Page 33 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“I mean, I know a good chunk of facts,” I say as we close in on the habitat, which is a large pond in the middle of the zoo, encased by a wooden fence with plexiglass. Foliage, rocks, and trees decorate the enclosure, but it’s open to the air, so if the birds wanted to, they could come right up to you. They don’t though. The elegant creatures are standoffish at best. But I can remember standing right over there, next to the flamingo facts. Maple and I would spend so much time leaning on the fence while she talked about the flamingos. We would try to name them and remember them by their names, but never got it right. She would listen in on the zookeeper’s speech, and I would delight in the tons of questions she would ask after.
“Care to share?” Everly asks. “Maybe I can act like I know something to get Syrup on my side.”
“Ooo, smart,” I say as we walk up to the fence. I glance around, looking for her, but come up short, probably best because my nerves are starting to play with me. We both lean on the wooden rail and take in the light pink, leggy birds, which are clustered together in serene groups across the pond. “Well, first things first, they do get their color from what they eat. Carrots, red peppers, dried shrimp. It’s a real thing.”
“You know, I always heard that but wasn’t sure if it was true.”
“It’s true,” I reply. “And their knees…those are actual carpal joints, so they can bend both ways.”
“Really? Those knobby things?” she asks. “That’s fascinating, Phillip.”
I smirk. “And their necks, they have nineteen vertebrae. Where we only have seven.”
“Which makes them incredibly majestic,” she says.
“Correct, Bindi. Some say angels with pink wings.”
Her lips quiver into a smile. “You know, Phillip, I have heard that.”
“How could you not? I think it’s on a shirt somewhere. A flamingo with a halo and a glint in their eye, with the saying,Angels with Pink Wings.”
“I bet it’s nicer than a shirt featuring a fish with a top hat.”
I lean in close to her ear and whisper-scold, “This shirt is a masterpiece and I beg you to find something better than.”
“Literally any shirt, Phillip…any shirt.”
“Clearly you have no taste.”
“You might be right if you’re my betrothed.” Shocked, I turned to her, mouth ajar, which makes her laugh hard. “Now that’s a burn, take notes.”
“Wow, okay. Here I thought we were going to have a nice afternoon delight with the flamingos, but instead you come in here, guns blazing, ready to burn me every chance you get.”
“It’s best you know about me sooner rather than later.” She bumps my shoulder with hers in a playful way.
“Well…noted.”
We both chuckle and after a few seconds, I ask, “Have you ever fed flamingos before?”
“Uh no, have you?”
I nod. “Not sure if they do it anymore, but they used to have feeding sessions for the public. The zookeepers give you a cup full of water and dog food, you sit down, and the flamingos come up to you. It’s pretty cool. They honk and make a mess of the water, a lot of fun.”
“I would love that,” she says as she looks around. “Now, how do you think we can figure out if they still allow people to feed them? Because I want to participate in something like that.”
“Let me see the map,” I say, holding out my hand.
Everly pulls it out of her purse and as she’s handing it over to me, she chuckles. “God, you look so weird.”
I smile at her and tug on my hat. “So, what you’re saying is that I should wear this nose more often? Possibly grow my hairout?” I flip my ponytail. “Maybe buy you a fisherman’s hat as well.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No to everything.”
“Oh right, not a hat, but this shirt, you want me to buy you this shirt.”
“Please…please don’t.”
I snatch the map from her. “So judgmental.” I open it up and skim through the wording on the side, looking for any info on animal feedings, but I come up short. “Hmm, maybe there’s a posting or sign around here.” I scan the habitat nervous that Maple might appear at any point to give a zookeeper talk only to feel my skin go cold as I see someone off to the right, leaning against the rail and admiring the flamingos. “Holy shit,” I say.
