Model Behavior

by Carter, M. E.

  “Baby squirrels don’t eat very much,” I explain as I encourage him to lick the drops of water. “But they have to stay hydrated so even if he doesn’t want it, we have to make sure he finishes some.”

  “Why sugar water?” Matthew asks, leaning forward, just as intrigued in what I’m doing as his daughter. “Shouldn’t he have milk or something?”

  “He will.” I get a little lick out of Sven. “With the fall and the loss of heat, the sugar will give his system a little boost. Plus, he’s used to mama’s milk and soft nipples. The flavor will encourage him to try to get used to a different way of eating. There ya go, little one,” I coo, and click my tongue at him like his mama would.

  Sven doesn’t need much encouragement. The second he gets a taste of the sugar, he goes for it. That’s a really good sign.

  “Look, Daddy, he’s eating it!” Calypso’s excited voice makes me smile. It’s always fun watching these babies thrive. I just hope he continues this direction.

  “He’s doing a good job—” I’m cut off when a two-pound, adult male squirrel suddenly jumps on my shoulder.

  “Oh god!” Matthew yells and takes a huge step back, pulling Calypso with him. “There’s a squirrel on you!”

  Rolling my eyes, I glance over at the menace sitting on me, flicking his tail territorially.

  “Sure. Now you come back.”

  I ignore Luke, who is chittering away, clearly unhappy that there is another squirrel in his domain. Never mind that Sven’s so small, he doesn’t even know he’s alive yet. In true Luke fashion, he needs to show Sven who’s boss.

  “So, this is Luke,” I say with a head nod.

  “You really do have a pet squirrel.” Matthew’s eyes are wide and his back is against the wall like he’s afraid to make any sudden movements. Calypso tries to step forward, but he holds her tight against him.

  I glance down at my shoulder again. It’s as if Luke has suddenly realized there’s not just a new squirrel in the house, but new people too. “Pet is a relative term. He thinks he owns the place.”

  “You have a pet squirrel.”

  Calypso finally breaks free and moves closer. “Can I pet him?”

  “No, honey! Squirrels can be mean.” Matthew moves to grab her again, but Luke makes a sudden movement, and Matthew is right back up against the wall.

  “That’s only if you try to grab him. If you’re super gentle and slow, Luke will probably even sit on your shoulder.”

  Calypso’s eyes widen with delight, while Matthew’s continue to widen in fear. How in the world he had enough bravery to pick up Sven, I’ll never know.

  “Here.” I hand Calypso a pecan. “It’s Luke’s favorite. Feed it to him and he’ll get used to you.”

  Slowly, she reaches out to Luke. The closer she gets, the more he recognizes what she has to offer. Finally, he sniffs the nut and snatches it from her hand, settling himself back onto my shoulder to eat.

  “I did it!” she exclaims. “Did you see that, Daddy?”

  “You have a pet squirrel?”

  I roll my eyes again, only this time it’s at Matthew. “He’s not a pet. He’s a rescue.”

  “What’s the difference? He’s an adult squirrel, and he’s sitting on your shoulder. Oh god! He’s sitting on my daughter’s shoulder!”

  Clearly tired of having to put effort into reaching for his food, Luke scurries down my arm and hops onto Calypso. She’s giggling as Luke nuzzles into her hair like squirrels do when they’re exploring and looking for food. I give her another pecan to feed him and he pops out from under the dark ringlets, looking like he has his own wig on. It makes me laugh, so of course I do what any good hostess would do while her guest is freaking out—I grab my phone and take a picture.

  “Seriously, Matthew. Luke isn’t your average everyday squirrel. He can’t live in the wild so he never went feral.” I turn my phone around to show them the picture. Calypso’s giggles get more pronounced. Even Matthew looks like he’s fighting back a laugh. Or at least a chortle. Maybe a sob. Regardless, the more he watches his child interact with the animal, the less hysterical he seems.

  “But, why can’t he live outside? In trees.”

  Luke seems to think that’s his cue to greet our other guest, as he swivels on Calypso’s shoulder, takes one look at Matthew, and jumps. Matthew makes a garbled, strangled sound as Luke lands on his shirt, then scurries to his favorite perch, his shoulder.

