chocolate from my mouth and enjoying my martini buzz. Coffee arrived right on schedule.
"Are you happy?"
"Yeah-no." I'd meant to say "Yeah, sorta," but changed mid-stream to "no." The result sounded like "You know."
"No, I don't know."
Janice was quiet for a moment, dipping the last of her panini in the cherry sauce that was served on the side. She had a bite, washed it down with a drink of steaming hot coffee, and then wiped her mouth with her linen napkin.
"I'm sorry, Birdy. I know you never want to talk about this stuff, but I worry about you. Your dad just died, honey. It's only been a year. You're not supposed to feel happy yet. You know what I mean?"
I nodded, looking down at my lap. I wasn't going to cry. I’d done enough of that over the weekend. I'd grown up in the lap of grief, losing Mom so young. Losing Dad sucked , but I'd always seen it coming.
"I do know what you mean. I promised Dad I’d keep moving, just like we did after Mom died," I said, having another drink of my coffee. I could feel the buzz of liquor wearing off. "Found out this weekend he left me something, and if I needed a reminder, it’s a good one.”
“I just worry about you. If I lost my dad…”
“I’d be there for you. Just like you are for me.”
She smiled. “I know you would. Same old Birdy," she said.
"Good!" I put my coffee mug down and leaned in toward my friend. "The thing is, Janice, I want to be happy like you are. You've got Harold and he adores you. He may not have been what you were looking for, but that man has made your life complete, anyone can see it. You've been together now for—what?—three years? You glow. You're more beautiful today than the day you married. That’s happiness . That’s what I want."
Janice didn't blush easily, but she was on the verge. "No, you're right, Birdy. Harold and I have it all. We've got the love, we make good money, we’ve got our health, we don't have any deadbeats dragging us down on either side. His kids from his first marriage are respectful and his first wife is dead. We can do anything we want, give our time and energy to any project we choose. Every day I wake up and ask myself how I got to be so blessed.”
She had a sip of coffee before continuing. “The thing is, without Harold's love—his true love—I wouldn't feel this way. I might want a marriage, a career, children—whatever, but without the love of a good partner, I don't think I'd feel this blessed. I might have the very same things , but not feel the love —you feel me?"
"I feel ya, girl. You’re birds of the same feather.”
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a penguin and I’m more of a…”
“An angel?”
She laughed. “You know better. I was going to say ‘hawk.’ But we choose to flock together, that much is true.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wren
Falls of the Ohio
If it was good enough for Lewis & Clark, it’s good enough for us, Princess MuffinStuff. Welcome to stop one.
We stopped at the bakery before sunrise and fueled up on chocolate chip goodness, counter-balanced by the unnatural concoction of whatever gets added to factory-bottled chocolate milk. I had to detox myself with a cup of black coffee, but you’re young—you’ll burn off the poison in no time.
The area chapter of the Audubon Society has nothing but good things to say about this place. Let’s see how we do.
The page was stiff from the glue Dad used to attach maps and brochures from the park. He was so thorough, he’d even included pressed specimens of wildflowers. A single feather from a horned lark had lost some of its integrity, but was otherwise recognizable tucked into the spine.
In the bottom right corner of the spread was a photo he’d captioned, “An auspicious start for the Two Birditos. Rare barn swallow.”
There was a list of birds we’d spotted, a few with question marks when he wasn’t certain. That’s the thing about birding. Sometimes you don’t
"Are you happy?"
"Yeah-no." I'd meant to say "Yeah, sorta," but changed mid-stream to "no." The result sounded like "You know."
"No, I don't know."
Janice was quiet for a moment, dipping the last of her panini in the cherry sauce that was served on the side. She had a bite, washed it down with a drink of steaming hot coffee, and then wiped her mouth with her linen napkin.
"I'm sorry, Birdy. I know you never want to talk about this stuff, but I worry about you. Your dad just died, honey. It's only been a year. You're not supposed to feel happy yet. You know what I mean?"
I nodded, looking down at my lap. I wasn't going to cry. I’d done enough of that over the weekend. I'd grown up in the lap of grief, losing Mom so young. Losing Dad sucked , but I'd always seen it coming.
"I do know what you mean. I promised Dad I’d keep moving, just like we did after Mom died," I said, having another drink of my coffee. I could feel the buzz of liquor wearing off. "Found out this weekend he left me something, and if I needed a reminder, it’s a good one.”
“I just worry about you. If I lost my dad…”
“I’d be there for you. Just like you are for me.”
She smiled. “I know you would. Same old Birdy," she said.
"Good!" I put my coffee mug down and leaned in toward my friend. "The thing is, Janice, I want to be happy like you are. You've got Harold and he adores you. He may not have been what you were looking for, but that man has made your life complete, anyone can see it. You've been together now for—what?—three years? You glow. You're more beautiful today than the day you married. That’s happiness . That’s what I want."
Janice didn't blush easily, but she was on the verge. "No, you're right, Birdy. Harold and I have it all. We've got the love, we make good money, we’ve got our health, we don't have any deadbeats dragging us down on either side. His kids from his first marriage are respectful and his first wife is dead. We can do anything we want, give our time and energy to any project we choose. Every day I wake up and ask myself how I got to be so blessed.”
She had a sip of coffee before continuing. “The thing is, without Harold's love—his true love—I wouldn't feel this way. I might want a marriage, a career, children—whatever, but without the love of a good partner, I don't think I'd feel this blessed. I might have the very same things , but not feel the love —you feel me?"
"I feel ya, girl. You’re birds of the same feather.”
She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a penguin and I’m more of a…”
“An angel?”
She laughed. “You know better. I was going to say ‘hawk.’ But we choose to flock together, that much is true.”
Chapter Thirteen
Wren
Falls of the Ohio
If it was good enough for Lewis & Clark, it’s good enough for us, Princess MuffinStuff. Welcome to stop one.
We stopped at the bakery before sunrise and fueled up on chocolate chip goodness, counter-balanced by the unnatural concoction of whatever gets added to factory-bottled chocolate milk. I had to detox myself with a cup of black coffee, but you’re young—you’ll burn off the poison in no time.
The area chapter of the Audubon Society has nothing but good things to say about this place. Let’s see how we do.
The page was stiff from the glue Dad used to attach maps and brochures from the park. He was so thorough, he’d even included pressed specimens of wildflowers. A single feather from a horned lark had lost some of its integrity, but was otherwise recognizable tucked into the spine.
In the bottom right corner of the spread was a photo he’d captioned, “An auspicious start for the Two Birditos. Rare barn swallow.”
There was a list of birds we’d spotted, a few with question marks when he wasn’t certain. That’s the thing about birding. Sometimes you don’t
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