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It was a big house with five bedrooms, four baths, a living room, a family room, a den, and a study. There was an extra room up in the attic that could act as a bedroom, office, workout room, gift wrapping room, or, let’s face it, a place to store all the souvenirs we would collect over the years.
The price was set around three million thanks to a four-acre property that was uncommon in the area and the fact that it had been painstakingly restored by a previous owner, so everything was new, even if it looked historical.
“Oh look at all these trees,” she said, taking the binder from me. “I love Weeping Willows. They are perfect for picnicking under.”
I had her right then and there.
While she was cooing over the interior, I was texting the real estate agent, telling her we were going to need a walkthrough.
It was all for show, though.
I knew it right then and there that we’d found our home.
Now I just needed to convince her to marry me.
One step at a time, though.
Wasp – 4 months
“Fenway,” I called, looking at the package on the front porch.
The one with breathing holes in it.
And movement within.
“Yes, darling?” he called in a singsong voice because we were in a tiff about one of his naked lady paintings that he wanted to hang in the entryway.
I was no prude. I thought all those paintings from plague times with women lounging around on couches with their tits out were lovely.
I did not, however, think his monstrosity that had a naked woman made up of fifteen different women on a canvas the size of a kitchen island was lovely. In fact, it looked like some kind of veiled threat from a serial killer who liked to dismember his victims. I’d told him as such, too. Because, yeah, no, that damn thing was not going in the entryway. If I had my way, it was going to one of the other houses in his portfolio. Or, you know, straight into the garbage bin.
“There is a package here for you?”
“I didn’t order anything,” he told me, footsteps making their way in my direction.
“I think this is from someone named Karma,” I informed him, pressing my lips together as I listened to the creature inside smack around at the sides of the box.
“Karma?” he asked, moving to stand next to me, staring down at the box.
“Also known as Payback For Buying Your Friend A Farm Pig, Industries.”
“Oh, yes,” Fenway concluded, nodding his head. “I guess I did have this coming. Well, let’s see what it is, shall we?” he asked, picking up the box, careful not to get his fingers near the holes in case whatever was inside bit.
He carried it into our beautiful kitchen with its Viking stove I was starting to think I should learn how to use, butcher block countertops, and white cabinetry, dropping it down on the island to grab a scissor and carefully cut it open.
“Alright. Let’s see it,” I told him, watching as his eyes went worried as he reached his hand inside.
“Fuck,” he hissed, ripping his hand back out, cradling it to his chest.
“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” another voice chorused, making my mouth fall open.
“Darling,” I said, trying to hold in a laugh. “Did your old friend send you a foul-mouthed, ornery parrot as payback?”
“There’s a note,” he told me, nodding his chin toward the box, clearly not willing to risk his fingers again. And since I was pretty fond of those fingers—and the things he could do with them—I peered over the box, finding the note pinned to the side, pulling it out.
The bird inside was somewhat small in size, a gray and white parrot with a black beak and a bright red tail.
“Hi, my name is Leonard. I like almonds. I hate men. My favorite phrase is ‘Fuck you, asshole,’ followed closely by ‘Shut the fuck up.’ I will say these things loudly, confidently, and at the most inopportune times. Be advised, I will live for another fifty years, so you have the whole rest of your life to love me.
Signed, Leonard.
Also, your old friend Miller says: Gotcha, Fenway.”
“Well, if it isn’t my own bad decisions coming back to bite me in the ass,” Fenway declared, running his finger under the tap. “I will need to call Alvy to have them figure out what an African Gray parrot needs to be happy and healthy.”
“You’re keeping it?” I asked, surprised, as the parrot pinned me with a freaky yellow-eyed glare, his pupils dilating in and out.
“Of course we are keeping it. Pick him up, darling. He must want to get out of that box.”
“Why do I have to pick it up?”
“His note clearly states that he prefers the fairer sex.”
“It says he hates men. It says nothing about liking women,” I told him, put slowly lowered my hand inside. “Oh, I think he likes me,” I declared when Leonard dipped his head down, seeming to ask for scratches. Which I happily gave him.
