Chapter 3 #3
“Wait!” Dustin holds up a hand. “Before you go—we’re proud of you. Both of us. What you’re doing with the rescue, with Horatio’s platform, all of it. It’s really cool.”
My throat gets tight. “Thank you, baby.”
“Also,” Theo adds, “if you change your mind about the TV thing, let me know. I have ideas for segments. Like ‘Horatio Rates Your Pets’ or ‘Horatio Gives Relationship Advice.’”
“Absolutely not.”
“‘Horatio’s Cooking Show’?”
“How would that even work?”
“I don’t know, but it would be chaos and I’m here for it.”
“Goodbye, Theo.”
“Love you, Mom!”
“Love you too. Both of you.”
I end the call and collapse back against Wyatt, emotionally exhausted.
“Your sons are delightful,” he says.
“My sons are menaces. They get it from their father.”
“Which father?”
“The gay one. The one who’s currently planning his wedding to his former best friend while somehow maintaining more dignity than I have with a parrot.”
Wyatt laughs. “Nick’s wedding is in the spring, right?”
“April. We’re invited. Both of us.”
“Are you okay with that?”
I think about it. A year ago, the thought of attending my ex-husband’s wedding to the man he had an affair with would have destroyed me. But now? “Yeah. I’m okay with it. Nick and I are good. He’s happy. I’m happy. We’re both exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
“You’re very evolved.”
“Theo said the same thing.”
“Great minds.”
I settle more comfortably against him, letting the tension of the day finally drain away. Outside the window, New York City is starting to light up as evening approaches. It’s beautiful in that way that cities are beautiful when you’re safe inside and don’t have to actually navigate them.
“We should go home tomorrow,” I say.
“Tired of the big city already?”
“Tired of being recognized. Tired of cameras. Tired of pretending to be someone interesting.”
“You are interesting.”
“I’m a nurse with a bird problem.”
“You’re a woman who walked in on a man at a sperm bank, married him anyway, and built a viral empire with a profane parrot. That’s pretty fucking interesting. And you recommended a chiropractor for my anatomy.”
“One of my finer moments.”
He kisses my temple. “All your moments are fine.”
“Even the one where I let Horatio out at your father’s rally?”
“Especially that one. That’s the moment that started everything.”
“Everything” meaning our relationship, our marriage, our bizarre life together. He’s right. In a weird way, Horatio crashing that rally was the best disaster that ever happened to me.
“Fine,” I concede. “Some of my moments are okay.”
“All of your moments,” he insists. “Every single one. Even the ones where you’re overthinking and stressed and convinced the internet hates you.”
“The internet does hate me.”
“The internet is wrong.”
“Fuck yes!” Horatio contributes from his cage.
“See?” Wyatt grins. “Even the bird agrees.”
We order dinner around seven—more room service, because why not—and eat while watching some mindless reality show about people who renovate houses in exotic locations. It’s vapid, perfect, and exactly what my brain needs.
Wyatt’s phone rings during dessert. He glances at the screen and grimaces.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“My dad.”
“Oh no.”
“Yeah.” He answers it. “Hey, Dad.”
I can’t hear Governor Perry’s side of the conversation, but I watch Wyatt’s expressions carefully. Amusement. Surprise. Something that might be pride.
“Uh-huh,” Wyatt says. “Right. No, she said no to monthly segments… Yeah, we’re on the same page about that… She’s right here, actually. Want to talk to her?”
My eyes go wide. “No,” I mouth.
Wyatt grins and hands me the phone.
Traitor.
“Hello, Governor Nolan,” I say, trying for professional and landing somewhere near terrified.
“Valerie. Please, call me Perry. We’re family.” His voice is warm, which is somehow more unsettling than if he were angry. “I wanted to call and tell you that was one of the finest pieces of publicity this family has ever received.”
“I’m sorry?”
“The segment this morning. Brilliant. My approval ratings have jumped six points since it aired. Apparently the internet thinks I’m ‘humanized’ by my son’s chaos bird.”
“Oh. That’s… good?”
“It’s excellent. My campaign manager is over the moon. Darcy is already planning how to work it into our messaging.” He pauses. “Though I understand you declined the monthly appearance offer?”
“I did.”
“Good.”
I blink. “Good?”
“You’re smart to protect your privacy. Monthly television appearances would be exhausting, especially with a bird who has no filter. Besides, scarcity breeds interest. One viral moment is worth more than a dozen regular segments.”
