A Bird in the Oven - Kata Cuic Page 0,1

best friend has certain advantages. If I scream randomly, he knows to come over and kill the tarantula I found hiding in the bathtub. When the pilot light goes out on my furnace, I don’t have to wait for a repair guy to relight it because I’m too scared to blow up the whole thing.

Sharing an entire wall from basement to second floor also has serious drawbacks. Like, the one time I found out his last girlfriend, Sasha, screams like an attacking bald eagle when orgasming. I’m just not patriotic enough to appreciate that, I guess. Or the time his headboard was hitting the wall so hard, it knocked down the painting hanging over my own bed. There’s nothing quite like getting a concussion at two in the morning.

Those reasons are bad enough, but what I really dislike about the parade of women who date my best friend is that they don’t appreciate him. Not really. They’re smitten by his sexy appearance coupled with his quiet, almost bumbling way with words in spite of his advanced vocabulary. They’re really taken in when they find out he makes bank working for Google. They start with hearts in their eyes and imaginations filled with white wedding gowns, but they all end the same—disappointing.

“What was it this time? You had to pull all weekend working, and she’d made plans for you to brunch with her friends?”

He scoffs and takes another pull of beer. “She wanted to adopt a cat together.”

I stare at him, incredulous. “You’re allergic to cats!”

“I know that.”

“Does she?”

“She does now.” He pouts. “Apparently, that is a deal-breaker for her.”

See? Disappointing.

“Well, good riddance.” At least I’ll get a break from sleeping with earplugs for a while. “She wasn’t right for you anyway.”

He smirks but keeps his gaze firmly on the fire. “You say that about all of them.”

“Pick one who doesn’t eventually prove it true,” I mumble.

“My mother is going to be disappointed,” he admits. “I do not share your concerns about aging, but Mom worries about me turning thirty, too. She wants a daughter-in-law and grandchildren, and she believes I should have started a family years ago. She will likely experience severe distress when she realizes she’ll have to rearrange the seating for Thanksgiving.”

“Your mom is already planning for Thanksgiving?” It’s nearly two months away. I’m only making plans for how to decorate for Halloween at this point.

Ollie pins me with a flattened expression. “You know how she is.”

I do know. Because I’ve been friends with Ollie so long, I know his entire family. They’re Italian, so there’s an army of them. Every holiday is a major event when you have to feed that many people at one time.

He leans forward and rubs his forehead. “I can imagine her words. Why do you keep doing this? When are you going to admit—” He snaps his mouth closed when a lone figure appears within the circle of our light from the darkness. “Hello, Mr. Hooper.”

The older man smiles at us. “You kids having a good time? It’s a nice night for a fire.”

I snicker at the idea he’s calling us kids. Mr. Hooper can’t be more than fifty.

“We are. Would you care to join us?” Ollie offers.

I cut a sideways glance at him. We don’t know Mr. Hooper from Joe Schmoe. He only moved in a few weeks ago. Our suburb isn’t exactly dangerous, but there is an unreasonably high turnover of tenants here. This guy could be a vampire, and Ollie’s just given him the requisite invitation to murder us.

“Nah.” Mr. Hooper thankfully waves off Ollie’s suggestion. “I was actually wondering if you have a battery I can borrow.”

I repress more snickers. Called it.

“What brand of blower do you have?” Ollie asks.

“One of those bright green ones. A…Ryobi?”

“I have the same. You may borrow my battery.” Horrifyingly, Ollie rises from his chair and strides away.

Mr. Hooper and I stare at each other in awkward silence. Surely, he won’t murder me even though we’re alone. It’ll be way too obvious it was him when Ollie returns to my lifeless body.

Mr. Hooper rocks on his heels, seeming as awkward as I feel. It might be a ploy to get me to let my guard down though. “Your yards look fantastic. You’ve done a really nice job here.”

“Thank you.” I have no idea how else to respond to that.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to move in together instead of paying double the rent?” He scratches his chin like this is the kind of