Nuts To You, Jennifer

     On the evening of December 14, Greg rang Jennifer’s doorbell. 

     “The company is transferring me north and I can’t take Cyril with me,” he said, thrusting a rather large cage with a sea-green cover topped with a big red bow into Jennifer’s reluctant arms. “I’d like you to have him.”

      He had taken off his mask and had the hangdog expression that made it hard for Jennifer to say “no” to him. He replaced his mask, shut the door, and walked away without another word. 

      Beneath the cover she could just hear, “Nuts to you, Jennifer.”

      She had the urge to run down the hall after Greg, carrying the cage but that seemed ridiculous. It would probably not do any good. She had not known Greg for a long time and he was not the most assertive of men but he could be stubborn. If he had thought out an action and made a decision it was nearly impossible to get him to change. She knew he had thought a lot about giving away Cyril. She sighed as she put the cage on the table she ate off and used as a home office. 

      She met Greg last May when he came to her cubicle to fix her computer trouble.

      “I see the problem,” he said as he pressed keys and clicked the mouse too fast for Jennifer to follow until her screen was restored. 

       The company Jennifer and Greg worked for had most of its employees on site despite the pandemic. They were considered an essential business. Information security was vital; work was only allowed to be done on in-network computers and in-network computers were not allowed outside of secure facilities. Therefore everyone continued to come to work. The company paid for med techs to take temperatures and if indicated do testing. The entire facility was disinfected every night by specialists. Strict mask and handwashing rules were followed. You didn’t work at the company if you weren’t the sort of person who did what they were told at work. A handful of employees caught corona and were sent on sick leave. Otherwise the work went on.

         Although she worked at her keyboard all day everyday Jennifer sometimes had trouble with her computer. She had dyspraxia meaning she had difficulty with writing and other fine motor skills. Keyboards were easier but they did not come naturally for her. She was as proficient as she was because she tried harder and practiced longer. Under normal circumstances she was about as fast and accurate as anyone but if she was doing something unfamiliar or was stressed she made mistakes. If she had filled out a form along with her records the company would have to supply her with a special keyboard as an accommodation. She had decided against this. The special keyboard wasn’t much different but other people could tell. She knew some of her co-workers were envious of her and she would rather not listen to the remarks about “special treatment.” Sometimes she’d make a few mistakes in a row and have to call someone from IT to undo the snarl. 

        Simon, Greg’s senior at IT, was a cranky man waiting for retirement who seemed to resent anyone younger than himself. When he came to her cubicle he would loudly tell what Jennifer had done wrong in a sneery tone that implied she intentionally made stupid mistakes in order to interrupt his other work. He treated everyone this way but that only slightly lessened Jennifer’s embarrassment. 

         Greg on the other hand was polite and helpful. He was a little too thin but not bad looking. Unfortunately he had many nervous tics and awkward mannerisms that made him unattractive to Jennifer and, in fact, most women. Despite this Jennifer decided that she wanted to get on his good side so he would come to help her rather than Simon. She began to make sure she gave him a friendly greeting whenever she saw him, she laughed whenever he said anything remotely funny, she occasionally touched his sleeve. She wasn’t flirting, she didn’t do that at work especially with someone like Greg but it was enough to convince Greg that she found him more interesting than she actually did. Jennifer was a pretty girl, not actress or model pretty but back when there were Ladies Nights she could attend confident that she would not have to buy her own drinks.

        Oh course, the plan worked too well. He started joining her on her lunch break. Then he asked about a drink after work. She accepted apprehensively; what could it hurt? Then there was dinner the time after that. It kept getting more involved for several weeks. She never slept with him; it never got that far. They made out a few times. She could tell he wanted more and she had to put him off. She knew the whole time that he was not for her with his tics and tendency to talk a length about subjects seemingly unaware of her disinterest. She also knew he wasn’t a “fun guy” who would get bored with her just before she got tired of him. She began to make excuses why she was too busy to see him. It took him much too long to get the hint; he kept asking after innumerable refusals. Unlike rumors about others, he never interfered with her work. He was just persistent until eventually he just stopped asking. 

        Jennifer lifted the cover of the cage. A gray parrot looked at her with bright eyes and said, “Nuts to you, Jennifer.”

         Jennifer was not a pet person. She remembered once having a goldfish and once having a turtle when she was a child but animals didn’t interest her. They seemed messy and needed care and there were other things to do. She thought about selling him to a pet shop the next day but thought better of it. She could tell he was a valuable bird. If she took him to a shop this close to Christmas they would know she was trying to dump him and not pay what he was worth. It would be better to wait until after the holidays then shop around for the best price. 

