third
27th December
The third day of Christmas
You (09.53): are you free today? lunchtimeish?
crystal dunn (09.53): how many times have i told you to lead with the activity so i know whether i need to pretend to be busy?
crystal dunn (09.54): i haven’t forgotten the rock climbing
You (09.55): you enjoyed the rock climbing!
crystal dunn (09.55): p sure i said it was the one physical activity i will never do again
You (10.01): so are you free
crystal dunn (10.02): HAVE YOU LITERALLY LISTENED TO NOTHING I JUST SAID
Tobin rolls her eyes and presses the call button. Crystal answers on the first ring. ‘Hey girl.’
‘We were texting.’
‘Heath, somebody better have spiked your morning coffee because you are making no sense right now.’
‘We were texting. How was I supposed to listen to what you just said?’
‘I’m hanging up.’
‘No, wait.’ Tobin hesitates, picking at her thumbnail. ‘I need your help.’
There’s a pause. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Let’s hear it then.’
Tobin’s alone in the house, her parents at the O’Haras’ for morning coffee and her siblings off somewhere with their own friends. She leans on the kitchen counter absently and starts to build a tower with the bowl of pinecones her mom collects religiously every fall. ‘Chris said yesterday that she was thinking of keeping chickens.’
‘Yeah, we’ve talked about it. She even asked me for the name of the carpenter who built my coops.’
‘Mm. Okay. That’s good.’
‘Yeeeees?’
‘I may have bought her some.’
‘Some...chickens?’
‘No, some carpenters. Yes some chickens.’
‘Tobin,’ sighs Crystal, ‘do you know what you’re doing?’
‘Yes?’ The pinecone tower jitters and collapses. ‘I mean, no, not exactly, but I asked Mrs Harvey from the farm on the Woodsville road and she helped me out. Told me what to buy and linked me up with the supplier.’
‘The Harveys are dairy farmers. Are you sure you haven’t accidentally bought cows? Big, love grass, moo a lot?’
‘They’re dairy farmers now but Mrs Harvey comes from a poultry dynasty, which is a thing, and she recommended this special kind of hen. From France. Apparently they lay tons of eggs.’
‘Show me a picture.’ Tobin sends one. ‘Oh my god, are they Houdans?’
‘Yes?’
‘You don’t sound sure.’ Crystal takes a deep breath. Tobin can just imagine her putting on a calm, kindly, soothing expression. ‘Tobin.’
‘Crystal dear.’
‘You know what I’m going to ask.’
Tobin sighs. ‘I bought thirty. But they were literally cheaper by the dozen, I got a massive discount for buying them all. And they all have names, and it seemed cruel to separate -’
‘Your family is on the Rich List! You do not need a chicken discount!’
‘You know as well as I do that looking out for discounts is how you get on the Rich List.’
‘You’re nuts,’ says Crystal firmly, ‘and if you were going to ask me to come with you to deliver them, hell yes. I am not missing the look on Pressi’s face when she opens the door and walks out into a farmyard.’
***
But Christen is delighted.
‘How did you do this? I only mentioned it yesterday.’
‘She flashed her Amex black card,’ mumbles Crystal, but it’s lost in the sheer elation of Tobin beaming at them. Crystal knows from literally twenty years of experience that no one - parents, teachers, Christen, especially Christen - is immune to that smile.
They both gloss over the fact that the chicken delivery also included another partridge and another pair of turtle doves.
Tobin (or, more likely, Mrs Harvey) really has thought of almost everything, but Crystal does notice a couple of chicken mom essentials which are missing. She expects Tobin to nod attentively and order a delivery, but instead she’s already scrolling through her phone for pet stores. ‘Look, there’s one open today, and they definitely sell… well, bird things. Crystal, will you come with? You’re the expert.’
Tobin drives, whistling along to the carols on the radio. It’s quiet, with most of the shops yet to reopen after the holiday, but the Christmas lights are up and it’s hard not to get caught up in the feeling that things are still special even though Christmas itself is technically over. That is one of the fun things about having Tobin as a friend; maybe it’s the photographer in her, but she’s always been good at treating the everyday as extraordinary.
That said -
‘It looks kind of sketchy,’ says Tobin doubtfully as she pulls into the pet store parking lot.
Crystal can’t disagree, but they’re here now so she just nods briskly. ‘I’m sure it’s fine. We only need a couple things anyway. We’ll be in and out.’
One thing is certain: it does specialize in birds. The walls are lined with them, cage after cage: orioles, sparrows, goldfinches, bluebirds, wrens. They look miserable, and none of them are singing, and Crystal can see Tobin’s shoulders hunching.
‘This won’t take a second,’ she says reassuringly, patting Tobin’s arm and leaving her at the door of the shop.
Tobin lingers there unhappily while Crystal finds the stuff and pays, and follows her out when they’re done, but stops short after just a few paces. ‘Wait up a sec.’
Crystal blinks as Tobin runs back inside the shop, then goes to lean against the car and waits. A minute passes, then two, then five, until Tobin comes out again, looking faintly guilty.
‘What did you do?’
‘I couldn’t just leave them there.’
In hindsight, this is an absolutely predictable turn of events. Crystal closes her eyes. ‘How many were there?’
‘I don’t know. Like, thirty?’
‘You bought thirty birds. Thirty new birds. Thirty new birds in addition to the twelve partridges, the twenty-four turtle doves and the thirty chickens.’ Tobin mumbles something. ‘Come again?’
‘It might be thirty-six. New birds. I think.’
‘Tobin Powell Heath.’
‘They looked so sad! They shouldn’t be in cages. And Chris can just set them free, and there’ll be so much birdsong when she wakes up at the crack of dawn to do her sun salutations.’
Tobin looks so earnest that Crystal finds herself melting, just a bit. ‘Tobs, you know Christen is - I mean, she’s not okay, obviously, but you’ve helped her already, I can tell. She’s really grateful for everything you’ve done. You don’t need to feel like you have to keep…’
‘Keep what?’
‘This. Whatever this is. Doing whatever you’re doing.’
Tobin bites her lip, poised on the balls of her feet, looking for a moment like she might change her mind; but then she smiles brightly instead. ‘It’s okay. She’ll be so busy hunting for eggs she won’t even notice.’