Chapter 22
Elias
What the Helsinki?
Was that the boyfriend? The one she broke up with? Why is he here?
Worse, why was he proposing to her while she was on a date with me?
The Styrofoam cup of sweet tea gets crushed in my fist as I scramble away from the scene. I can’t look at her with him on his knee in front of her. It’s too much. I knew she’d go back. I flunking knew it.
I drop the ruined cup and fling the tea off my hand. At least now I can use both hands to hold onto the cage filled with budgies. They flutter and holler. I’m probably a villain in their eyes. Little do they know, they’re about to get the royal treatment when we get back home.
I’m rescuing them.
And you’re running away from her.
But she was crying. Someone said she’d said yes. Those were happy tears. I watched too many old romance movies with Goldie to know the grand gesture gets the girl in the end.
I’m such an idiot.
My chest hurts. I know I eat my fair share of fried foods, but I seriously hope I’m not about to keel over with a heart attack. This sucks.
I nearly trip over a little girl chasing a budgie with clipped wings trying to snatch it up before it gets stepped on. She manages to snag him before a burly guy crushes it underfoot.
I hate this.
I hate how all these people behave like monsters when it comes to these innocent little birds.
We have to do better.
My mom sees me and frowns at the look of distress on my face. Everyone heard Denver proposing to Nora. Everyone I care about also knows I like Nora. A lot.
This is embarrassing as fudge.
“I’m leaving,” I growl out as I pass her by. “Tell Dad I’m sorry. I can’t.”
The urge to escape and hide is so overwhelming, I can hardly see straight. It’s what I did when Goldie died. I hid in my house and wallowed in my pain alone.
When I reach my truck, I place the cage in the passenger seat and then fire up the engine.
Earlier, I hadn’t been in a hurry, but now I’m crawling out of my skin to escape this place.
Luckily, most of the traffic is incoming, not outgoing.
Once I get out of the parking lot, it’s smooth sailing home.
For the next hour, I transfer all the budgies to various cages I have for emergency rescues. Then, I take their filthy, crap-covered cage and throw it in the big trash can outside.
They’re all cowering in their cages in the middle of the backyard, watching me with pinned eyes. I wish they knew I wasn’t here to hurt them.
“Come on,” I say, voice hoarse. “Let’s get you in the aviary. There’s a spot I can quarantine you all and you can spread your wings a bit.”
I’m dripping in sweat by the time I partition off the aviary. Frodo, the nosy little booger, fights me when I put him on his side. It only adds to my terrible day.
One by one, I release the new budgies into the quarantine section.
They’ve been living in squalor, so I want to make sure they don’t have any illnesses or mites before introducing them to the crew on the other side of the wall.
Their mood improve slightly once they realize they can fly.
The space I’ve given them is not small by any means.
After what they’ve been living in, this has to feel like a resort.
I’m exhausted by the time I finish and collapse on the floor, watching the budgies explore their new space. They have food and water. Plenty of toys and millet. After some time, they will be fine.
But what about me?
I’m spiraling.
It takes everything in me to be able to peel myself up off the floor and head inside for a shower. As I pass by Nora’s room, I’m hit in the gut with realization.
All this will be gone soon.
The house next door is livable, but now that she’s engaged, she will probably just pack up and leave.
Where does that leave Clo?
Pain lances through me.
She can’t do that to me.
She wouldn’t, right?
I’m starting to realize I don’t know anything about Nora.
“Your mom told me to come get you,” a deep voice booms as it enters my house. “Where are you, bud?”
I roll over in bed. Seconds later, Monroe fills the doorway wearing a navy-blue T-shirt with “sheriff” in golden yellow across the front.
“Ugh,” I say with a groan. “My mom meddles. I’m fine. Don’t you have drunks to arrest? It’s your big time of the year.”
Monroe grunts. “I’m allowed a break. Come on. We’ll grab something to eat at my place.”
As if I’m a zombie, I stagger out of bed, jerk on some shoes, and follow my best friend out of my house.
The elderly neighbor, Vera, on my other side watches from the window as Monroe opens the police cruiser passenger-side door for me.
I’m sure Vera will tell the whole town I’ve been arrested or some equally dramatic story.
I don’t even have the energy in me to care.
Country music from the 90s blasts from the speakers when Monroe turns over the engine. I’m grateful he knows what I like and what’ll cheer me up. It’s hard to not sing along to Toby Keith or Tim McGraw. By the time we reach his house in Featherfall Estates, I’m feeling marginally better.
Both Monroe’s kids, Tate and Trudy, must be at BudgieFest because they’re not here. At least I won’t have them hovering and worrying.
“Sit,” Monroe instructs, pointing at the barstool in his kitchen. “I’ll make us some back porch dogs.”
My stomach grumbles because I love his cooking.