        She sat down at her computer to do research on the little gray feathered white elephant she’d just received. Cyril was a African Gray Parrot, “the world’s smartest bird.” They could learn hundreds of words and phrases in addition to “sound effects.” Scientific studies had shown that they were not just mimics but could learn the meanings of words. They ate various fruits and nuts. They liked to work for their food, finding, cracking, peeling. They preferred to be where they could see and especially hear things but off to the side, not in the middle of things. They took their time getting used to being touched by humans. (No problem for Jennifer; she was in no hurry to touch Cyril.) If they got bored or stressed they pulled out their feathers. (As if on cue when Jennifer read this Cyril pulled out a wing feather.) She checked out how much African Grays sold for. Her eyes widened. In monetary terms he was easily the most valuable gift she had ever received. Selling him would net her a nice nest egg. Jennifer smirked at the inadvertent pun. They could live for sixty years. Jennifer didn’t know how old Cyril was but finding him dead at the bottom of his cage and putting the body in the trash did not seem like a likely near future scenario. She went to the fridge and got him a small bunch of green grapes hoping to tide him over until she could buy him proper supplies tomorrow.

          “Thank you, pretty bird. Nuts to you, Jennifer.”  

          When she went to work the next day Greg was gone. Dropping off Cyril and his cage may have been the last thing he did before he made the trip north to his new home and new job. That evening she bought fruits and nuts at the grocery. She went to a pet shop and bought special treats that doubled as parrot toys. She bought a stand with a large curvy hook. She stood it in the corner and lifted Cyril’s cage off her table and hung it up.

         “Whoo Hoo!” Cyril said as the cage swung on its new hook.

         Jennifer had a week more of work until the depressingly subdued office party on Tuesday. There was a seasonal slowdown so everyone was given time off until New Year’s. 

          During this period whenever she was home Jennifer learned more about Cyril’s abilities. He talked at least once every few minutes. The variety was remarkable. He talked about food and other parrot things. He imitated tv commercials. He sang; he knew several songs but in the spirit of the season he concentrated on carols. He knew all the verses to “The Twelve Days of Christmas” but sang them in random order interspersed with snatches of other songs and extraneous remarks. He especially enjoyed “five golden rings.” Once he sang it eight times in a row each time with increasing gusto. 

          The hands down favorite of his sayings was “Nuts to you, Jennifer.” Jennifer knew that parrots only say things they’ve heard before. He could have only heard this from Greg. How many times had he said it? Perhaps the game Jennifer had played with Greg’s feelings had hurt and angered him more than he let on. Cyril said “nuts” when Jennifer gave him nuts but then he used a loving tone like a three-year-old repeating the name of his favorite food as he eats it. When he said, “Nuts to you, Jennifer,” he used an angry tone. Jennifer felt foolish being concerned about the emotional timbre of a bird but it was hard to miss when you heard it several times a day. Even when she tried not to it was hard to keep from reacting when she heard her name loudly spoken when she wasn’t expecting it. She began to suspect that her reactions amused Cyril when he repeated his favorite phrase. 

            Cyril was a lot of laughs though. His comic timing approached Eddie Murphy’s as he let out some incongruity that cracked Jennifer up. 

             Jennifer’s four cut shrimp scampi pizza was late but she tipped the delivery teen generously because it was Christmas Eve, the weather was bad, and he was working in a pandemic. Over the past few days she took the little pre-decorated tree out of her closet, sent out cards and gifts, received cards and gifts, none as remarkable or obligating as Cyril. She missed her family back home but travel was out of the question. She would zoom them tomorrow.

            It was beginning to look like a dreary, lonely holiday. She decided to make the best of it. She splashed some rum, Merlot, cranberry juice and ginger ale into a brandy snifter. She added a cinnamon stick, a squashed orange quarter and a few cloves. She microwaved it for one minute. She was making a generous single serving of the concoction that her father facetiously called “wassail” even though her family was not at all English. He made a big bowl of the stuff whenever they had people over for the holidays. The several cups of wassail she had without permission when she was twelve was the cause of her first ever hangover. She turned on the radio. Some old choir was singing “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

          “Ding, pretty bird,” said Cyril a split second before the microwave stopped. 

          She carried the hot glass over to her table. Cyril had grown on her. How she felt about Greg and Greg felt about her didn’t really matter as far as the bird was concerned. Now, the thought of selling him made her feel regretful. Maybe she would keep him for a while and see how things went. 

           She took off the mask she wore to answer the door, picked up a slice, and bit into her lukewarm pizza.

         “Merry Christmas, Cyril!”

         “Merry Christmas, Cyril. Nuts to you, Jennifer.”

         Jennifer took a sip of wassail and laughed bittersweetly.