  Not wanting to make any sudden movements so I don’t startle the girly-man, I slowly reach out, shifting Sven in my palm. “Here. Take this pecan, and just feed it to him.”

  I’ll give Matthew one thing; he’s trying really hard to not pee his pants. Or let out another high-pitched screech.

  Taking the nut, he hands it to Luke, who immediately sits up and starts eating. As long as it’s not peanuts, he’s pretty easy to please.

  Matthew lets out a quick breath and a sort of smile or grimace forms on his face. “He’s eating, huh?”

  Calypso nods. “He likes you, Daddy.”

  “Yeah. I have a squirrel on my shoulder.” I try to not laugh, biting on my bottom lip as he stands stone still.

  “You do. You’re doing really good,” I say, still using a gentle tone for Matthew’s purposes, not Luke’s. “If you reach up, you can probably pet his head too.”

  Watching Matthew try to overcome his fear of squirrels is like watching a cartoon. I know what’s about to happen, but it seems like there’s no way. Until suddenly, Matthew touches the top of Luke’s head, Luke immediately falls over, and Matthew spends the next few seconds trying to catch him before he falls and hits the ground.

  When he finally has Luke in his hands, Matthew keeps looking down at the squirrel and up at me, then down, then back up shock written all over his face.

  “Ohmygod, I killed your squirrel!”

  Thankfully, Sven is done eating so I pop him back in my bra and stand up, approaching an almost hysterical Matthew.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I was so strong,” he babbles and I try really, really hard not to laugh at the fact that he immediately assumed his giant model muscles crushed Luke’s brain.

  “You didn’t kill him.” I take Luke from him and press him up to my neck, giving him a quick hug and stroke. “He’s sleeping, see?” Holding him out, I point out the obvious rise and fall of Luke’s furry chest.

  Matthew blinks a couple times. “Wait. He just fell asleep?”

  “He has the rodent version of narcolepsy. Or at least that’s what we think. It’s the only way the vet could describe what happens,” I explain as I turn to put Luke away. “That’s why he can’t live in the wild.”

  Matthew comes a little closer and watches as I settle Luke in his cage. “Yeah, I can see how he’d be easy hawk food.”

  My jaw drops and I cover Luke’s tiny ears. “Don’t say things like that when he’s sleeping. You’ll give him nightmares.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No.”

  “Daddy!” Calypso interrupts what is possibly the strangest conversation ever. “Carrie has your picture on her wall!”

  Aaannnnddd she starts the most awkward conversation instead.

  In what I’ve come to know as his typical Matthew fashion, he turns to me with a smirk, the infamous dimple on display. “She does, huh?”

  “Wow. You seem awfully confident in your sex appeal after practically running screaming from a rodent four seconds ago.”

  He shrugs nonchalantly. “I feel emotions. I’m comfortable in my sexuality. But I do wanna know why you have a picture of me. Is it framed? Do you kiss it at night?”

  Satisfied Luke is fine and he has enough food for when he wakes up, I close his cage. “Yes,” I deadpan. “And Olaf didn’t run away. I stole him so I could get close to you. I even planted Sven in your yard.”

  Matthew’s face actually pales. Does he not understand sarcasm?

  “Seriously, Matthew?”

  “I mean… models have weird stalker things
happen all the time.”

  I shake my head and turn away from him, wondering what the hell Calypso is even talking about. It doesn’t take long to spot the picture on my corkboard.

  “Oh yeah. I forgot I put this up here,” I say as I pull the postcard down and hand it to Matthew. “Donna Moreno’s new book comes out next week. I didn’t want to forget to post my review.”

  Matthew’s eyebrow quirks. “Suuure. That’s why it’s up there.”

  I see he’s no longer worried about me peeking in his windows. Calypso, on the other hand, is more interested in my photo light box and the props inside.

  “What does this do?” she asks, very obviously holding herself back from touching things without asking.

  Without missing a beat, I start taking some of my favorite colorful swag out and setting up a small scene. “This is my light box. I put things in here when I want to take a picture. Let’s see, we have a coffee mug and a glove. Let’s see what we can do with this.”

