3 Birdie
BIRDIE
“Thirty dollars?” My friend, Phoebe, looks at the bills as I hold them up. Her face is a mask of fierce indignation. “That old bat only tipped you thirty dollars for three freaking hours of manual labor?”
“Yep.”
“That’s only, like, ten dollars an hour. That’s not even minimum wage in Winthrop!” The bar lights glow against her sepia brown skin, highlighting her high cheekbones as she glares.
I slip the bills back in my pocket. “I know.”
“Well, we both know who’s buying drinks tonight.” She waves down our favorite bartender. “Hey, Lucky Boy! Two gin and tonics. Stat.”
He gives her a nod, pulling out some glasses. He’s a friend of ours from the fine arts doctoral program. He does these amazing metalwork installations.
Phoebe is a grad student too. That’s how we met three years ago.
We were forced to attend a grad student mixer and found each other lurking in the corner, hoarding plates of free appetizers.
Phoebe isn’t poor and starving like me. She just had a roommate in year one who was the kind of righteous vegan determined to make everyone around them miserable.
Phoebe’s plate was piled high with bacon-wrapped dates, shrimp cocktail, and spinach quiche cups.
I let her eat them guilt-free and she looked the other way when I stuffed my purse with half a veggie tray and enough cubed cheese to feed a mouse army.
We’ve been friends ever since.
On paper, we both know we make no sense.
Phoebe Prescott is this outrageous Leo who lives to laugh and love out loud.
By day, she’s a biology researcher studying medical botany.
But she also likes nightclubs, and dancing, and being the center of attention.
Last semester, she studied abroad in Cologne and came back speaking no German.
But now she has a long-distance, low-commitment club promoter boyfriend named Sigfried who calls her his “sweet sausage.”
Meanwhile, I’m a moody, loner Capricorn who is just doing my best against a universe that seems determined to keep kicking me while I’m down.
Orphaned at birth, adopted by a pair of religious fundamentalists, I spent years trying to escape the hell on earth that was their wretched influence.
I poured myself into school. At least if I could get straight A’s, they wouldn’t notice when I quietly stopped pretending to hate gay people and started taking birth control.
And good grades meant merit scholarships.
Seven years and two degrees later, I’m still debt free and independent .
. . even if I have to pack a professor’s office in exchange for thirty bucks.
Hey, I would’ve packed those books for the promise of the half-eaten egg salad sandwich sitting on her desk. And I hate egg salad.
“Here.” Phoebe slides me a gin and tonic. “You’ve earned this.”
I take a sip, letting all the flavors chill on my tongue. The cucumber gin mixes with the elderflower tonic, spiced and refreshing. Add in the muddled mint and the sprig of rosemary, and you have an herbal orgasm in a glass.
Phoebe and I let out a pair of satisfied groans as she takes another sip. “Marry me, Lucky.”
He grins, flipping a bar towel over his shoulder. “Sorry, Pheebs. I’m extremely gay.”
“Don’t I know it,” she replies with a wistful sigh.
A table of guys in the corner start up the ancient jukebox.
“You two getting into any good trouble tonight?” Lucky calls over the music.
“Can’t afford to,” I say back.
He crosses his arms. “Uh-oh. Lay it on me, Humming Birdie. What happened?” He’s been calling me that since we met, connecting my name with the colorful mirrored hummingbirds I have tattooed on my chest.
I set my glass down, clutching it with both hands.
I can’t bear to look him in the eye. He’s just too pretty.
And I’m too sad. If I’m not careful, I’ll embarrass myself by flirting with him.
I focus instead on the sprig of rosemary in my glass.
“Well, it’s looking like I just lost my summer teaching fellowship.
Which means no tuition, no housing, and no stipend. ”
Without saying a word, Lucky turns around and pulls down a top shelf bottle of tequila. Reaching for a shot glass, he fills it and slides it over to me. “On the house.”
At a shout from the other bartender, he walks off while I down the tequila with a gasp, letting it burn my throat.