I guess when you’re a single dad for as long as he’s been, you learn how to cook.
He has a Blackstone out back, but he makes them quick on his flat griddle on his stove.
Soon, the scent of cooking hotdogs and frying bacon fills the air.
I offer to help, but he waves me off with a spatula.
I still can’t believe what happened with Denver and Nora.
Monroe slaps some butter on the hot dog buns and then also cooks them on the griddle. Then, he assembles them with bacon and cheese. Once the cheese melts, he plates them up for us and dumps a bunch of chips on the side.
“Thanks,” I say as I pick up one of my hot dogs. “I needed to eat.”
We eat in amicable silence. It’s been a while since I had his back porch dogs and I remember now why I love them so much. They’re so good.
“Your mom said Nora got proposed to? Is that why your panties are in a wad?”
I elbow him and shoot him a grumpy glare. “This isn’t a joke.”
He sighs heavily. “I know. I’m just trying to get you to talk about it.”
After taking another bite, I chew slowly, making him wait. Finally, I let him have it, telling him about “the date,” the handholding, the sudden sickness after seeing the breeders, and then the horrible scene I witnessed on Spangle Stage.
“You really like her,” Monroe says around a mouthful of food. “I never thought I’d see the day. You’re such a lone wolf.”
“Still am, I guess.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
I shove my empty plate away and shake my head. “Nope. She’s probably halfway to New York by now.”
Monroe is quiet for a beat and then says, “I’m going to take my best friend hat off for a second. Ready for Dad Mode?”
“Not really.”
“Too bad.”
I move off the stool to grab a couple of Dr. Peppers from the fridge for each of us. After setting his down, I crack mine open and gulp down half of it.
“You’re acting like a child.”
I nearly choke on my next swallow. “Me?!”
“Yeah, you. You didn’t even give her a chance to explain or to hear out her answer.”
“People said she said yes!” I bark out, irritated at my friend’s third degree.
“People. Not Nora. You didn’t stick around to find out what happened.”
Guilt claws at me, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He’s supposed to be cheering me up, not making me feel worse.
“You’re going to need to talk to her,” Monroe says with a shrug. “It’s time to grow a pair.”
I know he’s right, but I don’t have to like it. Maybe I did panic a little bit. But it caught me off guard.
“What if I’m right, though?” I ask, voice small and lacking confidence. “What if she rides off into the sunset with Denver?”
“I’ll pull them over until you can get there,” he jokes. “Seriously, though? If she’s truly going to accept his proposal, then you can move on. But you have to find out if that’s even happened.”
We make quick work of cleaning up our mess and then Monroe drops me back off at my house. I’m still not in the best mood, but I’m fed and that’s something.
Once inside, I’m aware of the stillness. The emptiness. It was the same way it felt when I came home after Goldie passed away in the hospital.
I rub at my chest as I stride toward Nora’s room. Clo chirps happily when he sees me. Rushing over to him, I pull him out of his cage and bring my feathered friend to my beard so I can feel his little heart beating. It makes me feel not so alone.
“Will she insist on taking you?” I ask him in a shaky voice. “Is that what Goldie would want for you?”
I close my eyes as I stroke the feathers on top of Clo’s head. If she takes Clo to New York, I can admit that it’ll crush me. I’ve grown quite fond of this little guy.
“Come on,” I say as I reopen my eyes. “Let’s go check on the newbies. I got about fifteen of them.”
Clo fluffs his feathers at me.
“I’m not exaggerating.”
He cocks his head to the side, looking at me with one of his eyes as if to search for the truth. When he deems my words as legit, he flutters over to my shoulder, ready for our adventure.
I let my eyes scan over the room that Goldie occupied for around a year. It’s slowly been transformed these past couple of weeks or so into Nora’s space. I let loose a resigned sigh before closing the door behind me.
Saying goodbye to the Everharts, for good this time, is going to be difficult.
I’m almost to the aviary when Silas texts me.
Silas: Monroe told me. So sorry, man.
A groan escapes me. Most days I love our small town, but when you’re the topic of conversation, it’s not so fun.
Me: It is what it is. Staying busy?
Silas: Slammed. I’m texting from the bathroom. You good?
This has me smiling even though I don’t want to.
Me: I’m good.
He sends me a thumbs up emoji because he’s old and rude.
Me: I’m pretty sure they banned that emoji in the US.
Silas: They did not.
Silas: Did they? Mine still works on my phone. Do I need to update?
I smother a laugh and leave him on read. My humor quickly fades after I pocket my phone. It’s still a day from Helsinki, but I’m going to survive. I always do.
“Be good,” I say to Clo as I open the aviary door. “No funny business. We have enough budgies without you trying to make more.”
Clo fluffs up his feathers and sings his best song.
I think that’s bird-speak for, “You worry about your female troubles and I’ll worry about mine.”