GABE
Everything was all good . . . until the music stopped. I was bouncing Ivan on my knee on the couch, cleaning some spit-up off his chin, when I heard that telltale tick-tick-tick of an LP that has finished the last song.
I looked Ivan in the clear blue eyes, and I swear to God the little guy opened them up wider. “Not good,” I said.
But as soon as I spoke, I realized I’d gotten myself even deeper into the shit. The General chimed in with, “Suitor? Suuuuuuuitor?”
I didn’t say a goddamned word. Ivan wriggled in my hands, shaking his fists and blowing bubbles with his drool. Maybe I could pretend I wasn’t even in the apartment. I could whisper to Ivan. I could build a sheet fort with the couch cushions and the General would never know we were here.
Don’t be chickenshit, Powers. It’s a parrot in a cage. It’s a bird in a box. Man the hell up. Facts were facts: Damn right I was a suitor. And I was proud of it. No need to hide it. No need to take cover in a blanket fort and pretend I wasn’t feeling the feels. Anyway, all I needed to do was restart the damned record. In, out, and back to babysitting. “We’ll get him squared away and then we can watch Peppa Pig. How’s that sound?” I asked Ivan.
He answered with a drooly, gummy smile. Babies. The best.
I wanted to have two hands ready for the General, just in case. Carrying Ivan on my hip, I went over to grab the BabyBjörn from a row of hooks on the wall by the front door. Lined up on every peg was a jacket or a sweater of Lily’s. Each one was cuter than the last. For a second I imagined my stuff mixed up with hers—my backpack next to her purse. Her sandals on top of my shoes. Our rain jackets side by side.
Man, oh man. What a thought that was.
I carried Ivan back to the sofa. I considered laying him on the cushions, but that seemed pretty risky because he liked to wriggle, so instead I laid his blanket on the ground and put him there while I got the baby carrier strapped on. Extending the loops on the straps, I tightened it to my body and hoisted him back up. I got him situated in the carrier, facing out from my chest. His head was snug against my body and his arms and legs could move freely. We were ready to roll. I gently held his arms out in front of him like Superman and added a “zooooooom!” in his ear. Together, we airplaned our way down the hall toward the click-click-click. At the door of the spare bedroom, I paused. And knocked. Because . . . I don’t know why. Because the General was a semi-sentient creature who wasn’t too hot on me and barging in seemed like a really bad idea. “Enter!” he cawed when I knocked. Very slowly, I opened the door.
There he was, waiting. He had one wing slightly up and his beak tucked down into it. Over the ridge of his gray feathers, he gave me the stink eye.
Ivan erupted in baa-baa-baas, and the General cooed back at him. But the poor bird was clearly pretty conflicted about this whole situation, because the one he loved was strapped to the one he hated.
Apparently, he wasn’t going to stand for that shit. Because he puffed up his feathers, fanned his tail, opened his mouth, and let loose with that horrendous goddamned noise yet again. But even louder this time.
“Why!” I ducked down, like that would make shit for difference. “Jesus, man! Why?”
No answer on that. What I got instead was the Noise on ’roids. It went up into this crazy whoo-whoop and then went down again into a throaty scream. Up and down, again and again. As he did it, he thrust his chest out like an opera singer belting the chorus to the rafters, with his leathery tongue extended and his beak open all the way.
Fighting the mind-numbing decibels that made me feel off balance—I’d once been in a small earthquake in Japan and it felt just like that—I managed to get my brain to go back to what Lily had done when it first happened. The Union was supposed to be in surrender. “General! Hold position! The Yankees are in retreat!”
There was a blissful pause. But it was just a break for the General to get his breath, because he fired back at me with, “Inadequate Yankee suitor!” and started up with the Noise all over again.
In response, Ivan began screaming and crying and kicking his surprisingly strong legs, landing a glancing blow to my balls with each kick. But that wasn’t even close to the biggest of my worries, because against my stomach I began to feel a telltale rumbling. A somewhat concerning tremor. It was forceful enough to make Ivan’s diaper vibrate and crackle. It filled the air with a whoopee cushion sound effect, accompanied by a smell so spectacularly awful that even the General ceased and desisted. There was a moment of total calm, eerie quiet. In the stillness, I looked at the General and he looked at me.
Then Ivan took a deep breath, tightened up his little body, made some huffs and puffs . . .
And literally, epically, and spectacularly lost his shit.
Only my boxers survived the blowout unscathed. Everything else within a four-foot radius—my shirt, my pants, the BabyBjörn, Ivan’s clothes, and both of our pairs of socks—went into the washer with a double measure of detergent on sanitize. My shoes got a good rinse in the laundry sink, and I put them upside down in the basin to dry. I cracked the window in the guest bedroom just an inch so that the General didn’t pass out from the smell as he whispered, “The horror, the horror!” like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now. Finally I grabbed Ivan’s essentials from the pile of baby stuff that Lily had left for me and carried Ivan to the kitchen, him naked and me in just my boxers. With him hanging on to me, I filled the kitchen sink with some warm water to heat up the basin so it wasn’t uncomfortable for him. I used some baby shampoo as shower gel and cleaned him off with handfuls of suds and water. I used the spray nozzle set to a trickle to rinse him off and then refilled the sink and plugged it so he could have a nice little soak.
