Chapter 1
chapter ONE COOKIE
It all started one night, just as I was closing up the bakery. When I had locked the back door to head home, it was a busy day, and I couldn’t catch a break. We were all swamped with work, but when I looked over at the dumpster latch, I saw that the latch was up. I knew I had put it down, so I walked over slowly. “Who is there? I—I have a bat?” I yelled; my heart was beating so fast that the only thing that I could hear was the loud rustling coming from the dumpster.
I don’t have a bat, but whoever is in the dumpster doesn’t know that. I kicked the side of the dumpster, and that’s when I saw it. A girl with wings
She crawled out of the dumpster and had tried to fly away; she had owl-like wings; her wings were the shade you would see on a freshly baked loaf of bread; her large wings glisten in the moonlight. But as soon as her wings extended, she let out a sharp yelp and tripped on her feet, fell to the ground, and stumbled into a wall in the alley we were in. I stood there shocked, my mind racing with several questions: Why was she in my dumpster? Who was she? And the most important one: Is she OK?
I slowly approached her, putting my hands up to show her I had nothing in my hands. I think I scared her with the statement that I had a bat. When I got closer, I saw that her clothes were tattered. Her hair was a light shade of cinnamon and long enough that it reached her knees. Her skin was dirty with what I assume was weeks of dirt and stains. She had on a dark brown hoodie with some small tears in it and black shorts.
I slowly approached her; she was shaking from the cool air of the night. She looked scared, like she had been homeless for not too long.
I got down on my knee and softly spoke to her. “It’s OK; I’m not going to hurt you. Can you tell me your name?” I looked in her eyes; she was scared, but I felt her looking into mine as well. “E-Eva, my name is Eva.” Her voice was soft and innocent; she sounded tired, and I could tell. “How old are you, Eva, and is your wing alright?” I said in a calm but reassuring tone. “I’m twenty-three years old; my wing hurts. I think I sprained it.” Twenty-three years old? Damn, she looks like she’s 18. When she gets better, I’ll have to ask her how she looks so good while looking like the way she does right now, but her wing does look swollen between the humerus and the coracoid. I’m going to have to thank my mother for forcing me to be a veterinarian, or, well, tried to at least; it seems like she got something through my thick skull.
I softly brush my hand on her wing and hear her softly wince in pain. Yep, it’s sprained, and it’s bad. “How long ago did this happen?” I ask with sudden worry in my voice. “About a week ago.” Fuck, she has gone a week without being treated. I open my mouth before stopping myself from telling her how dumb she is for not getting it looked at, but that’s the least of my worries; she needs help. “I’m going to take you back to my place so I can get your wing treated. Do you trust me?” I hold out my hand, hoping she takes it because she needs help, and I’m the closest thing she has to help right now. “Okay, I trust you; just please help me; it hurts.”
I help her up, and we walk to my car. While we walk, I get a better look at her. She’s tall for her age; I think she’s six feet, but she is skinny, so I guess I have to make a few extra portions of food. As we get to my car, I help her make sure her wings don’t bump against anything. It still confuses me how she is in a position like this. The state of Maine is a safe state for a hybrid, so it’s not discrimination that pushed her to homelessness. I start my car, and the soft hum of the engine is relaxing as I drive through the empty streets. I look back and see her head on the window watching the streetlights pass by; she has her arms crossed, so I turn on the heat and set it to a comfortable 60 degrees.
“So, um, not to assume, but how long have you been homeless?” I ask softly, breaking the silence and looking over to her. She shifts uncomfortably at the sudden question. “Sorry about asking. You don’t have to tell—.” “My parents kicked me out three years ago. I came out to them as a lesbian, and they were shocked at first; then they started yelling. I ran away that night, and when I got far enough away, I started flying. It took me a few days to fly to Maine. I knew it was a safe state; it was only a matter of getting her. I mostly survived off of fair food and fast food. I hid in the forest most nights; my wings kept me warm. Sorry about going through your trash. I knew that bakeries throw out whatever baked goods aren’t sold at the end of the day. You, um, make delicious doughnuts.” She softly spoke and giggled when she mentioned the doughnuts. her voice calm but uneasy.
