Page 7 of Skin Deep

Shit was starting to get real in the financial department. There was no way I was going to be able to follow through with my plans at this rate. I thought about that for a second as I popped the top on a can of soup. Once my student loans started to collect, I wouldn’t be able to afford anything.

Taking a seat at the table, I drank the soup right out of the can, scanning a few websites with job listings, then checked my email. A few had responded after I’d left for Boston, but none of them were offering more than I made at the field for my level of experience. I shut the computer as the music from next door started to rattle the walls.

Newman started lowering his head, ruffling his feathers, mimicking the noises coming from the bumping speakers. He plucked a strawberry from his bowl. He ate better than I did. He had an assortment of fresh fruits and vegetables hanging from his perch as he bobbed his head and ate them.

The apartment was a reminder of how fucked up my life was. How tangled all the strings I’d carefully kept separate over the years were becoming. I couldn’t fix the problems piling up like the bills on the counter.

I made sure Newman had everything he needed, then slipped my coat and shoes on.

“Bum!” he screeched at me as I moved closer to the door.

I shot him the bird, then hesitated. I went back in and switched my jacket for a hoodie. I whistled and he came flying at me. He settled on my shoulder, and I lifted the hood, setting it over my head and him.

“Lach,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I miss him, too.”

We left.

* * *

My car was old, passed down from my father, and it refused to start. New York wasn’t as cold as Boston, but we were in the middle of winter, and I suspected my battery was frozen. I sighed, and cold smoke formed in the darkness from my mouth.

“Shit,” Newman said in my ear. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Yeah,” I said, stepping out and slamming the door. “It is a piece of shit.” I wished someone would just steal it for parts so I could claim the insurance on it. I’d buy myself a motorbike. Light on gas and only two tires to worry about. But I doubted even a thief would want it, even if I handed over the keys.

The wind blew against us as I walked. Newman rustled his feathers. Every so often, he’d pick at my hair or whistle at women as they walked by.

“Beautiful,” he said to a young woman who was dressed up for a night out.

She looked at me and narrowed her eyes.

“My bird,” I said. “He likes to talk to women.”

She sucked in breath, looked down at my crotch, then hustled to get away from us.

“I guess she didn’t see you.” I headed toward Rockefeller Center.

“Newman,” he said, and then he whistled.

The line was long to go ice skating, but I pulled aside one of Declan’s friends who was working there and asked him to do me a favor.

Shine grinned at me. “Yeah, I can do it. You need two tickets?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Two tickets.” I handed him the money.

He pocketed it. “If you plan ahead, we take reservations for proposals. You can even have your favorite music playing.”

“Bitch,” Newman said.

Shine narrowed his eyes at me.

I pointed to the side of my head. “Lachlan’s bird,” I said.

He smiled when he realized. “No fucking way. Lach has a parrot?”

“Yeah,” I said. “And if he keeps making comments, I might not make it back in one piece.”

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