The kid was incredibly cute, and I recognized Lily in his nose and his splash of freckles. There was just enough of her in him to make me fall for his chubby self even more. “That was pretty awesome.” I ran clean water over his head, dampening his downy blond hair.
Ivan ka-ka-kaed, smacking the water with his fists.
“Epic, even,” I added as I soaped him up.
“Da-da-da!”
But from down the hallway, over Ivan’s babbles, I heard a very ominous sound: a rattle followed by a metallic creak. A very distinctive creak. As in, possibly, from the door to the General’s cage. I paused with a handful of water trickling out of my palm. In the mess and chaos, I hadn’t thought to restart the record. The General had gone silent, and I figured we were in the clear.
We weren’t. Half a second later he swooped through the living area with his wings spread wide. I ducked, shielding Ivan’s head with my hand. “Holy shit,” I said as he leered at me from the edge of the sofa. “How the hell did you do that?”
The General parroted my own voice back at me: “How the hell did you do that? How the hell did you do that?”
Ivan looked back over his pudgy shoulder, squealed and bounced in the water, and then let out a long buzz with duck lips. The General hobbled back and forth on the back of the sofa, happily dancing along as he snagged threads from the upholstery.
Lily was going to kill me. In a matter of twenty minutes, I had managed to turn her guest bedroom into a hazmat scene, and now her parrot was destroying her couch. Great.
A certain professional instinct kicked in. In all unexpected wildlife situations, I’d found that acting without thinking was a terrible goddamned idea. The smarter the animal, the calmer you had to stay. Parrots weren’t like docile dairy cows. Parrots were intelligent. Parrots made plans. Like Komodo dragons. Those bastards conferred like NFL refs, and I could just tell that the General was made of the same prehistoric stuff.
So I decided to use something I’d learned on Komodo, because that felt about right. I gave the General a confident lift of my chin. “You good, man?”
Which he answered with a sound that sounded a lot like a chain saw.
But I ignored it. I had a baby in the sink and I was almost buck naked—I was in exactly no position to be bargaining with a creature who could, at any moment, go straight Hitchcock on my ass. Or face. Or whatever. So I focused 100 percent on Ivan, ignoring the General’s stares and occasional growls. When Ivan was warm and clean, I put him on a bath towel on the counter and dried him off. I laid out the fresh diaper I’d gotten for him while he kicked at the sky and tucked his chin into his neck, giggling and cooing.
Midway through getting Ivan’s diaper on, the General came in closer, using the kitchen faucet as a perch. There was no doubt that he was supervising me, checking to make sure I did it right. He craned his neck and leaned in close. Apparently, I did fine. He didn’t make the Noise when I put on the baby powder and didn’t even growl out a “stupid Yankee” under his breath when I had some trouble getting the Velcro tabs to fasten under Ivan’s belly. The General flew over my shoulder and landed on the top of the fridge, watching me as I got Ivan situated in a onesie—blue-and-white-striped with a bee on the front—and then carried him to his crib in Lily’s room. I laid him down, made sure the video monitor was on, and quietly shut the door behind me.
When I rounded the corner to the kitchen, the General was still there, staring right at me as he poked his talons into the black rubber seal of the freezer, each clench of his toes accompanied by a sticky, plasticky snap.
My stomach let out a serious growl, and the General stared at me with one foot up in the air. I was hungry, and all of Lily’s delicious food was right inside the fridge. The oven was preheated, and all I had to do was put the salmon in. She’d made me dinner, and not even an angry parrot was going to stop me from getting it. I crossed my arms over my chest and squared off with him. “Listen, Fuss and Feathers. You gonna let me in there or not?”
In response, he whistled the opening riff from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.
But I wasn’t a dude to be swayed by a couple of nasty stares and some heckling. I was in showbiz, for God’s sake. I took a step toward the fridge and opened the door. The salad was in a big bowl on the top shelf. But as I grabbed it, the General made his move. He hopped down onto my shoulder. His sharp talons pinched my skin, and he waddled in an awkward circle so he was facing forward. Like a proper parrot on a pirate’s shoulder. It was worrisome. But it was also . . .
I glanced at him. He leered at me.
. . . pretty fucking awesome.
As slowly and carefully as I could, I straightened up, being cautious not to tighten my delts or make any sudden movements. He kept his balance by pitching his body and adjusting his stance, as if he were riding a skateboard. When I was stationary, he leaned forward and side-eyed me, puffing up his feathers as he did. I set the salad bowl on the counter and grabbed my phone off the counter, more grateful than I’d ever been for my waterproof and babyproof case. I opened my camera and held my phone out at filming distance. As soon as the General came into the frame, he let out a long, soft “Ooooooooooh!”
He bobbed his head at himself, preening his feathers in a new way. A proud way, so they were more fluffy than threatening. Like he was . . . happy.
“That’s you,” I said, bringing the camera slightly closer.
He leaned back in surprise when he got bigger on the screen. I shifted my grip on the phone, flipped over to the video, and hit the record button.
