Page 41 of Perfectly Faked

“Okay, Bertha,” I mutter, lining up the bird buffet on the ledge. “Let’s make this easy. You want some chips? Or, I don’t know, a donut? Whatever got you to be this size in the first place?”

Bertha tilts his head and squawks indignantly. “Meathead!”

I freeze. “Did you just call me?—?”

“Meathead!” he screeches again, hopping closer to the edge like he’s ready to jump.

“Great. A parrot who hurls insults at his rescuer,” I grumble, snatching a towel off the back of a chair. This is what I get for trying to be a hero in front of Victoria.

I duck my head as I slip through the window and step one foot onto the ledge, gripping the window frame like it’s my lifeline. Then I shuffle my body so I’m within reach of the parrot. “Alright, Big Bertha, here’s how this is gonna go,” I say, giving him a look that says I mean business. “I might not like you. But I need to get you back to your owner before she has a heart attack. So you’re gonna flap those stubby wings over here, and we’ll both pretend this never happened.”

Bertha faces me with an indignant beady eye and squawks, “Meat... head.” Then he turns his back to me like I don’t exist.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I groan. The parrot’s attitude isreallygetting on my nerves now. “I’ll teach you who the meathead is.” I lunge forward, barely keeping my balance as he hops out of reach, crying like he’s being assaulted.

“You asked for it,” I growl, tossing the towel over him like I’m wrangling a wild animal. He screeches bloody murder, flapping wildly under the fabric.

“Gotcha!” I say, scooping up the bird. His head pops out of the towel, and he fixes me with a death glare, squawking what I assume are parrot profanities.

“You’re welcome,” I mutter, carefully shuffling along the edge to return to safety. Victoria’s neighbor is practically in tears, thanking me as she takes the angry bird from my arms.

I shut the window behind me and lock it just in case. “You should really get a screen.”

“Our landlord won’t fix it. I know it’s been cold outside, but Bertha likes the fresh air, and I was only planning on leaving it open for a few minutes,” Delilah says. “Could you stay for a brownie, at least? I’d love to thank you for saving Bertha’s life.”

“Meathead!” Bertha squawks and then adds a few more choice words about me just to drive the point home.

“Sure, since he loves me so much,” I say just to spite him.

Victoria looks at me with a grin that says she’s proud of my heroic deed.

“How about an extra large brownie?” Delilah says.

“You don’t have to go to all that trouble...” But Delilah doesn’t listen. She hurries to the kitchen, while Victoria moves next to Bertha’s cage. “You know, even though you hate Bertha, he seems to love you.”

I shake my head. “I’ve been yelled at on the ice before, butthis? This is a new low.”

“Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up liking parrots after this. I did hear you talking to Big Bertha in a kind voice. It didn’t even sound like grumpy old you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need your ears checked?” I say, putting on my best scowl. “Because I clearly don’t like Bertha.” I lean down and look at the bird inside his cage. “Did you hear that, Bird Brain? I don’t like you.”

Big Bertha turns his back to me and lifts his tail feathers.

I point at his tail. “I’m pretty sure that’s an inappropriate bird gesture.”

Victoria bites her lip, fighting a smile.

Delilah returns with a plate piled high with brownies. “Here’s a little something for saving my parrot.”

It’s more than “a little”—there’s at least a dozen brownies, a dangerous haul for a professional athlete. But the sweet smile she gives me reminds me of my grandma, and I have a soft spot for grandma-types.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, accepting the plate.

Delilah beams. “You know, you should come by more often. Victoria doesn’t have any nice young men visiting her.”

Victoria’s face flames.

“Really? That is a problem,” I say, playing along. “I’d be happy to help with that.”

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