Chapter 14 #2
“I just want to get this community service under my belt as quickly as I can, even though I enjoy it. I’ll be fine,” I reassure him.
After we idly chat a little more, I take my last few bites of pancakes and get up to help clean before leaving for the shelter.
We move around each other easily in the kitchen as we get everything put away, the birds being wonderful helpers as they playfully try to steal utensils.
I dash upstairs for a quick shower, throw on jean shorts and a nautical striped boatneck tee, drag a brush through my hair, and dab on some minimal makeup. With a hasty goodbye wave to Gage, Hermes, and Daisy, I head to the animal shelter.
My focus is on the road and the angry rock music I’m blasting, although my mind keeps wandering to my new husband.
It’s unnerving how easily he’s able to make me feel comfortable enough to be vulnerable, make me laugh, make my stomach flip.
He’s always had that effect on me since I met him, but it’s tenfold now that we’re living together.
Eventually we’re both going to combust with all of this dancing around each other, either in the best or worst way.
That’s a problem for future Celeste to figure out.
When I walk into the shelter, I hear the usual ruckus of barking and whining.
I love coming here, but it also kills me to see these poor dogs needing homes.
Some of them have been through the wringer, and I feel a special kinship with them.
It’s why animal shelters are such a popular community service activity for sentencing.
Both the humans and animals know what it is to experience trauma, and there is so much healing in working with each other. I wish I could take them all.
I check in with the pretty middle aged lady at the front desk so that my hours are recorded, and start my work checking the cages.
Once everyone has all of the food and water they need, I get a small group of dogs ready to go on a walk to the park nearby.
The sidewalk pavement feels just cool enough for it to not hurt their paws when I check, even though it’s cloudy today with a threat of rain.
The pittie mix of the group immediately starts rolling around in the grass when we reach the park.
The lab mix follows suit, but the dainty spaniel mix stays by my side like the lady she is.
After a solid twenty minutes of letting them have fun, we walk back. The manager of the shelter, Michelle, is in the parking lot when we get there, looking pissed and dumbfounded. She’s holding a birdcage, what the fuck?
“Do you believe this shit? Someone just left this parrot in the parking lot and drove off. The note on it says, ‘Too noisy and messy, can’t take it anymore.’ I truly hate people.”
“Were you able to see them or get the license plate?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“By the time I saw what was happening through the front windows, I didn’t get out here in time. The cameras may have caught it all, though.”
The poor bird is just staring at us with small black eyes, probably wondering what the hell is going on.
It doesn’t look like a parakeet, but it’s also smaller than Daisy and much smaller than Hermes.
A green head, wings, and back contrast a whitish grey lower face and chest. I snap a picture and text it to Gage, because of course my first thought now when it comes to pet birds will always be him.
Do you know what kind of bird this is? Some asshole abandoned it in the parking lot here at the shelter
Random Man Who Proposed
People suck. That is a gorgeous green quaker parrot. I had one just like it when I was a kid. Is it injured or anything??
“Michelle, do you think it looks injured or sick? My husband is something of a pet bird expert, he might be able to help.”
Whelp, that just slipped out. That’s the first time I’ve referred to him as my husband to anyone.
“It looks ok. The feathers maybe don’t look super clean or fluffy like I’ve seen on other birds, but it’s not scrawny and the eyes are clear. We need to find an exotics vet to make sure, though.”
Just then it flutters its wings, and lets out a chirp, before shuffling around in the cage a little. I text Gage back relaying everything Michelle said. He responds quickly.
Random Man Who Proposed
I’ve got time before I have to open the bar. I’ll come by and take it to my vet. They have an opening this afternoon, I already made the call. So are we taking in a new bird?
How am I supposed to keep my walls up when he does stuff like this? When he drops everything to come help me? When he asks me about taking in a new bird like we make decisions as a couple?
That’s not my call, it’s your house. Would the other birds be nice to it?
It is your house, too, wife. Everything of mine is now half yours, technically. We never did a prenup. You get a say.
Holy shit, he’s right. We had so much going on to plan the wedding that we didn’t do a prenup. I’d never even consider taking anything from him in the inevitable divorce, but why had we skipped that? Does he have no self preservation whatsoever?
Of course we’re rescuing this poor bird if you don’t think it will be a problem. We are having a MUCH longer conversation later regarding that whole part about me technically owning half of your things. I have to get back to helping here
Fair. See you soon
He shows up half an hour later, while I’m doing some cleaning and Michelle is running the front desk.
We got the parrot more comfortable with a little spray shower, food, and water in the meantime.
Gage has showered since I left, his hair still a little damp and tousled.
The jeans and black t-shirt with the bar’s logo he has on mold to him so perfectly it damn near makes me sigh like a smitten school girl.
Clearly, it has been way too long since I’ve gotten off, because my libido is making me stupid for my husband.
His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, but I can still make out how they crinkle in the corners when he sees me.
I realize almost too late that Michelle is watching, and I told her he’s my husband.
It would look weird if I didn’t go up to greet him.
So I walk toward him with a smile, opening my arms to hug him.
“Hey baby, thanks for coming,” I say as I wrap my arms around his waist. He immediately understands, circling his arm around me to draw me closer, lowering his face to mine to plant a quick, sweet kiss on my lips.
“Of course, mi vida. Where is the poor bird?” Holy shit, I’ve never heard him speak Spanish before. Is he fluent? Why are my knees turning to jelly over a little peck and what I’m assuming is an endearment? He could be cursing me out for all I know, though. I took French in school.
“It’s in here, we tried to get him or her more comfortable with a little bath, some food, and fresh water,” I inform him. I lead him to the back room where we put the cage, and he immediately goes up to take a look.
“Oh, you’re a beauty,” he croons, and the bird immediately perks up.
Same, bird. I’d perk up if he called me a beauty, too.
“Do you think it’ll be ok?” I ask.
“No way to be sure until the vet examines it, but I think…,” he takes a quick look underneath the bird. “Yeah, the vet will need to do a test to find out whether we’ve got a he or a she, there’s nothing visual to tell me. I think this gorgeous baby will be ok, though.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Is this bird parenthood?
The adorable little parrot blinks at me, and a realization hits me like a freight train.
He or she will be my first ever pet that I’ve had a hand in choosing.
Once I aged out of foster care, it was hard enough to just take care of myself, let alone a pet, so I never got one. I would die for this bird already.
“The vet is expecting me in half an hour, so I’m going to take off. I’ll see you at home later?”
I snap out of my reverie at the sound of Gage’s voice, and look up at him.
“Yeah, please keep me posted on what the vet says. I’ll see you at home. Thanks again so much for doing this,” I reply, trying to rein in my emotions about our new addition to the flock.
“Anytime. Bye, sweetheart,” he replies before leaning in and giving me a peck again, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The same as him saying, “See you at home,” feels all too natural.
Michelle sidles up to me when he gets into his car, giving a low whistle.
“Celeste, I mean this in the most respectful way, but you hit the lottery with your husband. Damn, you’re one lucky woman,” she says, bumping my shoulder and waggling her eyebrows.
“He’s the best,” I laugh, and it’s true.
As he drives away, after coming all of the way here to help me rescue an abandoned bird just because I asked, all I keep thinking on a loop is that this fake marriage is starting to seem very real.