5
Leigh
My first cramps came on the morning of Sophia’s final day at school. Ian met me at Roseberry Elementary’s lobby, and we moved into the cafeteria together for the award ceremony celebrating the children’s accomplishments for the semester and overall year.
Before leaving home, I’d popped a couple Aleve for the agony. My cramps always presented as lower back aches first before they sort of slithered their way into my uterus and turned my world into hell. I expected my period to come any day now, any moment, a sign that the past two weeks of hard, frequent fucking had failed.
Ian approached our bedroom time with a new level of devotion. We’d made love almost every day of May, and now, on the last day of the month, I knew it had all been for nothing.
I sighed.
My husband’s warm hand touched mine, drawing my attention from the stage where the principal gave a speech about our children. “You okay?” he whispered.
“Everything’s great.”
He cocked a dubious brow then tilted his head. “You sure?”
“Everything’s great.”
When he opened his mouth again, I jerked my head toward the stage. His frown deepened, but he let it go.
Sophia took home an award for perfect attendance and a second certificate of merit for being her classroom’s helper. They named a few other award winners, then listed the first-grade honor roll. Sophia claimed one of those certificates, too. I beamed. Ian puffed his chest out, though he told us all the time he did not puff his chest out—but he did, just like a happy bird.
When the assembly ended, we took her for milkshakes and lunch at Sonic Drive-In and sat outside in the shade while chattered about the cheerful talking-bird adventure movie they’d watched in the class that morning.
Ian caught my eye and raised his brows. Her birthday parrot hadn’t slipped my mind during the busy month of attempting to create Baby MacArthur. We’d only visited one cockatoo breeder and the bird had hated Ian on sight, biting his fingers and holding him in a death grip that my husband endured without even making a face. Either his fingers were made of steel, or he had a poker face worthy of joining the Annual World Series of Poker. “Well?” he mouthed.
“Sure,” I mouthed back.
While Sophia babbled about looking forward to the summer session at the Boys & Girls Club of Quickdraw, Ian slid his phone out and sent me a text. I glanced at the screen.
Ian: You entertain her when we get home, and I’ll look online for a breeder.
Me: Deal.
It took almost two hours to pry Sophia away from me. We weeded the garden, painted a few stepping stones, then I left her in the living room with the PlayStation and an animated movie.
I found Ian in his office, elbows on the desk and chin propped over both thumbs and fingers aligned over the bridge of his nose. His thinking pose killed me. He looked so serious, which meant his search must not have gone to plan.
“Uh oh,” I said.
“Can’t find many cockatoo breeders in the area without shipping, and I’d rather buy local. Visit the little guy first, you know?”
“Agreed.”
“So I looked into African Greys. Nice ones are pricier than I thought.”
My heart sank. “Oh. Well, if they’re too expensive, we can—”
“I didn’t say they’re too expensive, Leigh, I said they’re pricier than I thought. I’ve been hunting for a local breeder who will have a weaned baby in time for Sophia’s birthday.” He leaned back in his seat glowered at his screen, appearing grumpier by the second, until he patted his lap in invitation. I crossed behind the desk and settled on his lap.
“Have you found any?”
“Several. Not all of them are the type I want to give my money to, though. I’ve chatted with a few on the phone and e-mailed others. Some aren’t okay with us visiting their facility, others don’t seem to know what the hell they’re doing.”
“Ugh.”
“Then I found a guy about two hours away who encourages us to visit. He has a baby, and he has two older female birds.”
“How much older, and what difference would it make to us?”
Ian slipped his arm around my waist and rubbed his whiskered cheek against mine, scratching me with the pale white stubble. I squealed and squirmed away. “The two older gals are socialized. One lived with an old man who passed away a few months ago. DNA testing shows the baby is a boy.”
“What are we looking at if we get a baby?”
“More time and commitment… ah, hell, it’s always going to be a huge commitment when we’re talking parrots. A baby hasn’t learned yet that human fingers are soft and tender. He’ll nip. He’ll beak us, especially Sophia, and she might not be able to take that. I don’t want her to become discouraged and think the baby hates her.”
“If he nips, will it be hard enough to draw blood?”
Ian tilted his head and gave me a look.
I shoved his shoulder. “How long would it take for him to learn he’s hurting us?”
“Could be weeks or months. Loud noises tend to scare babies, because they’ve never experienced all these sounds associated in a home with a young child.” He paused and glanced at the screen. “But Sophia’s a bit mature for her age.”
“And intelligent.”
“That she is, baby. I think if we talk to her and explain things, a young bird will be okay.”
“What does he want for him?”
“Seven grand.”
I held my chest. “What?”
Ian tapped open his browser and showed me a photograph of an African Grey with a speckling of red down on his chest.
“He’s cute.”
“Yeah, isn’t he?”
“I didn’t know they had red.”
“Yeah. Hence the greater price.” Then he pulled up the email. I skimmed it and saw the guy wanted a fifty percent deposit to hold on to the baby. The breeder concluded the polite message with a PayPal link and available dates to view the bird.
“I knew they were expensive, but maybe she’d be happier with a parakeet or a cockatiel.”
