Everything in my apartment had its place.
Mail went into the basket by the kitchen. Shoes stayed beside the door. My keys always went into a small ceramic bowl on the entry table.
Then the twins arrived.
Everything in my apartment had its place.
***
Some nights, I barely slept three hours in a row.
For the first time in my life, I started forgetting little things.
I’d walk into the kitchen and forget why I was there.
Once, I put my coffee down and found it cold an hour later.
I started forgetting little things.
Another time, I spent 10 minutes looking for my phone while talking to my mother on it!
So when my apartment keys disappeared one morning, I blamed exhaustion and Mom Brain.
I searched my purse, coat pockets, kitchen counters, and even the diaper bag.
Nothing.
Luckily, I had a spare.
I blamed exhaustion.
***
Two weeks later, another set vanished!
The following month, it happened again!
Each time, I told myself the same thing.
You just had twins. You’re exhausted, Holly. That’s all.
But something bothered me.
It happened again!
I clearly remembered putting the keys in the ceramic bowl.
So after losing the third set, I bought a bright red keychain and started paying extra attention.
“Let’s see you disappear now,” I muttered with an evil grin.
For almost a week, everything was fine.
I bought a bright red keychain.
***
Then one afternoon, I returned from a walk with the twins and reached into my bag.
The keys were gone!
Again!
And because of my impeccable luck, my spare was inside!
Theo was getting hungry, Thea had started crying, and I was standing in the hallway, wondering whether I’d finally lost my mind.
The keys were gone!
With the twins starting to fuss, I gave up searching and called a locksmith.
His name was Ben.
He arrived about 30 minutes later, when I was already at my wits’ end.
While he worked, I told him my keys had somehow disappeared four times in the past couple of months.
He examined the lock.
I gave up searching.
“Has anyone else had access to this apartment?”
I frowned.
“No. Why?”
“Just checking whether someone might have another key.”
I explained that I lived alone with my babies and a pet.
He looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Someone might have another key.”
“Yep. I did the whole IVF thing. That’s how badly I wanted kids.”
“That’s incredible,” Ben replied, smiling.
Then he returned to the lock.
A moment later, it clicked.
He pushed the door open.
And everything got strange.
“That’s incredible.”
***
“Where are my keys?!”
The voice came from inside again.
Ben looked at me.
“That sounds exactly like you!”
I swallowed.
“Unfortunately, I know.”
He frowned.
“Wait, what do you mean?”
Ben looked at me.
Before I could explain, another voice called out.
“Holly! Holly! Holly!”
Then came a whistle.
I sighed.
“That’s Charlie.”
Ben blinked.
“He’s the pet I mentioned. He’s an African grey.”
Another voice called out.
“Your bird talks?”
“Constantly.”
I’d forgotten about my pet bird and his imitations.
Ben stared into the apartment.
Then he laughed.
“I thought someone was inside!”
I’d forgotten about my pet bird.
Normally, I would’ve laughed too.
But something near the play, mat caught my attention.
A flash of bright red.
My keychain!
It was lying beside one of the twins’ activity toys.
I would’ve laughed too.
“Ben,” I whispered, “those are my keys.”
The locksmith walked inside, leaned forward, and picked them up.
“Well, that’s good news.”
“But I had them when I left.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“I remember locking the door.”
“Those are my keys.”
He looked at the keys.
“Maybe you dropped them before leaving?”
I wanted to agree.
Except I remembered putting them in my bag after locking the door.
And now they were inside my apartment.
Ben noticed my expression.
I wanted to agree.
“Let’s get your babies settled first.”
I pushed the stroller inside.
Charlie sat on his perch beside the window, watching us.
“Hello, pretty boy,” he announced.
Ben stared at him, looking shocked.
Charlie sat on his perch.
“Charlie, what have you been doing?” I asked.
My bird tilted his head.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Ben recovered from his shock and burst out laughing.
I didn’t.
Not yet.
“What have you been doing?”
***
I’d adopted Charlie four years earlier from my aunt Patricia, who was moving somewhere that didn’t allow birds.
He was 12 years old and had a vocabulary that could embarrass a sailor.
The naughty thing could imitate my mother’s laugh, the microwave beeping, and my phone ringing!
Once, he’d spent an afternoon shouting, “Delivery!” I opened the front door six times!
Nobody was there!
The naughty thing could imitate my mother’s laugh!
Charlie had always been curious.
He loved bells, buttons, and anything that made noise.
Before the twins arrived, he spent afternoons exploring his bird-safe play area while I watched him.
But after Theo and Thea were born, everything changed.
Charlie had always been curious.
I still cared for Charlie, but I couldn’t give him the same attention.
I’d feed the babies while he watched from his perch.
Sometimes, he’d call, “Holly!”
And I’d answer, “One minute, Charlie.”
He’d repeat, “One minute!”
Then whistle.
I couldn’t give him the same attention.
I’d noticed him behaving differently.
He’d started carrying toys around and leaving them in strange places.
The previous week, I’d found his wooden bell behind the couch.
I assumed he was bored.
I had no idea his new hobby might involve me.
I assumed he was bored.
***
Ben crouched beside the activity toy.
“Is this where you keep your keys?”
“No. They’re supposed to be in that bowl.”
I pointed toward the entry table.
“How long were you outside?”
“About 40 minutes.”
“How long were you outside?”
“And you definitely locked the door?”
“Absolutely.”
The locksmith stood.
“Then something moved them after you left.”
