Page 53 of Maybe We Can Fake It

Before I have any chance of stopping her, she flies off, knocking over a lamp on my end table. It smashes against the edge and breaks as it falls to the floor.

I scream out another curse as I lunge for the feathered menace, but I barely manage to graze a wing. She’s squawking and hopping and flying all over the room now, both of us equally frantic.

At a loss for what to do, I call out, “Delilah DoodleDon’t,” in my sternest voice. Because that’s what Mitch calls her when she’s in trouble.

But it does absolutely nothing to deter her from destroying my house. If anything, it seems to make her more agitated.

I’m scurrying around now trying to catch her, but she just keeps hopping out of my reach. There are feathers on the floor, scratches up both of my arms, and wine soaking into my couch.

After forcing myself to calm down, I stand a few feet from her, giving her a chance to calm down as well. When she does, I take a step closer.

And she flies off again.

Well, fuck me, I guess. And fuck her too.

Running back to the couch, I grab my phone, looking around for something to wipe up the wine with at the same time but coming up blank. I pull up Travis’s contact and call him, barely waiting for him to say hello before I launch into a nonsensicaltirade about a depressed chicken on the loose and my broken lamp and the sad, sad state of my life.

He says, “What?” a few times. But I just keep babbling faster and faster, until he says, “Brenden,” so commandingly that it makes me stop.

Wow, I wish that had worked for me on Delilah.

After he tells me he’ll be right over, I hang up and allow myself to breathe the tiniest sigh of relief while keeping my eyes on the chicken. He probably didn’t understand a word I was saying, but he obviously heard the distress in my voice. And he’s coming to help.

Of course he is. Because that’s what Travis does.

I feel slightly guilty for calling him, because he’s already doing so much for me between the inn and the grandparents. But who else do you call when you’ve got a chicken emergency if not your fake boyfriend?

I try halfheartedly to capture Delilah a few more times while I wait for him, but we’re in the middle of another standoff when I hear his truck pulling up the driveway. As soon as he opens the door, I launch myself into his arms.

“SOS! Save my ship! Or my house, or my skin, or something.”

“What’s going on?” he says, rubbing a hand up and down my back.

Reluctantly, I step away from him to point an accusing finger at Delilah. “That bird isevil.”

His eyes widen as he spots her, then he takes in the sight of my living room before focusing back on me. “What the fuck. You really do have a loose chicken in here?”

“I told you I did! Did you think I was lying?”

“I... I thought you wanted...”

“Wanted what?” I ask.

Clearing his throat, he says, “I thought you might have been hallucinating.”

I gesticulate to the entirely non-hallucinated chicken defensively. “You know Delilah is real.”

He furrows his brow. “Yeah, but I didn’t know you were crazy enough to volunteer to take care of her.”

“I didn’tvolunteer,” I argue. “But whatever. Can you help me?”

Dubiously, he asks, “What exactly do you want me to do?”

“Turn her into chicken tenders!” I yell spitefully.

He gives me a horrified look.

“I’m not serious, jeez! Don’t hurt her. Just help me catch her!”

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