My husband grimaced.
“What?”
“You’re doing it again, Leigh. Let me spend money.”
“Fine.”
He clicked the link and sent the payment in full. A minute later, the breeder replied with a friendly thank you. And now we were to be the proud co-owners of a baby Congo African Grey.
Hopefully this one wouldn’t think Ian was the devil.
Before I could ask when he wanted to visit our little guy, his phone rang. He glanced at the Caller ID window and raised it to his ear. “Afternoon, Nadir. What’s up. A mission? Tonight?”
Ugh. Sensing that was as much attention as I’d get from him for now, I slid off his lap and crept from the room.
Ian
“Goddammit, Taylor, why do I have to keep reviving you!” Sasha shouted over the headset.
“Because you’re the medic. Your job is to keep us alive.”
“That is not my job, you dickhead. Keep your ass out of the hot zone. It’ll be a headshot next time. Did you forget I can’t bring you back from that?”
“Found the objective!” Juni cried.
Russ raised his ballistic shield and rushed past me into the fray. Bullets sped at us, but I ducked to the side and raised my 416-C carbine. I sprayed the hostile directly ahead of me, then spun and pegged a Navy SEAL named Blackbeard with a well-placed headshot during the mad scramble to take the room.
“Fuck, I’m down, guys,” Nadir called. “There’s two guys hiding in the corner upstairs. I didn’t see them and one sniped me.”
“Smooth, bruh,” Taylor said, snickering. “See. Someone got headshot and it wasn’t even me, Sash.”
Every once in a while, when the moons aligned and all of us were available, the gang met up on our PlayStation 4s for a few multiplayer matches of Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six Siege.
Officially, it was Sophia’s Pla
yStation 4, but with Taylor, Nadir, and Juni urging me to get the game, I’d gotten sucked into the mechanics. Basically, we all played a mix of fictional counter-terrorism operators from across the world from the FBI SWAT all the way down to the French GIGN.
And it was surprisingly fun to run into battle without risking my life for real. Real life had the best graphics, but there were no respawn points. We rushed the room and took vengeance for Nadir, pounding out rounds into the opposing team of operatives before claiming the win.
Leigh set a cold beer on the coffee table for me, then shuffled out of the room. I glanced at her in passing, then muted my mic during the down time between matches.
“Everything okay, baby?”
“Huh?” She paused in the entrance hall, blinking owlishly at me. Those big, gorgeous gray eyes reminded me of storm clouds.
“Are you okay?” In the months since we’d all purchased the game, she’d always settled beside me and watched, claiming the gameplay entertained her. She’d barely spoken a word since I purchased Baby Bird MacArthur. Was she still mad about the price?
“I’m fine. Going upstairs for a bit. Do you need anything before I leave?”
“No, I don’t need anything.” I glanced at the screen. The next game would be starting soon, but I pulled off the headset and rose to trail after her. “Hey. Did I do something to upset you?” When she shook her head, I touched her chin. “Leigh, this is me you’re talking to. I can feel through the bond when you’re upset.”
“Your match is going to start without you.”
“Leigh—”
“I’m going to take a bath. I bought some new bath bombs to try out.”
I frowned. “Okay.”
Gameplay resumed for another half-hour before I called it quits, wishing my friends a goodnight before I powered down the machine and trudged upstairs. I found Leigh submerged to her neck in the master bath’s tub, surrounded by bubbles. She’d piled her white-blonde hair into a high bun, but a few stray wisps clung to her pink cheeks and damp temples. Steam fogged the mirrors, and her favorite playlist serenaded her from the Echo on her bedroom nightstand. She had all the elements of a romantic night, excluding candles, wine, and a husband to share it with her.
“You didn’t have to stop gaming for me.”
“Who says I stopped gaming for you? Maybe I wanted to perv at my naked wife a little.” Leigh rolled her eyes. Another clue that something was bothering my sweet-tempered woman. Instead of pestering her about it, I pulled off my tee and dropped my pants. “Make room.”
“Ian, it’s fine. If you get in here you’ll smell like rose buds.”
“I like roses.” And was secure enough in my masculinity to lower my boxers and step in to join her despite the flower petals floating around her and the floral-scented steam in the air.
After I sank down and gathered her into my arms, I kissed her neck. “Love you.”
Leigh tipped her head back against my shoulder. “Love you, too.”
“Enough to tell me what’s bugging you?”
A pregnant pause—we couldn’t get pregnant, but we’d certainly developed some awkward silences—stretched between us until Leigh murmured, “My period is coming, I think. I’m really crampy feeling and bloated today. I don’t think the drugs worked this time.”
“Ah.” I kissed her hair and tried to exude patience. Only a few weeks ago, I’d been in her place, setting the blame at my feet for something beyond my control. “Doctor Kline mentioned a second round may be necessary.”
“I guess… the pills sounded so magical and I hoped about now I’d be taking one of those early pregnancy tests. It wasn’t hard to get pregnant with Sophia. Why does my body have to do this now?”
“You’re only thirty-two, baby. Even if this isn’t our year, we have time. Remember those articles we looked at? Some couples take as long as ten or more years before they conceive.”