I’m not sure how to respond to this. Perry Nolan, who spent our entire wedding brunch looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, is now praising my media strategy?
“Thank you?” I manage.
“I also wanted to apologize for my initial… hesitation about your relationship with Wyatt. I’ve had time to see how happy you make him. How happy you make each other. That’s all that matters.”
My throat gets tight. “That means a lot, Perry. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Just keep making my son happy. And keep that bird away from my speeches.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all I can ask.” He pauses. “Put Wyatt back on, will you?”
I hand the phone back to Wyatt, who takes it with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey… yeah… okay… love you too, Dad.” He hangs up and stares at the phone like it might explain itself.
“Your father just apologized to me,” I say.
“My father never apologizes.”
“Apparently there’s a first time for everything.”
“Did he also tell you about the polling numbers?”
“Six points.”
“Insane.” Wyatt shakes his head. “We should rent Horatio out to political candidates. ‘Need a polling boost? Unleash the chaos bird.’”
“Absolutely not.”
“Think about it. We could make millions.”
“We are not pimping out our parrot for political gain.”
“‘Horatio’s Campaign Services.’ Has a nice ring to it.”
“I’m going to divorce you.”
“No you’re not. You love me.”
“Debatable.”
He pulls me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me in a way that makes me feel safe and ridiculous all at once. “Admit it. You’d be lost without me.”
“I’d be significantly less stressed.”
“But more bored.”
“True.”
“And lonelier.”
“Also true.”
“And you wouldn’t have a profane bird who accidentally makes your father-in-law’s approval ratings skyrocket.”
“That’s a very specific benefit.”
“But a benefit nonetheless.”
I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the hotel’s fancy soap. “You’re right. I’d be lost without you.”
“I know.”
“And insufferable.”
“Also true.”
We sit like that for a while, comfortable in our silence while the TV plays in the background and Petunia snores softly in her bed. This is nice. This is what I wanted when we came to New York—not the television appearance or the viral moment or the chaos. Just this. Just us.
My phone buzzes. I ignore it.
It buzzes again.
“You should check that,” Wyatt says. “Could be important.”
“It’s probably just Sadie sending me more memes.”
But I pick it up anyway, and my stomach drops when I see the notification.
Email from Janet Montgomery. Subject line: “Exciting Opportunity—Time Sensitive.”
“I told her no,” I say.
“Open it.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Val.”
I open it.
Dear Valerie and Wyatt
I completely understand and respect your decision regarding the monthly segments. However, I wanted to reach out about a different opportunity that just came across my desk.
Netflix is developing a documentary series about viral internet personalities and the real people behind the memes.
They’re specifically interested in your story—how Horatio came into your life, the impact he’s had, the work you’re doing with animal rescue.
It would be a one-time project, very intimate and authentic.
No studio audience, no live television, just a film crew following you for a few weeks.
They’re prepared to make a substantial donation to Second Chances Animal Rescue, and they’re offering creative control over the final product. I know this is a lot to consider, but I think it could be a beautiful way to tell your story on your own terms.
Would you be open to a phone call to discuss?
Best,
Janet
I read it twice, then hand the phone to Wyatt.
He reads it silently, his expression unreadable.
“Well?” I ask.
“What do you think?”
“I asked you first.”
“I think…” He sets the phone down carefully. “I think it’s interesting. Different from live television. More controlled. And the donation to the rescue would be significant.”
“But?”
“But it’s still cameras in our life. Still people watching and judging. Still giving up privacy for exposure.”
“So you think we should say no.”
“I think we should talk about it. Really talk about it. Not make a decision when we’re exhausted in a hotel room after the most stressful day we’ve had in months.”
He’s right. Of course he’s right.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit.
“That’s okay. You don’t have to know right now.”
“What if I never know?”
“Then we don’t do it. Simple as that.”
“Nothing about us is simple.”
“True.” He stands up, pulling me with him. “Come on. Let’s take Petunia for a walk. Clear our heads. Then we can order more overpriced room service and pretend to be sophisticated New Yorkers for one more night.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow we go home. Back to our real life. And we figure it out from there.”
I let him pull me toward the door, grabbing Petunia’s leash on the way. Behind us, Horatio squawks one last time.
“Happily ever after, motherfuckers!”
Despite everything—the stress, the uncertainty, the impossible decision waiting for us—I can’t help but smile.
Yeah, Horatio. Happily ever after