  I snatch the postcard back out of Matthew’s hand and stage the scene. Putting on the black gloves, I put one hand around the mug and lay the postcard next to it. Turning the whole set on, I take a quick pic with my phone and show Calypso who squeals with delight.

  “See how it turned out?”

  “It’s so pretty!” she gushes. “Look Daddy! She made you look pretty!”

  I smile victoriously at him, but he’s too busy staring at my corkboard to notice. I’m not sure what’s caught his eye. It’s just a mishmash of reading schedules, author events, and swag I need to use in my pictures.

  “You’re a fan of Blind Fury?”

  Oh yeah. I guess that old ticket is up there too.

  “Love them. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen them live.” I gesture to the ticket I now know he’s looking at.

  Digging his hands in his pockets, Matthew suddenly looks nervous. Not He-Just-Killed-Luke nervous. More like game night nervous.

  “You know they’re coming to the Convention Center this weekend.”

  My jaw drops because no, I didn’t know that. “Seriously? How did I miss that?”

  “Obviously it’s because my picture distracted you every time you looked at the corkboard.”

  I laugh because that was actually pretty funny.

  “Sadly, I don’t have any distracting pictures, so I knew they were coming,” he continues, cocky, arrogant Matthew back in charge. “And guess who has two tickets?”

  “Ugh.” I drop my head back and look at the ceiling in disappointment. “I’m so jealous. I wish I could go, but I’m sure tickets are sold out.”

  Matthew squeezes his eyes tightly and I’m not sure if he’s about to sneeze or pulling himself together. Either way, he blurts out the words I wasn’t expecting. “You misunderstand. You want to go with me to see Blind Fury in concert?”

  The debate in my brain takes all of half a second. Do I want to go see my favorite band with a hot guy who makes me laugh and brings me baby squirrels to put in my bra with very little judgement?

  “Yes. Yes I do.”

  Chapter 13

  Matthew

  I’m probably a little more excited than I should be to see Carrie tonight. It isn’t a date but just knowing we’re going out by ourselves makes it a little more significant than playing kids board games on my living room floor. Not that I didn’t fully enjoy our night at my house or even the one at hers with that weird sleeping squirrel, it’s just that tonight feels different. Even the way she didn’t hesitate before accepting the invitation didn’t surprise me too much.

  Of course, calling my buddy Kevin and demanding he sell me his ticket was pricey. Not only monetarily but I’ll also be helping him move into his new place next weekend. If I know Kev, I’ll be doing most of the heavy lifting while he directs me where to go. It’ll be worth it.

  As I hit send on my final email of the week, a little face pops up on the other side of my desk. I pretend to be startled sending her into a fit of giggles.

  “You scared me, Sprite.”

  “Daddy, you’re so funny when you get scared. Your eyes go like this.” I watch as she tries to make her eyes wide but only succeeds in scrunching her nose.

  Shaking my head, I motion for her to come around the desk. Hopping up on my lap, she wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes. The scent of her strawberry shampoo mixed with sweat from playing fills my senses and I sigh. I know moments like this are going to lessen over the next few years so I appreciate them while I can.

  “How was school?”

  Leaning her head back, she groans. “It was okay. We had to work on our writing. I don’t know why we have to do that. Everyone has a tablet these days, can’t we just type out everything?”

  “Writing is important. I do it every day. The time for computers will come. Let’s close this place down and see what Grandma’s doing.”

  I go through the steps to log off the system, noting there are still a couple hours until I have to pick up Carrie. Calypso skips out the door as I flip the light switch and follow her down the hall toward the main part of the house. My dad is sitting in his recliner, glasses low on his nose as he reads on his tablet and Mom is in the kitchen, unloading grocery bags.

  “Hi honey. What time are you picking up your date?”

  “Mom—”

  “Just let me have this, Matthew. I have so few joys in my life.”

  “Oh for goodness sake. Look, we’re friends and I had an extra ticket. Don’t make more of this than it is.”

  Ignoring me, my mom cuts up an apple and scoops a little peanut butter on a plate before sliding it in front of Calypso as she settles on one of the stools at the counter. I snag one of the slices as my daughter tries, and fails, to smack my hand.