Leigh shuddered and made a little sound that may have been a sob. Her shoulders shook. “I don’t want to wait ten years.”
“I bet we won’t. This next round will be our lucky turn. Then she or he will be absolutely gorgeous and worth every minute we’ve waited.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
Steam carried the soothing smell of roses to me each time I inhaled. I breathed it in and lay back against the porcelain, deciding women were definitely on to something special with their bath bombs and oils.
“A year from now, all of this will be in the past. We’ll have our baby, and you’ll have whole new reasons to bitch and moan at me.”
“I will not.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
6
Leigh
“I’m eight! I’m eight!”
Sophia woke us both by diving into our bed before the clock even struck seven. Her sleep-flattened curls bounced around her face and the hem of her nightgown fluttered around her ankles with each excited hop.
“What? You’re eight?” Pushing up on one elbow, I gazed at my little girl and held back a smile. “Are you sure? Ian, did you know she’s eight?”
“Nah, she’s six. Certain of it.”
“No, I’m not, silly Daddy.” She put on her best mean face and growled at him.
“I don’t know… Pretty sure I’d realize if you were eight.”
“Daddy!”
“Okay, okay. Happy eighth birthday, sweetheart.” Then he sprawled back in bed and pulled the covers up again. “See you in a few hours.”
“Daddy!” Sophia shrieked. “You promised me presents in the morning.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t remember that.”
Sophia jumped onto his stomach, and I knew it had to have knocked the breath out of him from the expression he made. I grinned. Served him right.
When he’d had enough of Sophia’s sharp knees in his abs—I was positive one struck him in the groin, too—we headed downstairs to the living room. A shiny new bicycle waited on the living room rug, candy apple red with gorgeous pink and white streamers. The new helmet rested on the seat. I’d placed a couple new dolls and a Pokémon videogame beside it on the table.
What really caught her eye was the enormous, rectangular object in the corner. We’d covered it with a heavy dark sheet last night before heading to bed.
“What’s that?”
“I know it isn’t a cockatoo, but… We thought this guy would be great,” Ian said, dragging the cover off the large cage we’d assembled overnight. I held my hands behind my back, fingers crossed, and hoped we’d done the right thing by picking another bird.
Sophia stared at the African Grey perched inside. He gazed back at her with equal curiosity. His pupils pinned, shrinking then dilating again, something Ian had told me was a sign of interest.
“Is it for me?”
“All yours, sweetie,” I replied.
Sophia threw herself at Ian’s midsection, hugging him tight and crying so hard I snuck away a few seconds to grab my phone from the charger on the counter. “He’s so pretty, Daddy, I love him.”
“Awww.” I snapped a few photographs, heart melting in my chest. At that moment, no one could convince me I wasn’t the luckiest woman in the whole world—fertility problems aside—because this wonderful and compassionate man had taken in a single mom and her daughter, loving Sophia as tenderly as he’d love the baby I hoped to conceive with him.
Sniffling, Sophia released Ian at last to study her new friend again. “What’s his name? Does he have a name?”
Ian knelt beside her. “Well, he doesn’t have a name yet. He’s just a little guy. Like you.”
“So I can name him whatever I want?” She moved up to the cage, fearless, and reached for the door. The parrot watched her so hard I was grateful for the lock on the door. Everything I’d read said they were intelligent and I had a friend whose conures had figured out how to open their door until they upgraded to a larger cage.
“Whateve
r you want,” I assured her. “Would you like to bring him out for a little bit before the party?”
“Yes, please!”
Ian did the honors. Once he opened the cage, the bird hustled over to the door but didn’t emerge. Instead, he clung to the bars and stared at us until Ian offered him a tiny champagne grape. He snatched it with one of his scaly feet and raised it to his beak.
“See? Offer him something and see if he comes out. He’s only a baby, so he has to learn to trust us. Do you understand? A lot of things are going to scare him because he doesn’t know any better and this world is very new to him.”
Sophia nodded her head, fascinated. From the way she gazed at Ian, I couldn’t tell who she loved more—her bird or her father. She idolized the man.
One treat at a time, Sophia offered goodies to her new friend. He came a little closer each time, until finally he stepped onto a wooden perch.
“How old is he, Daddy?”
“Four months. He came from a nice house with a few brothers and sisters.”
“Is he going to miss them?”
“A little. But that’s why you’ll take great care of him.”
My little girl nodded again, expression determined. “I’ll be his best friend.”
Ian kissed her brow. “I know you will. Now then, any name ideas?”
Sophia gave her new friend another grape while she considered the question. “How about Birdstein?”
I managed to hold back a laugh, but my poor husband cracked. He looked at the newest member of our family and shook his head.
“That’s a big name to live up to, don’t you think?”
“Crackers? Ooh, what about Shadow?”
“What about Stormy? Or Cloud?” I suggested.
Sophia scrunched up her nose. “Do I have to pick now?”
“Nah, you have a few days to think of one,” Ian assured her. “Why don’t we get ready for the party, then we’ll try and coax him out again when it’s quiet.”
“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, Mommy.”
A Man of Many Talons Page 5