Chapter 3
Birdie
I’m staring up at the ceiling in my old bedroom at my parents house. Boy band posters and magazine covers are plastered to the ceiling like wallpaper. Why did my parents let the teenage version of me collage my entire bedroom like this?
I let out a sigh that turns into a groan as I roll over and stretch myself across my entire bed, face first into my mountain of pillows. I’m back home for the holidays, and quite honestly until further notice.
As if getting blindsided by my job wasn’t enough, I stumbled back home into my apartment in the city to a note from my roommate that said, “Hey Bird, I have some ideas about our arrangements here, let’s chat tonight! Hugs, Vivian”
Vivian’s ideas weren’t really what I would call ideas, more like an invitation to move out so that her boyfriend could move in.
So here we are. Back in my very small town of Saddlebrooke. Charming.
I repeat my new mantra to myself—“I’m so pathetic.” My new life theme, it would seem.
My door swings open and I see my brother leaning against the door frame, all six feet of him, wearing his signature light wash 501 Levis, a white t-shirt and his very worn in baseball hat that I think he’s had since high school.
My brother’s got that classic All American heart breaker vibe about him.
“Tweet, Tweet, little sis!” He says it in his sing-song way and chuckles because he knows how much I hate being “tweeted” at.
“Screw off, bozo. What are you doing here so early?”
Apparently that’s an invitation because he makes his way across my bedroom and sits at the end of the bed holding out a cup from my favorite local coffee shop.
“I figured you could use a little pick-me-up this morning.” He says, as he holds out a cup to me.
He was right. I reach out and grab the paper cup, give it a little sniff and before I could ask, he assures me—“There’s cinnamon on top. I made sure of it.”
I give him an appreciative smile and bring the cup close to my face so I can take it all in. My favorite maple latte is the remedy for a multitude of sins… and he remembered the cinnamon.
He’s forgiven.
“River, be honest. How much shame have I brought upon our family? Art school dropout, failed journalist, 30 year old living at home with her mom and dad who still pay for her phone bill.”
River laughs and then gives me a little smirk that has always gotten him out of trouble with our parents, and into trouble with the ladies. It’s the kind of smirk that says a lot of things at once. And right now it looks like it’s feeling sorry for me.
“Bird. Be easier on yourself. You really aren’t as much of a failure as you think you are.
Look at it this way, You dropped out of art school because you honestly were too artistic for all those pretentious art hipsters and you just saw through the bullshit of it all.
And the rest of that list is null and void.
None of that was worth your time anyways. ”
I groan and roll my eyes. The warmth of this maple latte is soothing the ache of my pathetic existence. Maybe I just need to mainline lattes for the rest of my life. Seems to be helping right now.
“You’re right. I’m just too wonderful, I cannot be held down by societal norms, and roommates.” I say sarcastically and getting a good chuckle out of him. He nudges me and stands to leave.
“Mom called me this morning and told me that she’s making a big breakfast for everybody. Come eat, I’m sure you’ll feel a little less pathetic once you eat some waffles.” I do like waffles…
“Okay, I’ll be down in a minute. Just need to gather my dignity.” He laughs and closes the door behind him.
I don’t bother changing out of my pajamas, or even looking in the mirror. I make my way down the stairs and when I reach the bottom, I do a little hop off the last step. It’s something I’ve done since I was a kid.
I round the banister and make my way down the hallway and into the dining room. I’m still holding my latte and that’s when I look up to see everybody at the table.
My dad looks at me and as he takes me in, a huge grin appears on his face as he realizes that I didn’t realize this breakfast also included the Jones men.
“Good morning sugar, you’re looking very adorable this morning.” Dad says, teasing me.
I give a little half smile, wanting to die inside, realizing that I’m wearing my avocado pajama set. Pink fleece shorts covered in avocados wearing pajamas, paired with a white tank top with a big avocado on it and the word ‘Avo-cuddle” underneath it.
River pipes up, “Bird, I think you left your dignity up there after all.”
I stick my tongue out at him and flip him the bird as I pull out my seat that just so happens to be directly across from Dawsen Jones. My brother’s best friend, and my secret lifelong crush.
I take my seat and try to distract myself from Dawsen’s judgey eyes raking over me right now. I reach across the table and dish myself up a waffle and stack of crispy bacon. River continues talking to Dawsen about some sports thing that I know absolutely nothing about.
I tune into the conversation happening at the other end of the table—Mr. Jones telling my parents how blessed he and Dawsen are for being considered part of our family.
It’s true, they’ve always sort of been an extension of us, but he’s definitely gotten more sentimental since Lyla passed away.
I guess tragedy can do that to a man. It can do a lot of things.
But I admire that about Crawford Jones—he seems to have come out stronger on the other side.
A soft strength though. There’s something beautiful about that.
Crawford Jones really has that Harrison Ford thing going for him.
Handsome, lean, and looks like he could still take someone in a bar fight.
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with these Jones men either.
Dawsen has always been so handsome. Even when he was supposed to be in his awkward stage—I’ve only ever thought he was adorable.
And now, he’s sitting across from me, tall, strong shoulders, dark wavy hair that I’d die to rake my fingers through, looking broody and full of secrets.
While I sit here in my Pj’s and bed head.
Pathetic.
I’m going to need more latte.