chapter eight
Wren
The mobile spa company set up their pedicure chairs in the family room and Sparrows are helping to bring in water. Gemma is coming through the front door with Lance and carrying a brown bag of pastries and a tray of coffees. A Sparrow takes the refreshments from her while Gemma greets me with a kiss on each cheek. “Darling!”
“Hi Gem, hi Lance,” I say as they come in.
It is loud and busy in the house, and I do my best not to cringe at the overstimulation. “They’re setting up in the family room. I think they’re almost done.”
Spa equipment and a long table of hors d’oeuvres and ingredients for different flavored mimosas fill the room. After Gemma and I have our turn with the spa company, we will leave and all of the Sparrows and Crows can have their turn if they choose. While I know Dad pays them well enough to do this on their own wages, getting it free at work is likely still a fun perk.
A few minutes later, Gemma and I are sitting in two of the four mobile pedicure chairs and catching up with the techs that have worked for the company for years. I ask about how the school haircuts went during spring break. I learned, years ago, many children did not get professional haircuts because of the cost or availability in their areas. So, I created a funding source from my dad’s business that provided the mobile spa company with enough money to give free haircuts a couple times a year to some of the local schools in low-income areas. This led to Dad giving me a position in his company that helps organize charitable donations and events.
I look up to see Lance settling into a chair on the other side of Gemma. He sighs as he puts his bare feet into the hot water. Jay doesn’t know the fourth seat is for him. I go to tell him, only to see him staring at Lance with a horrified expression. As if Lance’s presumptuous and unprofessional behavior appalled him. He also doesn’t know Lance has been around long enough to know Gemma and I insist he take part.
“Jay,” I call to him and point to the fourth seat where a tech, Jenny, is eyeing the size of his feet warily.
“No, thanks,” Jay says and sits in one of the tufted armchairs that had been pushed to the side of the room.
“You’re missing out, man,” Lance says and settles in with his eyes closed.
“He’s a pedicure virgin,” Gemma announces.
“Oh, I’ll be gentle,” Jenny says teasingly. “I’ll go slow.”
Jay shifts uncomfortably in his chair like he wants anything other than to be in this room with us.
“Stinky feet! Stinky feet!” Gemma chants, pointing at Jay.
All four techs, Lance, and I join in until Jay finally rolls his eyes and gets up. Pink stains the skin just over his mask as he unties and toes off his boots. Once he settles into the seat and his big feet cause water to slosh out of the tub, he lets out a long sigh. A Sparrow says nothing as she cleans up the water spill and we all settle into a relaxed silence as the calming spa music plays from a speaker just behind the chairs.
A Sparrow serves us mimosas and snacks and I threaten Jay with his job if he doesn’t have something. We aren’t due anywhere for hours and I am sure he could process three sips of champagne before then. The man is wound tighter than a spring and I can feel it when he is around me. It’s been driving me nuts, so I insist he relaxes. It is impossible for me to chill out with this ticking bomb sitting next to me, staring at me with his alarmingly blue eyes.
“How is Maxwell?” Gemma asks softly when I am pretty sure both Lance and Jay are totally Zen and not listening to us.
I give a small sigh. “I don’t know. He never really texts me back. We’re going out on Saturday, though.”
Gemma is quiet. I know she feels bad for me. “Why are you with him if you feel you’re not valued by him?”
“Daddy approves of him,” I murmur darkly.
“Yeah, but I know your dad. He wouldn’t approve of you being unhappy. He wants you safe. You need to find someone who is safe, but you also see yourself in love with. Not just settled,” she says kindly.
“You’re right, but the only people he trusts as safe are the Crows and Jay,” I say with a shake of my head. “I mean, even when I’m with Maxwell at his home, a Jay is there with me.”
“Ew, do they hear you doing it ?” Gemma asks with a scrunch of her nose.
I shrug. “Sometimes, probably. I don’t ask. Honestly, they wouldn’t hear much, even if they were in the room with us.”
“Mmkay, so Maxwell doesn’t do it for you in any aspect of the relationship. Got it,” Gemma says sadly. “Hook up with a Crow, then.”
We both shake with quiet laughter.
“They have to keep their masks on, though,” I giggle.
“Hey, some people are into that. Remember that club I modeled for a few years ago?” Gemma laughs.
“Oh, the sex club?”
“Yeah! They have a mask night. Did you know it was a kink?” She asks.
“No way! I had no clue!” I exclaim with a blush.
“Anyway, maybe you’ll meet someone in your new neighborhood. Go to town meetings like in Gilmore Girls or whatever they do for fun in the suburbs,” Gemma says and settles back into her seat.
“Oh, thank God. I’m next,” Dad’s tired voice sounds from the hallway as he peers into the room. He’s loosening his tie from around his neck and kicking off his shoes.
“Hi, Mr. Taylor,” the techs greet fondly in unison.
“Angelica, treat!” comes the cry of my bird from the hall. A Sparrow enters with Angelica perched on her shoulder.
“Angelica, you may have some fruit,” I laugh. “Sparrow, there’s some sweet potato in the refrigerator, too.”
Angelica gives an impression of a blue jay’s calls. “Pretty Blue Jay!”
“Thanks, Angelica,” Jay replies sleepily from where he has techs working on both his toenails and fingernails and has cucumber slices over his eyes.
****
This afternoon, I have time booked at the gun range before dinner with Dad. It’s Jay’s night off to go see his family and do his office work. Not that he can’t ask me for time on other days, but I guess it’s easier to have a dedicated evening. Of all the things I’ve done to get Jays to quit, I’ve never messed with their time off. That’s not the type of monster I choose to be.