It’s hard for her to talk about how wounds like that take time to heal, and being three years ago, that wound is still fresh, but she seems to be healing in her own way. It’s hard to have been on your own for three years, let alone getting kicked out for something like coming out as a lesbian. I continued to drive for another twenty minutes before we pulled into my driveway. I helped her out of my car and inside my house, and I led her to my couch, sat next to her, and helped her extend her right wing. I took a closer look, and it was sprained and swollen.
“Are you okay if I touch your wing to ensure it’s not as bad as I think?” I spoke in a soft, reassuring tone. “Yeah,” she said softly. I got up from the couch, headed into my bathroom, and returned with a few rolls of bandages. I slowly wrapped the bandages around her wing and wrapped it a few times lightly around her neck. “My name is Kenzie. Sorry about not mentioning that earlier; I was just worried about your wing.” I made sure the wraps were nice and snug around her wing and did not cause any pain. “Thanks; it feels better now, and thank you for bringing me to your home. It’s nice and cozy here.”
She sounds better. That’s a start.
Now I have to think about dinner. I think owls eat fish. “Would you like something to eat? I have the stuff to make lemon butter fish, and I think I have some cans of soda.” I ask because I do have the stuff, and she looks like she needs it; as soon as I mentioned lemon butter fish, her head shot up, and she looked like I had offered her a five-course meal. “Yes, please, I love lemon butter fish.” She almost jumped off of the couch when I offered. I’m guessing it’s a comfort meal for her, and I can’t blame her; being homeless for three years is tough, and she deserves this; she deserves to be safe and to have a home.
A while later, while I’m cooking the lemon butter fish, I see Eva slowly extending her wrapped wings; when I look over, I see that her wings are huge, like twice the span of her arms for her height. Sleeping will be challenging, so I will have to make her bed so it can fit her without putting her wings in an uncomfortable position. I can tell she is excited about dinner; as far as I know, it will be her first meal in a while, and honestly, I’m happy I’m now living with someone else because it means I won’t be alone in this damn house, but the house and the bakery are mine.
As much as my mother hates it, I didn’t become a vet like her, but she has to deal with it,
and now I don’t have to dress up. For any fancy parties or anything, or be forced to attend anything related to being a vet, even though my mother bribed me with the food there and agreed after months to just take me with her, and I could go off and do my own thing.
A little bit later, I set the table and glasses of soda. The lemon butter fish smells great, and when I set my plate, I see just how different our plates are. Her fish is much bigger than mine. I mean, I’m not one to eat a lot, but I did kind of make hers bigger on purpose. Hers is bigger because of her height, and with her wings, she needs all the protein she can get. “Hey Eva, dinner is ready. I made sure yours is a bit bigger, but if you’re still hungry, I have some salad in the fridge.” I look over to the couch where she is sitting, and she is watching a nature documentary about owls. “It smells great. Thank you again for taking me into your home.”
She sounds better; that’s good. She seems to be healing well.
More reason to curse my mother; she made me take care of animals for a while and quizzed me on what the animal needed. She didn’t let me take notes because I had to know off the top of my head like her.
Now with Eva, I need to know how to take care of her, and whatever I know about animals, I have to scale up a few times because there are not a lot of doctors who treat hybrids because of their bodies; they have to be both a vet and a doctor. And from what I have been hearing, my mother is going for that degree, not that I care; she always puts work before me, even more after my dad died ten years ago.
I get why she wanted to throw herself into work to deal with his death, but she wasn’t there for me after the funeral; we kind of emotionally separated. She went to work while I was in our small kitchen baking my heart out. I baked so much I didn’t realize I had made so much, but I sold all of it at school. Sometimes teachers would ask me to bake for a school event. By the end of the year, I had enough money to buy myself something nice, but it felt weird having that much, so I bought something that made my mother truly open up after my father’s death. It was a small cork bottle with a bit of Dad’s ashes in it with a silver chain. When I showed Mom, she broke down and hugged me tightly; that was one of the only times she held me. We spent the day going shopping and just spending the day together.
Before heading home, we went to Father’s grave. Mom left him some flowers and talked to him. We both agreed to not hear what the other said because we were still strained at the time, but I talked to him and left him some cookies, but yeah, after his death, Mom and I never really talked.