  “Nobody likes a thief, Daddy.”

  “My apologies, baby. Be good for Grandma and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Daddy!” she screeches, stopping me before I can kiss the top of her head. “Will you ask Carrie to send me a picture of Sven? I want to make sure he’s okay.”

  “Honey, she sent one this morning. I showed you on the way to school.”

  She opens her mouth to argue, but I hold my hand up to stop her. “Fine. I will shoot her a text right now.”

  Me: Sprite asked if she can see a picture of Sven.

  C: Sure.

  Minutes tick by and I all but give up when my phone vibrates.

  C: Sorry, I had poop on my hand.

  C:

  Eww.

  Me: Poop?!?!

  C: Yeah, you know human—or in this instance, squirrel—waste.

  Me: Umm… gross.

  I shiver at the thought and tap on the photo.

  “Here you go. Sven in all his pink glory.”

  “Oh, he’s getting bigger. Did you see, Grandma? We saved him. Daddy thought he was a zombie.”

  Funny how her recollection of how it all went down changes depending on who she’s talking to. “And, I’m outta here. Be good.”

  “Don’t rush over on our account,” Mom says with faux sweetness. I know her game. “You know, if you’re up late, or need to do anything in the morning.”

  Groaning, I rub my hand down my face. “Boundaries, Mother.”

  I leave her to answer the rapid-fire questions about what I would need to do on a Saturday morning from an inquisitive six-year-old as I pat my dad on the shoulder and head out of the house. Serves her right for insinuating I’ll be up late for any other reason than the concert. As I turn the ignition and my phone connects to the Bluetooth, another alert of a text message comes through.

  C: Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just meet there?

  Me: Nope. I’ll pick you up at 6:00.

  C: If you’re sure. I feel bad. At least let me pay for parking.

  Me: See you at 6:00.

  I can only imagine how frustrated my short response has her. I envision her pink lips clenched in a fine line, her eyes squinting as she tries to come up with a retort. U
nfortunately for her, my phone is set to send a message that I’m driving. She’ll just have to stew for a while. Maybe I’ll even “forget” to turn off the auto response and see how annoyed she is when I pick her up.

  •••

  “Are you going to check your phone all night?” I tease as Carrie picks up the device for the fourth time since we were sat at our table.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that usually I’m the one who cares for the newborns. I’m worried.”

  “And struggling to give up control?”

  Scoffing, she reaches for her whiskey and takes a small sip. I mimic her move with my own glass and watch as she pretends to be offended. The problem with that is she’s not. And I’m right.

  “Fine. I’m struggling a smidge. I know Jamie can handle it, but I’m worried. Can you imagine if something happens to him? How will we tell Calypso?”

  Her concern for my daughter and her feelings triggers something in me. Delilah loves Calypso and does the best she can, but the reality is, the primary woman in my daughter’s life is my mom. And while she loves her more than anything, to have another woman show complete concern for her… it’s different.

  “Well, we’ll deal with that if it becomes an issue. How about tonight we just have fun? I mean, we’re seeing Blind Fury. That means there’s no room for distractions.”

  “You’re right. I still can’t believe you had an extra ticket. I’m so excited. How many times have you seen them in concert?”

  Before I can respond, the server appears with our food. She places the plates in front of us—grilled salmon and a side of steamed vegetables for me and a club sandwich for Carrie—before placing a few extra napkins on the table and leaving us alone.

  Our conversation is stalled for a few minutes, as we take our first bites of dinner. Once I’ve tasted everything, I take a drink of water and pick up our conversation where it ended.

  “I’ve seen them in concert about six times. I never miss an opportunity, and once I even went after a signing in Vegas.”

  “Wow! You really are a fan. I think the only thing I’ve seen six times is Legally Blonde.”

  Stealing one of her fries from the plate, I stuff it in my mouth, a huge grin on my face as she growls at me. That move and her response breaks up whatever awkwardness we were filling with small talk as we go about finishing our meal. As much as I wanted to order fries of my own, they are a weakness of mine, and I have a shoot coming up soon. There’s no room for extra water weight when it comes to spending ten hours in front of a camera with your shirt off. And sometimes your pants.