I always take one of our drivers to the range, because taxi drivers don’t enjoy dropping a masked man outside a gun range. So, I adapt. Jay communicated to headquarters where we are headed, but he looks wary as we go inside. We check in at the front desk and head to our space. Jay watches silently as I prepare my gun and load it. I know what I’m doing, but he watches me like he’s waiting for me to mess up.
When it’s time to shoot, I don my headset and safety glasses and take aim. I’m not a perfect shot, but I’ve had some of the best teachers in the city work with me over the past few years. My paper target comes racing back at me and I tear it off the rack, turning to smile proudly at Jay.
Jay gives a curt nod before gesturing for it to be his turn. I step back as he sets up his own target. He inspects my gun, takes it apart and puts it back together again. Every freaking Jay does the same thing. I don’t understand it, but it seems benign, so I let it continue. He lines up his shot. His stance is perfect and lethal. His muscles effortlessly adopt textbook perfect posture as if he has been physically built for handling weapons. His hands dwarf my handgun, but he remains in a correct hold. He shoots until the magazine empties and then pulls it out before setting it on the table. He takes off his headset as his target zooms back toward us.
“Nice little thing you’ve got here,” he says after I take off my headset.
“Thanks, we did a lot of research before I bought it,” I say confidently.
He says nothing else as I shoot a few more rounds. He doesn’t even correct any posture or grips. I don’t intentionally do anything wrong while holding a firearm. I’m not an idiot. But I am surprised he doesn’t feel the need to nitpick anything about what I’m doing. The silence makes me itchy despite our headsets.
When my time is up, we head out to meet the Crow who is playing driver today. The drive home is silent again. There are three grown adults in this car and none of us speak. I hate it. I can’t even see their faces to know their moods. It makes me feel on edge to not be able to talk to the people around me all day, every day. Sure, this Jay has slipped up a few times and let me see he is an actual human under the mask, but that just means today he is on his best behavior.
I bring it up at family dinner. Well, it’s me and Dad and Hawk.
“How was your range time, Wren?” Dad asks as he takes a sip of the red wine he and Hawk have on nights when they aren’t going anywhere.
“Good. Jay likes my gun,” I say distractedly.
“He said that?” Dad and Hawk exchange glances.
“Nope, he mind melded with me,” I snark and stab at our starter salad.
“Is everything alright with Blue Jay? He is new,” Hawk says, his tone professional.
“Can he be unmasked when I move?” I blurt.
“Why?” Dad asks, his face blank.
“I would feel more comfortable if he was unmasked,” I say with a huff.
“Has he made you uncomfortable? I’ll talk to Safe House about getting a new—”
“No, it’s not that,” I interrupt Hawk.
Hawk and Dad look at each other again.
“He scares my neighbors.”
I can tell Hawk is fighting a smile under his mask.
“He scares my neighbors, and some of them are kids. I can’t be the scary house on the block before I even do something weird to earn the title,” I grouse.
“I thought the neighbor situation had been handled,” Hawk says.
“Right, because he can talk to you ,” I snap.
“Correct,” Dad says slowly. “Hawk is his supervisor.”
“And I will have to live with him in my house and not know what he looks like!” I shout. “I will feed him and pay him and… and… wash his laundry, but I won’t know his face!”
“He will do his own laundry,” Hawk says in his ever professional and calm voice. “And he will provide his own food. If you feed him, that is your choice.”
“Blue Jay and Hawk have lived in our home since your mother’s passing. I don’t understand how it is now a problem,” Dad says in a stern voice. I know that voice. He uses it to mask his worry about how he is parenting me. But I’m a fucking adult.
“Ugh!” I growl and throw down my fork with a clatter. A silent Sparrow swiftly cleans up my mess and I notice her nails have a nice red polish on them after her manicure this morning. “Look, Sparrow here has really great nail polish on, and I want to ask her what the name of it is. But if I asked her, she wouldn’t be allowed to answer me!”
Dad clears his throat and wipes his mouth on his napkin. “Sparrow, could you please tell Wren what the name of your nail polish color is?”
“It’s OPI’s Cajun Shrimp. Um, and thank you for the manicure,” she whispers before whisking away my spilled salad.
Dad raises an eyebrow at me in challenge.
“Oh no, a personal detail about Sparrow!” I cry out in a dramatic voice. “We will all be murdered in the street tomorrow!”
“Wren Elizabeth Taylor!” Dad shouts, his fist coming down hard on the table. The plates and glasses rattle, and then the room is silent.
I know I took it too far. I know mocking the trauma he endured at my mom’s death was wrong. My own words hurt me, too. But I couldn’t help the explosion. It came out so fast and gave me such a rush of release I couldn’t have stopped it if I’d tried.
Dad bows his head as I struggle to breathe through the sharp lump in my throat.
“Everyone I see every day is in a mask and can’t talk to me,” I whisper. My voice is rasping and scratchy, my breath squeaking when I suck it in. “And everyone I see not in a mask is creeped out. I can’t try to make a new start in my life with the same bullshit following me.”
“I would consider a change…” Dad starts and then looks up at me and Hawk, his eyes bouncing between us. “I would consider allowing him to talk to you. No identifying information, but… conversation, simple and cordial and professional, could be allowed.”
A small weight lifts from my chest. “I won’t ask about his name or anything. But being allowed to talk to him about movies and music and just… life stuff would be amazing.”
Hawk gives Dad a long look that communicates something I can’t decipher.
“Blue Jay is not your friend, Wren. He’s there to protect you,” Dad says.
“I know, I know.” I roll my eyes.
“The mask remains, Wren. And if speaking to him changes things then… I will be forced to hire a new Jay and we will be back to not speaking,” Dad says with finality.
While I will still do my best to get Jay to quit, this was at least a step in a better direction. If Jay quits before my move in date, Dad can’t stop me from moving out. I am an adult, and the house is in my name. He cannot legally stop me. And without a Jay, I will have all the freedom I want.