Page 41 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

I unplug my computer so that my messages will stop showing up on the presentation screen. Then I pick up my phone and go to my new messages, where a healthy dose of panic sets in.

Maya:Theoretically if something happened to our backyard, how mad would you be?

Maya:And your sliding door? How attached are you to that?

Maya:OMG A BIRD JUST FLEW INSIDE YOUR APARTMENT

Maya:CRAP WHAT DO I DO

Maya:Your place is messier than I imagined

Maya:HELP!HIS LITTLE BIRD HEAD IS LEAVING BLOODY SPOTS ON THE CEILING

I have so many questions, andsomany concerns. With a polite smile, I excuse myself, promising to return momentarily, and then step out, closing the door most of the way behind me.

When I call Maya, it only gives half a ring before she answers.

“Dex!” she says frantically, her voice blaring loudly. I jump, quickly moving the phone away from my ear so I don’t go deaf.

“Dex, there’s a full onbirdin your house, and I don’t know what to do. I was mowing the lawn—”

“You were what?”

“Archer was sleeping, and I wanted to feel productive, Dex!” she wails. “I keepfailing.I tried to fix my dryer but I couldn’t, and then I tried to change the tire and that didn’t work either, and now I thought I could mow the stupid lawn, but I accidentally clipped some of the plants, and then a rock kicked up and shattered your sliding door—”

It didwhat?

“And the sound made all the birds on the fence startle, and one of them went straight in!”

I’m just about to speak when, from behind me, a muffled voice says, “What kind of bird?”

I jump at hearing the unexpected question, turning around. The door to the meeting room is almost completely closed, but now I yank it open—and find four old men hovered there, clearly eavesdropping, and clearly unashamed.

“What kind of bird?” Vick repeats, sounding eager. “She needs to figure out what kind of bird it is.”

Wilhelm nods in agreement. “Some of them are protected species, so you have to be careful with those. Might even need to call in animal control.”

I just look at the group of them for a second—they are clearly more interested in this conversation than in the community shuttle system—before nodding and resigning myself to the fact that this is going to be a group conversation now. I wave my hand, and we all return to the table. Then, putting my phone on speaker, I say,

“What kind of bird is it?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Maya says, a slightly hysterical note still edging her voice. I picture her running around my living room like a chicken with its head cut off; the mental image almost tugs a smile from me. “I’m not a bird expert. But he keeps running into the ceiling, and he won’t come down, andlisten”—she’s gone for a second, the sound of her voice replaced by a faint mixture of thunks and squawks—“is that not the worst noise you’ve ever heard?”

I wince, because it is terrible. It sounds…well, like a bird hitting its head on a ceiling.Myceiling.

“What does it look like?” Don pipes up. “What does the bird look like?”

“Um, it’s kind of blackish blueish?” she says after a second. “And it has these mean little eyes that arejudgingme, Dex—”

“What color are the eyes?” Vick says.

“And what about the black and blue—are they sort of iridescent?”

“Yes,” she says, sounding relieved. “Yes, like an oil slick. What is it?”

“That right there is a grackle,” Vick says with a grimace.

“A common grackle,” Don adds. “Get that thing out of there. Those birds are pests. A real pain in the—”

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