Phoebe leans in, her honeyed jasmine scent pleasant and familiar as she bumps me with her shoulder. “Hey, it might not be all that bad. Abbott said she’d look into it for you, right?”
I groan, sliding the shot glass away. “Abbott is a total flake. If she gets back to me at all, it’ll be a miracle.” As I say the words, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Phoebe arches a brow. “What’s wrong?”
An ominous feeling of dread fills me as I pull my phone from my pocket. “I just got an email from Professor Abbott.”
Her dark eyes go wide as she swivels on her bar stool, our knees knocking. “See?” She squeezes my shoulder. “Oh, I knew she’d come through for you! I had such a good feeling. The alternative would be too shitty. You deserve this, Birdie.”
I go to open the email, my thumb hovering over the subject line that says, “TEACHING FELLOWSHIP UPDATE.” Losing my nerve, I slide the phone over to her.
Her smile falls. “Seriously?”
I cross my arms over my middle. “Will you just read it, please? If it’s bad news, I’d rather not even hear it. Just give me a look, okay? Like, blink once for bad news. If it’s good news, you can tell me.”
“Birdie—”
“Just read the email and tell me if I’m gonna have to sell feet pics this summer or go dig for buried treasure.”
“So dramatic,” she mutters, swiping my phone from the bar. “And you know I’d never let you sell feet pics. I could spot you the money.”
“Not an option.”
“Okay, here I go. Reading now.” Her dark eyes narrow as she scans the email. It can’t be the news I want because she’s not jumping up and down and squealing. Instead, she shrugs and says, “Well . . .”
“Fuck.” I grab my gin and tonic, taking a deep swallow that empties half the glass.
“It’s not the end of the world,” she’s quick to say. “Abbott salvaged a research fellowship for you.”
“But those don’t come with a living stipend! Or housing! I’ll have to get another job to cover my living expenses. How am I supposed to do that now? All the good seasonal jobs are taken.”
Phoebe isn’t listening. Her eyes are still darting across the email as she rereads it.
I snatch my phone away from her. “Pheebs!”
She dives right into fix-it mode. “Okay, well you gotta look at the facts. Did Abbott totally screw you over? Yes. But it’s done, Birdie.
Now we move on to the next thing, right?
And this isn’t nothing.” She points at my phone.
“It sounds like she set you up with the director of the Burr Island Historical Society. You’d get real experience working in an archive.
That’s gotta be good for the resumé, right? ”
My stomach churns around the mix of liquors I’ve consumed as I scan the email. “Oh god, she set me up with Professor Howe?”
Phoebe shrugs. “Well, yeah. Why, is he not a good one?”
“I’ve never met him,” I admit. “But he’s more of an archaeologist than a historian. All the undergrads call him Doctor Strange.”
She snorts into her drink. “Doctor Strange? That’s clever. You know my family is from Burr Island, right? I’ve met Ezra.”
“Yeah?”
There’s a twinkle in her eye as she smiles. “Yeah, he’s a nice guy . . . and hot,” she adds with a wink. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not gonna hook up with my professor, Phoebe.”
“Hey, you can appreciate a pretty face and not jump his bones.” Catching Lucky’s eye as he passes, she calls out, “Isn’t that right, Lucky?”
He pauses in front of us. “Isn’t what right?”
She gestures to me. “That our sweet Humming Birdie can appreciate a pretty face and a pair of firm shoulders on a man without jumping his bones.”
His eyes narrow at me. “Well, I don’t know . . . can you, Birdie?”
I just cross my arms again. “If you’re both quite finished, I’d like to go back to wallowing over how I still find myself jobless and homeless this summer.”
Phoebe leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “Actually, I think I can help with that.”
Lucky gets called away as I turn to face her. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if you’re going to do research for Ezra over on the island, it makes sense that you just stay there, right? Trust me, trying to run your life around the ferry schedule gets old quick.”
“But isn’t summer peak tourist season? How will I find somewhere to live? Or work?”
“Well, that’s where I come in.”
“You?”
