Page 54 of Artfully Wild
“You know, I think I can actually see the gears turning in your head. Some of the rust is falling off onto your sweater.” He pretends to brush it off my shoulders and I swat his hand away. Pressing my lips firmly to his, I push to stand and make my way to the door.
“Where are you going?”
“You win,” I say.
“What do I win?”
“A romantic getaway with the one and only Skylar Waters.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JACOB
Aromantic getaway with the one and onlySkylar Waters.
I was there in the room when she said it and even though we haven’t been dating for that long, it still feels surreal to me. Like a dream you are fully aware of while sleeping and wondering when you’re going to wake up from it. This feels exactly like that.
“You don’t know me, you’ve just seen my penis.”
I swear, I am going to do all the research I can to figure out how to un-train a parrot. Whatever Sky decided to teach him this time has clearly stuck around in whatever part of a parrot’s brain that retains ridiculous information.
Frank continues to squawk the nonsense Sky has been teaching him on the two mile ride over to Frank’s bar. Human Frank.
He’s going to kill me, but the cats are going to kill Parrot Frank if I’m not there for the weekend and I felt bad asking Sophie to take over both the clinic animals and the ones I have stashed at my house. Mom offered to take care of them, but she’s terrified of birds, so Frank was out of the question. She insisted on helping with the other animals during the day aslong as Sophie could stay overnight with them. She barely let me get the question out before she practically pushed me out the door. Long story short, she more than approves of Skylar and I getting together. She was more than eager to send me away on a weekend alone with her.
That just means Frank is a little homeless parrot for the time being, until I can convince human Frank to take him. He secretly loves him even though he likes to pretend he hates everything and everyone in existence.
The gravel crunches beneath my tires as I pull into the parking lot outside of the bar. The front porch and surrounding seating is empty considering it’s still early in the morning and it’s way too cold outside, even with heaters.
Bells chime above as I step through the doorway, the birdcage positioned slightly behind my back.
Frank isn’t in the front area of the bar and he’s not behind it cleaning glasses like he usually is at this time of day, so I walk around the bar to the left and through the back door that has the employees only sign. Usually, I follow that rule, but today is a different story. Actually, I never follow that rule. I never did when I was a kid and I continue to break it only because Frank continues to allow me.
“Look,” Frank’s voice comes from the back room where I know his desk is stacked neatly with papers and files he plans to go through this weekend when the crowds die down during the day. “I’m not sure what to tell you, kid. I don’t know them, but I do know you. And you’re a good kid. Don’t let them make you feel otherwise, okay?”
The thing about Frank is he secretly gives the best life advice. I would know considering he’s been an active father figure in my life since I was nine when I started getting into trouble at school. Small things here and there like yelling at other kids, getting angry at the teachers for no reason other than I was an angry kid.
My mom was practically a single mother and once her methods didn’t work, she was at a loss at what to do with me. She and Frank were always on friendly terms, to the point I always wondered if there was more between them.
So, every day after school, I came here to hang around Frank’s grumpy ass. He’d make me help around the bar, clean the bar-top and the tables, mop the floors, deep clean the baseboards and if I complained, he’d make me do it all over again. But through all the chores and the cleaning, he’d try to talk to me and even though I was nine, I knew I had never heard this grumpy old man try to talk to anyone on an actual human level. I’d seen him grunt, I’d seen him wave people off, but I had never seen him talk to someone. But he was trying to talk to some angry nine-year-old kid for a reason I still don’t fully understand to this day.
All I knew was that my dad was gone again. Traveling to another country to do some kind of heroic shit I thought was cool at the time. I still think it’s cool now. But it also would have been cool to have a dad that was a little more present in my life. It would have been cool to not see my mom so sad all the time because he was gone.
My mom wasn’t sure how to deal with an angry kid. She tried her best, but I made it anything but easy for her and finally, she figured what I needed was a father figure and since mine wasn’t coming back any time soon, Frank was the next best thing. I’m not stupid though. I know Frank wasn’t just doing her a favor, because he liked hanging out with me. They were both born and raised in Blue Grove and I’m not naive enough to think or even believe something never went on between them when they were younger. What would life have been like if she would have married Frank instead of Ty?
Would she have been happier? Would I have had a dad around more? If I did, the Waters wouldn’t be as important as they are. I wouldn’t have hung around their house nearly asmuch as I did and I don’t think Skylar would have been what she is now. So, in a way, I’m grateful things turned out the way they did even if it meant a somewhat shitty childhood. It may have been that, but the people that did come around to help raise me are the most important people in my life now and I don’t think I’d change it for anything. I don’t think Mom would either.
As much as she missed Dad every time he was gone, she loved him even more. They’d call each other every night they could and when he was home, every second that wasn’t spent with me, he’d spend with her. People can say what they want about their relationship—and believe me, they have—but it works for them and while it’s not something I’d ever want for myself, I know they do truly love each other.
The door opens with a creak and sure enough, Frank is leaned back in his office chair behind his desk, feet propped up and his free hand running through his hair. A habit I picked up when I turned ten, because I thought it looked cool. Now it’s more of a comfort thing for me.
He looks over at the sound and holds up a finger, signaling me to sit down in one of the empty chairs facing him, cracked and worn from years of use. When I suggested he replace them once, he refused. One thing I learned quickly over the years about Frank is he doesn’t like change and he doesn’t care who knows it. He likes things the way they are. Sure, he will change with society, ignoring the way he was brought up and accepting people for who they are and using the correct language when it’s called for, but physical changes like his bar? Not a chance. Mom even tried to get him to paint a few years back and even she couldn’t get him to budge.
“Anytime, kiddo. You can call me whenever you need to and I’m going to answer…okay…alright…tell your mom I said her cooking still sucks,” he chuckles and I hear the small voice on the other side doing the same. They say their goodbyes and Frank hangs up.
“Dean?” I ask.
“Yeah, nephew sometimes just needs someone he feels like he can talk to. He has his mom, but you know how it is without a dad.”