Having Eva in my home now makes my life a little less boring. From the looks of it, she is enjoying the food. “Thank you so much for the dinner, Kenzie. This is one of my comfort foods.” Comfort foods—that’s good. Everyone has something they will eat to feel some comfort. I’m glad she has found some comfort in these past few hours. For now I want to try and get her feeling better enough so she can move her wing around. When she starts feeling better, I’ll probably take her to work with me just so I can keep an eye on her, and if she wants to stick around, I could hire her to work for me, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.
As we wash the dishes, the kitchen is calm with the soft sounds of plates and silverware filling the kitchen. “How’s your wing feeling, Eva? Does it hurt anywhere?” “No, not really. It still stings a bit, but I’m fine.” Well, that’s good. It’s weird now with someone in my home, but it’s good weird. “Hey, if you don’t mind me asking, do you have your flight license?” I’m asking her because I think when she gets better, she could deliver. I don’t expect her to have it, but at her age she should.
“I don’t have my flight license… or, well, not at the moment. I do have my flight permit, though; it’s still for another year or so.” Hmm, a flight permit. That means she would have to fly in a controlled space or fly with another avian hybrid type. There’s a flight field not too far from my house, and it’s open to any avian hybrid all day, even into the night. It spans about two miles in a cube shape with balloons marking the space in the air where the two miles ends. It’s mostly used for flight classes for older hybrids and children to learn how to fly. “There’s a flight field not too far from my house. We could go and visit when your wing is healed up.” Wait, now that I think about it, she is really lucky that she even got here without getting caught. “Really. Thank you. I have about ten day hours of flying and none for night flying. Why do you ask though?” Her face changes to a confused look.
“Well, I was thinking of helping you get back on your feet so you could work for me in my bakery. I had asked about your flight status because I was thinking when your wing heals up, you could do light deliveries. Don’t worry, I won’t make you pay me rent or anything; I make enough to live comfortably with both of us in the house.”
I do hope she accepts the offer. I don’t want her to leave and end up in a home for hybrids. Those places have the bare minimum for living conditions and rarely let the avian fly. “Really, you are offering me a job at your bakery!” She goes in to give me a hug. “Oh, thank you so much! That really means a lot to me!.” She lightly hugs me with her height. My head presses on her chest, then she moves her wings to wrap around me like a shield. It’s warm, like an even deeper hug. I hug her back, my hands just under the base of her wings “Y-yeah I mean, I want to help you as much as I can, so why not?” My voice is muffled by her sweater.
To be honest, I could use the extra help in the mornings getting baked goods to other stores I closely work with. And my morning checklist is long enough that the first few of my employees show up early to help me even if they don’t clock in before they help, but with Eva helping me, it maybe won’t take until ten P.m. to finish closing the bakery.
As she breaks off the hug, I look into her eyes; they are sky blue, and it looks like she’s seconds away from crying. I pull her into a hug again, my arms wrapping around her slender back. “It’s OK to cry. I’m here. I’ll hold you.” As soon as I finish, she hugs me tightly, her hands gripping my shirt as she buries her face into my shoulder and starts to softly sob. She falls to her knees, and I fall with her, holding her like I said and making sure her wing doesn’t bump on anything. She’s crying happy tears, and I have no intention of letting her go.
A while later, when her voice is hoarse from crying, I help her stand and walk her to the guest room. She helps me make the bed in a way so it doesn’t put her wing in an uncomfortable position. I go into my room and come back with shorts and a large white tee shirt for her to sleep in. “Here, you can sleep in this; tomorrow after we close the bakery, we will go shopping for some clothes. Some of the stores will still be open anyway, so I’ll get some shopping done as well.”
She takes the clothes and puts them on the bed. “Thanks for the clothes and the food; it means a lot. I don’t know what I would do without you. Thank you so much.” There is still joy in her voice, but she’s tired and needs sleep. I walk out of her room and lean halfway in the door frame. “Good night, Eva. I’ll be in my room if you need me for anything.” “Good night, Kenzie. Thanks again for the job offer.” I close the bedroom door and head to my room for a bit and a while I come back into the hallway to turn the lights off. I open her door a crack and see her sleeping soundly She look like a comfy little creature. Good.