“Mhmm.” She takes another sip of her gin and tonic. “See, I sort of promised my uncle I’d help him run the shop this summer . . .”
Oh, I see. She’s found a way to make this about her. God love her, but Phoebe Prescott is always working a personal angle. “But? I imagine there’s a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
She makes a show of slowly swirling the ice in her glass. “Maybe there is.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Buuut . . .” She gives me her best, most persuasive smile. It glows in her face against her gorgeous dark skin. “Okay, so Siggy just got a gig doing a four-city tour managing one of his DJs and he wants me to join him. But I can’t go to Germany if I’m stuck in my family’s shop all summer—”
“Wait, do you mean the tea shop?”
“Yeah.”
I sigh. “I don’t know, Pheebs.”
“What don’t you know?” she cries, grabbing my arm. “You need a job, you need a place to stay, and you need to be out on the island for your research fellowship, right? This is, like, a fate thing, Birdie. It’s perfect!”
“Yeah, except I don’t know the first thing about making teas and lotions.”
“Oh, you won’t need to do anything like that, I promise. Jasper takes care of it all. You’ll just be a glorified shop girl. Run the register, stock the shelves, and maybe do the occasional tarot reading.”
I laugh. “God, Pheebs, I know even less about tarot reading!”
She laughs too. “Hey, the tourists won’t know the difference. Look, why don’t you meet me out on the island tomorrow?”
“Phoebe . . .”
“What? This is literally perfect. There’s a little apartment over the shop.
I already moved a few things over last weekend, just like a toaster and a TV, and some of my clothes.
Meet me on the island. I’ll show you the shop and you can meet Jasper.
Trust me, if he doesn’t think this will work, he’ll tell us. ”
My wall of reservations is starting to feel razor thin. “Well, how much is the rent?”
She leans in. “How does free sound?”
“It’s free?”
Her eyes twinkle like black diamonds. “Yep. Uncle Jas was letting me stay for free in exchange for running the shop. You agree to run the shop instead, and I’ll make sure he gives you the same deal.”
I pretend I’m considering for a minute longer as she inches closer, her fluffy halo of tousled cloud curls making her look like an angel.
“Imagine it, Birdie . . . a whole summer of money going into your pockets, not out. Job security, a place to stay, research experience to add to the resumé. How could anyone say no?”
And just like that, she knows she’s won. Check and mate. I scowl at her. “You’re wasted in medical botany, you know that? You should be a car saleswoman.”
She cackles. “Right?” Finishing her gin and tonic, she slips off her stool, her curls bouncing on her shoulders. “Okay, I’ve gotta go. Drinks are on me. And I sent a text to Lucky while you weren’t looking. He’s bringing you a cheeseburger and some onion rings.”
“Phoebe—”
She holds up a hand. “Save it. I know you’d do the same for me. You are doing the same for me.”
I sigh again. There’s no winning against this woman. She’s a storm of chaos and kindness.
“Meet me for brunch on the island tomorrow. Say . . . ten o’clock? Do you know how to catch the ferry?”
“Pier Three, right?”
“Yep. And come hungry!” She grabs her purse off the hook under the bar. “There’s the cutest little café right next to the shop and they have the best cinnamon rolls you’ve ever tasted,” she calls with a parting wave.
I spin on my stool, shouting at her back. “Hey!”
She glances over her shoulder.
“Thanks.” It’s a difficult word for me to say out loud.
She just smiles. “You’re good people, Birdie. You deserve good things . . . but perhaps you should wait to thank me until you meet my uncle.” With that, she lets out another laugh and leaves.
I turn on my stool just as Lucky appears with a plate bearing a massive cheeseburger, squashed by a heaping pile of onion rings. He sets the plate down in front of me with a flourish. “Already bought and paid for.”
I smile, offering him a soft “thanks” too. Once I’m alone, I put on my big girl pants and finally read the full email from Abbott. Like Phoebe said, a research fellowship is better than nothing. Looks like I’m going to Burr Island tomorrow.