Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“Well, it’s about to be a brand-new year, so maybe they’ll have that to look forward to.”
“Who knows. The good news is, my life is figured out now, so I can sleep.”
He kissed my cheek and then dragged himself upstairs to bed. I waited up for the rest of my family and Jake, and they were all zombies by the time they arrived.
Jake mumbled something as he went to the stairs. Hannah made it to the blanket in front of the fire where Chilly and Dobby were curled up before nearly doing a faceplant there. She lay down and didn’t get back up. As for me, stretched out on the couch, I watched as my husband, who had shed his boots and jacket out by the washing machine, shambled over and lay down, covering me with his big, hard body. He snuggled in tight, clutching me to his heart, and I didn’t even need a blanket, I was that warm.
“I love you,” I whispered. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
He said something in response and hugged me tighter for a moment.
It was going to be a lovely day.
That’s all. Hope you all had lovely holidays yourselves. I’ll see you in February.
FEBRUARY 2023
Hello, all, and welcome to He Said, he said February 2023. Before I begin my update, let me first start with a confession. I only feed the birds from late fall through March. That’s right. It’s the truth. And I know this might not sit well with many of you because you’re thinking, “My God, Jory, you psycho, if you’re going to feed them, feed them year-round! It’s the right thing to do!”
This is my defense.
In the spring, there are a lot of things to eat. In summer and even early fall, lots of worms and other things. If I had my feeder filled all the time, what if I was encouraging the birds to not learn to forage? That would be catastrophic. I always think, if I die, will Sam still feed the birds? Will his new partner take that on? Or, what if he sells the house and the new people who move in don’t like birds and so don’t feed them? They would be confused and hurt and wondering why I had forsaken them.
“Why are you upset?” my husband asked me on Friday the thirtieth, that he had taken off. He was also off on Monday, so we had four days where we’d both be home, and I was happy about that. What I wasn’t happy about was how the new person in his life would treat my birds.
“I’m not upset,” I lied.
Instant squint. “Try again.”
“Promise me that if you move someone in after me, you’ll make sure they feed the birds,” I told him.
“What?”
“And I know you won’t have any say with the new owners once the house is sold, so could you make sure you ask about the bird situation before you sell?”
“Oh, I see,” he said, nodding, crossing his arms. “You feel like if something happened to you and the birds weren’t fed from the week after Thanksgiving to, what is it, March? That they would be sad.”
I nodded.
“You know, other than the bigger birds, ravens, crows, owls—that they’re basically all eyes, right? If the food isn’t there, they’ll go and look for it somewhere else.”
He blurred suddenly, and I realized I was crying.
The chuckle was a surprise before he eased me back from the kitchen table where I was sitting, typing, turned the chair to face him and had me get up. Once I was standing, he wrapped me in his arms and hugged me tight, and kissed me on the forehead for good measure.
“I will not sell this house that we’ve been so happy in and where we raised our kids,” he told me. “The first house never felt like home, but this one always has.”
I grunted in agreement, snuggling in tight, loving the heat that rolled off his big muscular frame.
“If, heaven forbid, I lose you, I would stay here until I die because this was where you were and where the best memories are.”
“Okay.”
“I would not move anyone in, not ever.”
“But I want you to be happy.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll still be happy, just not in love. That’s okay.”
I sniffled.
“I will feed the birds and thaw out their water when it freezes and give them new water year-round because food, we don’t do, but water is a must.”
“That’s correct.”
“I mean, who forages for water?”
“You understand.”
“I’ve been trained,” he teased me.
“I just—once the ground gets hard and the snow comes and the ice…we have to take care of the birds.”
“I’m aware. I will continue your arrangement with the birds.”
“Thank you.”
He was quiet a moment. “Does this, by any chance, have anything to do with that video you watched yesterday about the mother bird?”
“Sam, she went out to get them worms like regular, and when she came back—they were gone! They flew away.”