Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
TWO WEEKS LATER
Ben
Tonight is a big no again. Tom won’t go to bed. He’s been up playing guitar forever. I’d think he’s cockblocking me, but he’s just hyper-fixated on his new song. I’m not sure he even knows what time it is.
Harriet
Tell him he sounds like a celestial Gerard Way.
Ben
That assumes he cares what I think about his music. My opinion isn’t gospel to him.
Harriet
Who’s is?
Ben
Honestly…himself.
Harriet
How am I not surprised?
Ben
Another night then, Fisher?
Harriet
Yep. The quest continues.
38
HARRIET FISHER
Sunday at the End of the World begins slow, and I’m happy about the lull tonight. Because I can spend more time swiping through Ben’s phone while he’s pressed up against my side. Dish towel slung over his shoulder, and his old worn baseball cap flipped backward—at times it’s harder to pay attention to anything but him.
I swipe into the next video in his album titled mes amours.
A little gray feathered bird with a yellow head and bright orange blush-like circles bounces to the beat of “Another One Bites the Dust” and whistles the tune.
“Theodore,” Ben names him since both his cockatiels look so similar to me. Same coloring, nearly same size. He has hundreds of these videos saved.
It’s so cute, I rewatch it again, but that’s exactly how I felt about the last twenty I’ve seen. I never had a pet, and I never imagined a bird could look so…cuddly. It’s not a fluffy poodle, but they’re affectionate in the way they beep-bop their head and perk up at the camera. I imagine they’re looking at the guy beside me, and I understand the little twinkle in their eye.
He makes me just as happy.
I slide into another video, the small bird bounces on a National Geographic magazine, nearing an outstretched hand.
Ben. I dizzy even seeing his fingers appear on-screen. I’ve really fucking lost it, but there’s seriously no turning back now.
“Theodore again,” Ben tells me.
It ends too fast. Next video plays, and I inhale an audible breath. Someone must’ve recorded Ben because he’s fully in the frame. In focus. He’s young, maybe twelve. Sitting on his bed. His luminous smile is on the little cockatiel perched on his shoulder. He lets out a melodic whistle, and the bird whistles right back, then nuzzles his head into Ben’s cheek.
Young Ben laughs. The bird chirps, then whistles so merrily, his little orange feet shifting just to be closer to the blue-eyed boy.
“Pip-Squeak,” Ben says beside me.
I swallow my emotion. “I didn’t know birds snuggled.”
“Yeah, they do.” He has a soft faraway smile, and I don’t want to fill him with grief since both birds are no longer alive.
So I hand back his phone. “Thanks,” I say sincerely. “That’s been the best birthday present so far.” I don’t tell him it’s the first one I’ve received since I was sixteen. Aunt Helena always calls to wish me a happy birthday—like she did this morning—but I wouldn’t consider a fifteen-minute chat a gift, even if I really appreciate how she always remembers to ring me on October 13th. A couple years ago, I really needed her call. It’d been a bright spot on a lousy seventeen.
“You think this was your birthday present?” He scrunches his face at me, slipping his phone in his butt pocket.
I’d asked Ben if he had any videos stashed of his cockatiels. Little did I know, he had enough to make my whole night. “I asked and I received,” I shrug, straightening up and shifting away from the liquor bottles behind us. My cheeks burn at the way he’s watching me move to the beer taps. He’s checking me out, and I’m seriously giddy over it. “Why? Did you get me something?”
“Maybe.” His teasing smile is going to be the death of me. Good riddance, Harriet. The girl who died over a fucking smile. Ugh.
“Maybe.” I crinkle my nose at him. “Whatcha got in your pocket for me, Cobalt boy? Jolly Ranchers?”
“Generally, gifts are supposed to be special. Not something you carry on the regular.”
“Okay.” I hoist myself up on the bar, sitting beside the taps. Only two old dudes are here drinking Guinness and chitchatting quietly at a booth. Ghostbusters plays on the projector screen. Volume low. I have my back to the movie. “You only came here with a water bottle. So it has to be in your pocket.”
“Great assessment, Fisher,” Ben smiles while nearing. “It is in my pocket.”
He got me something. I grip the bar on either side of me. I swear, I’m two seconds from swinging my legs and falling backward like a fool. “You going to show me?”
Ben digs in his jeans, unearthing a square box wrapped with pink cupcake-patterned paper. It’s not a ring box, but maybe the size for a bracelet or an iron-on patch to add to my backpack.
“Tell me you didn’t buy wrapping paper.” I take the gift.