, funny thing. I was doing laundry tonight, and I ran into Kenzi. Who seemed to know all about me."
"I... I never said we were... fucking."
"But you never exactly said we weren't either," I finished for him.
"Something like that." There was tension in his voice, vocal cords strung too tight.
"It's fine. Actually, I will even play along for you if you want."
"What do you want?" he asked, making my lips twitch, liking that he knew I wouldn't do it just because it was nice, that I had my motives. Just like I was sure he had his own.
"A short sabbatical," I told him, throwing my legs over the arm of my couch, yogurt on the table beside me, mostly forgotten as I smiled up at my ceiling.
Food was not easily laid aside for me. And if I was doing it for him, it seemed to mean something.
Or maybe it would have if I had been analyzing it enough right then.
"Why?"
"I have some things I need to do."
"Clarke... whatever it is you have going on with the Turkish mob, let it go."
If only it were that easy.
I had to do it.
I had to prove everyone wrong.
I needed, more importantly, to prove myself right.
Because, quite frankly, if I didn't, I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to do with my life.
"Don't worry about me, Barrett. I can handle myself. So, do we have a deal?"
"How long?"
"I don't know," I admitted, shrugging even though he couldn't see me. "Hopefully not too long."
"Fine." His voice was a snapping thing, biting at the word.
"Fine," I agreed, hearing a little bit of defensiveness slip into my own tone.
"Clarke?" he asked a second later, after I thought he had already hung up.
"Yeah?"
"Be careful."
This time, he did hang up.
And I just lay there, heart doing this weird tripping thing I didn't quite know how to interpret.
I was pretty sure it wasn't nothing, though, even as I tried to convince myself that it was.
But whatever it was, it would have to wait.
I had some shit to do.