I scrambled to keep a hold of her and settle her back on one hip. “Scared me, girl,” I muttered. “Not sure I know what to do if you go headfirst into the dirt. Maybe I should try that sling thing Uncle Parrish got you.”
I could have sworn she smiled when she heard me say Parrish’s name, but then again, it could have been a reaction to my own smile. Whenever I thought about the man, I couldn’t help but feel happier, and not just because he’d agreed to help me get custody. All the time that we were spending together to get to know each other in preparation for next week’s home visit, all the things I’d learned about him made me like him that much more. It was hard not to like a man who muttered to himself constantly, clearly adored his elderly uncle, and who’d talk to me for hours on end about politics, or chickens, or Marvel movies, like he really valued my opinions on the subjects.
But that was also why I’d tried not to push him too hard by being overly flirtatious. He was doing enough for me, and I didn’t want to make him feel awkward by ogling his ass or going overboard with pet names, even if it felt weirdly natural.
Marigold gurgled happily at the chickens surrounding us, so I introduced her. “This here zebra-looking one is a Plymouth Rock variety named Helga. She was named Helen until the great pecking incident of 2018, but we try not to talk about that time. Now this one…” I pointed to the maroon lady at my feet who was trying to nudge her way into my pockets. “This one is a Rhode Island Red. Her name is Samantha, but everyone calls her Nosy. I think you can imagine why. And this sweet girl,” I said, reaching down to run a finger down the long neck of one of my favorite chickens, “is Henry, but only because I got a little confused early on, and by the time I figured it out, she was just… Henry. I tried shortening it to Hen, but that was a bit too on the nose.”
I loved watching Marigold chatter happily to the chickens. These ladies were like pets to me, and seeing how happy they made my girl was like the best thing ever. One of the roosters strutted over to see what was going on.
“And that’s Lloyd. Don’t pay much attention to him. He’s a grouch. Thinks he owns the place. But that other rooster over there”—I pointed to my favorite of the two roosters—“is much nicer even though he’s noisy as all heck. We call him Uncle. Again, it was a little bit of confusion on my part because of the type of rooster he is, but we don’t need to get into that. Aren’t his toe feathers pretty?”
I moved around to grab the hose to rinse out the watering system I’d built. The girls seemed to love it, and it had significantly lowered my stress about keeping them supplied with clean water. My gushing email of thanks to the people at BeakTime had gone unanswered, but their system design had been such a game-changer, I’d considered sending another one.
Before I could turn on the spigot, I heard a woman’s voice call out. “Yoo-hoo, Diesel, is that you?”
I’d finished installing the fence pickets to hide the chicken enclosure and salvage yard from the street, but it was only six feet tall. That meant four inches of my face and head poked over the top like a nosy neighbor.
I turned to see who was calling me and saw Ava Siegel’s signature blonde curls. She was pushing a stroller with her baby in it and seemed not to notice how out of place her brightly colored sundress looked in my weed-encrusted forecourt.
“Oh, uh, yeah? Hi. It’s me,” I stammered, tossing the hose back toward its coil and shifting Marigold on my hip again. “Be right with you.”
I quickly hustled all the chickens away from the gate before slipping through and slamming it closed again. Hopefully I didn’t smell like chicken poop or have feathers sticking to my clothes here and there.
I tried brushing myself off, but it wasn’t easy with an armful of curious baby. She leaned this way and that trying to get a look at our visitors.
“Oh my goodness gracious,” Ava squealed. “Is this… who is this little one? She is so precious!”