Chapter Eight
Three days later, I was making calls on a glorious Sunday morning.
The alehouse was closed, and my man was seated on the other end of the sofa wearing nothing but a satisfied smile as he pit-patted on wet bare feet from the shower. Water ran down his back from his recently toweled hair. I had a wild urge to pin him to the wall and lick off every droplet, but I was in the middle of a conversation with my brother-in-law. Maybe later. It was early. We had all day. Well, I would have to make a dash out to check on cheeping in the coop, but then we had all day. There was no law against eating your man’s ass so good he lost it and came all over the floor twice.
“…really nice of you to call and wish me Happy Father’s Day, but I am not a father just yet,” Antoine was saying. I gave Kenan a wink. He winked back, then disappeared from view to pull on some clothes.
“Well, you’re close enough to count. How is Nora?” I sat down on the sofa with the first cup of coffee of the day.
“Sleeping. She is very tired. The baby kicks all night long. I think he or she is going to be a soccer player.” He sounded exhausted poor guy. Still, his voice held so much love and joy and overwhelming excitement that I found myself envying him just a little bit. “But we just have ten more days for reaching full term so your maman is being like a servant to both of us. I tell her, Carmen, I say, I can make soup from a can. Please, do not do this for me, but she is not one for to listen well.”
“That is the understatement of the century,” I said with a chuckle. “Oh, Dad says hello. He’s spending his day playing golf with his buddies and then grabbing a rotisserie chicken at the nearby chicken joint for dinner. I wager anything that he also enjoys a beer and a cigar while Mom is up there playing Mr. Belvedere for you and Nora.”
That made him laugh. Kenan walked by in ripped jeans and an orange tank top with a dancing lime on the front and a pair of sloppy leather sandals on his feet.
“I’m going to do the geese,” he whispered as he headed to the back door. I gave him a thumbs up. What a good guy. Even though Fred and he did not get along well—not that Fred got along well with anyone—he was going to give the grumpy cuss some grub while I chit-chatted with my brother-in-law. I foresaw another orgasm today for my boyfriend. The back door closed with a sharp snap.
“I think breakfast is being served now. It looks enormous. I will go into training camp twenty pounds overweight from your maman making me eat so much of her pancakes.”
That amused me. I could totally see my mother placing a platter of flap jacks two feet high in front of Antoine on the daily. Poor Antoine. There he was stuck with his pushy mother-in-law, an incredibly pregnant and irritable wife, and enough pancakes to feed his entire hockey team.
“Tell Mom that I said she needs to stop stuffing you like a Thanksgiving turkey or you’ll lose your hockey job and have to move in with them down in Florida.” I paused for a second. “No, don’t tell her that. She would love that. When she’s not looking toss the extra pancakes into the garbage disposal. Or feed them to Nora. Same thing.”
“Gasp! I am so going to tell her you called her a garbage disposal.”
“Go for it. She’s heavy with your child now. I can outrun her.”
We both had a laugh, then I made my exit before my mother could get on the phone to pester me about something. There was always something she wanted to say. Probably to call Nona or pick up my socks or to make an honest man out of Kenan because she saw a show about how many younger Jews are cool with interfaith marriages. As if everyone on the planet was agog over babies and marriage. Pfft.
The back door flew open with a loud bang. I jumped to my feet, phone in my hand, to see Kenan barreling into the living room, eyes wild, chest heaving.
“I heard a peep!” he yelled, even though I stood four feet from him.
“Are you sure?” I sprinted to the back door.
“Yes, well, yes, somewhat sure.” We thundered out into the bright sunny morn, both barefoot, and raced to the pen. The gate was open, but the coop door was still closed. Fred was noodling at the door, his way of politely saying “Hurry the fuck up!” but he would have to chill for just a second. I dropped to my knees, uncaring of goose packages, and pressed an ear to the door. Fred was complaining to Wilma in soft goosey clucks about the service at this hotel. She replied in a gentle murmur. I strained to hear a little peep but heard nothing.
“I can’t hear anything,” I said to Kenan, then sat back on my heels. “Maybe you heard a songbird and thought it was a peep?” I glanced up. He looked crestfallen.
“Maybe? Man, it sure sounded like a little bird, though. Can we let them out and peek to see if the eggs are pipped?”
I was so proud of him. He was turning into a backyard poultry professor. How clever he was to know that pipping was an egg that had a small hole, or crack, which meant that the bird inside was starting to break out. Although I had kept track of the days, we could still be waiting a little longer than the normal twenty-eight days listed for geese. Some breeds took a few days longer, and even if we did have a pip, it could take a gosling twenty-four hours to work its way out of the large, tough-shelled eggs.
“Okay, I’ll let them out and when they go down to the creek for a splash and sip, we’ll get all stealthy and try to see what’s happening in that nest.”
He nodded before darting out of the pen to wait on the other side of the fence. Once he was out, I got to my feet and opened the coop door. Fred, as always, emerged first, bitching about the long wait. I stepped back several paces to give him and her space. Kenan ran to the shed for feed as Fred marched about in circles, calling to Wilma. She, oddly, did not get up to go potty or wash up. Kenan shook the bucket to pull my attention from the goose on her nest. She seemed really zoned out today and showed no signs of moving.
I glanced at Kenan after dumping the feed into their dish. “I wonder if maybe you did hear a gosling. She’s in super vigilant mode now.” I bent down to peek into the coop and got a hiss. “Okay, sweet girl.” I straightened just as Fred came around the coop with some grass stuck in his bill. “Do not do it,” I warned the gander. “I’m leaving now. You just be cool.”
He stood his ground as I walked in reverse through the gate. Once the latch fell into place, Fred marched up toWilma and honked triumphantly in her face. She looked wholly unimpressed.
“He’s quite proud that he drove you off,” Kenan said as his arm slid around my waist.
“Braggart,” I called to the white gander standing proudly, king of his domain and all that lived within it. “Just for your information, I chose to leave.” Fred waggled his tail as if telling me to kiss it. “I hope she gets up to eat. I worry about her losing weight. She’s been so diligent on that nest.” As dearly as I wanted to peek at the eggs, I knew if I farted around, it would upset Wilma, so I would back off. Perhaps tomorrow we could get a better look.
“She will. I’m sure once we back off, she’ll get up.” He rubbed my back right between the shoulder blades. “Why don’t we go get some coffee and a bagel, then come back out and chill on the back porch?”
That sounded good, so we did just that after I filled another rubber dish with cold water and placed it as near to the coop as Fred would let me. Yes, I was a worrier. God help me I got that from my mother. I just didn’t want Wilma to not drink on a warm day because she didn’t want to venture too far from her eggs. It took a good hour, but Wilma did rise from her nest to nibble at the pellets in their dish, then washed them down with a couple big sips. She then went right back to settling on her nest.