He weaved side to side, chattering nonsense at himself.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“The General!” he squawked.
“Where are you from?”
“Savannah!” he said.
I played it back for him. When he saw himself on the screen, his beak dropped open. Whoa! His eyes got wider. He watched himself talking to me and let out what sounded a lot like a good old-fashioned and totally human gasp.
“Cool, right? Video is awesome.” I hit the play button again, and out of the corner of my eye I watched him. I didn’t know if parrots could smile. But if they could, he most definitely was.
“Again!” he cawed when it ended. So I played it back. Once. Twice. Three more times. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and put my phone inside it. When I hit play, the sound of the video was amplified—an instant portable speaker. Trick of the trade. The increase in volume made the General even happier. I placed the glass with my phone on top of the freezer so he could see it. While he watched himself, I put the salmon in the oven and ate the whole salad right out of the bowl—it was fantastic—and played the video again and again and again. Once I polished the salad off, I put the bowl in the dishwasher and grabbed my phone. I patted my shoulder, and the General took his place. This time he used a way less menacing grip. Progress. I’d take it.
The salmon was even better than the salad, and the peach tart? Christ. Once I did my dishes and put the kitchen back the way I’d found it, I hit the record button again. “What’s your favorite color?” I asked him.
“Yellow!” he said into the camera.
“Who do you love?”
“Lily!”
I nodded at him. “I like her too. Because I’m a suitor. Like you said.”
He turned to me, now ignoring the camera. “Suitor?” he asked softly, this time in a very different tone. Like now he was the one doing the wooing.
“Definitely.”
He blinked his strange lids. He adjusted his powerful claws. And then he leaned in close, nuzzled my ear with his bony head, and whispered, “Good suitor. Goooood suitor.”
While Ivan slept, I put in some time getting rough cuts lined up and sent to Markowitz and our production editors. The General watched over my shoulder, perched on the back of the couch, occasionally adding some running commentary whenever Lily appeared on the screen. Love you! And Hello! And Pretty!
When the washer buzzed to announce it had finished its cycle, Ivan woke up with a cry. The General and I headed into Lily’s room to get him out of his crib. I bounced him in my arms as I got the dryer going and hung up his BabyBjörn to dry, but he was fighting sleep and fighting it hard. I grabbed a blanket off Lily’s bed, a quilt that was threadbare in spots, well loved, and antique. From the guest bedroom, now mercifully free of the lingering smell of the blowout, I wheeled out the General’s cage. I put it where it had been when I first came to visit, with a view of the street. I left the door open for him; there was exactly zero chance of my coaxing him into the cage, but at least it’d be there for him if he wanted it. As we approached the couch, the General flew from my shoulder to take his place on the back of the sofa. This time, though, he didn’t knead his talons into the upholstery. He shuffled side to side, looking expectantly at the TV. When I switched it on, I saw my own face staring back at me.
As fast as I could, I changed channels. I hated seeing my own show. There was no better way to screw up a perfectly nice night than to get in the I should’ve done that differently loop. I flipped through the channels and landed on a nature show about some tiny multicolored crab. Ivan quieted down in my arms, and within what seemed like about one second, he fell sound asleep against my bare chest.
I glanced at the General, who was transfixed by the crabs running sideways on the screen. I rubbed my face with my hand and surprised myself with a huge yawn. It might’ve been barely after sunset, but I was exhausted; I’d spent the last few nights all over Lily and probably hadn’t slept more than a few hours total. Not that I was complaining. But now, it was like the bottom had dropped out from under me. I was worn the hell out. Her place was comfortable, quiet, and peaceful. Even though she wasn’t there with me, I sensed her in all the touches and the details. It felt like the one place that had never quite been within reach for me . . .
Like home.
Sitting on the coffee table was a notepad. I recognized the paper as the same as the notes that were inside the gratitude jar. On the top sheet, I saw the indentations of a word. I angled it toward the light.
And saw my own name. GABE in swirly feminine letters.
Holy, holy shit.
With some intense warm fuzzies, I lay down on her sofa and pulled the quilt up over me and Ivan. Keeping my hand securely on Ivan’s back, I stretched out my legs and put a throw pillow behind my head as another yawn hit me. The General mimicked my yawn and I told him, “I’m going to close my eyes for a minute. Wake me up if you need me. OK?”
He nodded. “OK!” he said and turned his attention back to the crabs.
I inhaled and relaxed. Tension I had no idea I was carrying around with me seemed to melt out of my shoulders. Lily was grateful for me, and I was damned grateful for her too. But then my mind drifted back to the way she’d looked right after I kissed her in the kitchen. She’d looked pretty terrified as she searched for the words for whatever it was she’d been planning to tell me.
Terrified of what, I didn’t really know. But she’d seemed worried long before I walked in the door for dinner. In fact, she’d looked pretty spooked even when I’d dropped her off at her house earlier that day.
The idea of her worrying that pretty little head of hers didn’t sit well with me. But whatever it was, I was positive we’d be able to sort it out.
We’ll be able to sort it out, I thought as I began to drift off to sleep.
Not just me anymore. We.