I looked suspiciously toward Charlie.
He was preening his feathers.
“Then something moved them.”
“Charlie couldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?”
“Because how would he have done that? He was on his perch when I left.”
Ben shrugged.
“Could he climb down?”
“Yes, but…”
I stopped.
“Why not?”
Charlie had a habit of climbing down his play stand when I wasn’t watching.
I’d recently moved the stand closer to the hallway to make room for the twins’ play mat.
From there, he could reach the entry table using an adjacent shelf.
But why would he want my keys?
Ben interrupted my thoughts.
I wasn’t watching.
“Your lock is fine. There’s no damage.”
“So what does that mean?”
“Whatever happened, your lock wasn’t responsible.”
I stared at him.
“Well, that’s comforting.”
He smiled.
“There’s no damage.”
“This is one of the more interesting calls I’ve had.”
From the living room, Charlie shouted, “Where are my keys?!”
Ben laughed again.
“Your bird seems interested in the investigation.”
Charlie shouted.
***
After Ben left, I fed the twins and put them down for their afternoon nap.
Then, I returned to the living room.
The red keychain was still beside the activity toy.
I picked it up.
There were several scratches along the plastic.
They looked familiar.
I picked it up.
Earlier that month, I’d found similar marks on one of Charlie’s toys.
I turned toward his perch.
“Charlie?”
He looked at me.
“Good boy!”
“Did you take my keys?”
“Good boy!”
He looked at me.
“Charlie, I’m serious.”
“One minute!”
I sighed.
“You’re impossible.”
My pet whistled.
I checked beneath the couch.
Nothing.
Then, I looked around Charlie’s playstand.
“I’m serious.”
There were pieces of shredded paper, a wooden bead, and a bottle cap I’d thrown away.
I picked up the cap.
“Where did you get this?”
Charlie leaned forward.
“Mine!”
I stared.
“Excuse me?”
“Mine!”
“Where did you get this?”
My bird usually shouted that whenever someone touched his toys.
I looked toward the activity cube beside his play stand.
It was a gift from my sister, Megan.
The cube was meant for older babies, so I hadn’t given it to the twins yet.
It was a gift from my sister.
I’d placed it near the wall, planning to store it.
It had several openings and a hollow center.
Suddenly, I remembered hearing clinking sounds from that corner.
I’d assumed Charlie was playing with his bell.
I knelt beside the cube.
Something rattled inside.
It had several openings.
I turned the cube over.
A metal object slid across the bottom.
My heart started racing.
“No way.”
I looked through an opening.
Something shiny was inside.
I couldn’t reach it.
My heart started racing.
The cube had a removable panel underneath, secured with screws.
I fetched a screwdriver.
Charlie watched from his perch.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I froze.
He’d learned that phrase from me.
I fetched a screwdriver.
“Apparently, I’m solving a mystery.”
“Good girl!”
I nearly laughed.
After removing the screws, I lifted the panel.
Something metallic fell onto the carpet.
Then another object.
And another.
I stared.
“I’m solving a mystery.”
There were three sets of apartment keys!
All three missing sets!
Beside them were two earrings, Charlie’s bell, and several bottle caps.
I sat back.
“Oh my God.”
Charlie whistled.
I looked at him.
“Oh my God.”
“You little thief!”
My parrot tilted his head.
“Good boy!”
I laughed so suddenly that I startled myself.
Then, I started to cry.
Not because I was upset.
Because I’d spent months believing something was wrong with my memory!
“You little thief!”
I’d questioned myself every time the keys disappeared.
And all along, my parrot had been collecting my belongings!
I called Megan immediately.
“You won’t believe what Charlie’s been doing!”
“Did he learn another swear word?”
“Worse!”
I’d questioned myself.
I showed her the keys during a video call.
She stared.
“Are those yours?”
“Every missing set!”
“Where were they?”
“Inside the activity cube, you bought the twins!”
Megan started laughing.
“Are those yours?”
“Your bird has a storage unit!”
“Apparently!”
“Does he pay rent?”
“No, but I’m considering charging him.”
While we talked, Charlie climbed down from his perch and waddled toward the entry table.
I watched him.
“Does he pay rent?”
“Hold on.”
Megan stopped laughing as I turned the phone so that she could watch with me.
“What?”
“I think he’s about to demonstrate.”
I’d already removed the recovered keys, but a loose metal keyring remained in the ceramic bowl.
Charlie climbed onto the shelf beside the table.
“Hold on.”
Then he stretched forward, grabbed the ring with his beak, and stepped back.
“Megan, are you seeing this?”
She gasped.
“He’s stealing another one!”
Charlie climbed down, carried the ring across the floor, and approached the activity cube.
“Are you seeing this?”
Then, he dropped it through an opening.
Clink.
He turned toward me.
“Where are my keys?!”
Megan screamed with laughter!
I slowly sat down.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He dropped it.
Charlie fluffed his feathers.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
***
My parrot had been watching me put my keys in the bowl for years.
He loved shiny objects, and the metal rings made an interesting sound when dropped.
The hollow activity cube had become his hiding place.
He loved shiny objects.
Whenever he could reach the entry table, he’d sometimes carry off a keyring and drop it inside.
The first three sets had disappeared during busy mornings.
I’d remembered putting them away but hadn’t noticed Charlie taking them afterward.
The fourth disappearance happened differently.
I’d remembered putting them away.
I’d locked the apartment before taking the twins for a walk, then slipped the keys into the shallow outer pocket of my diaper bag.
I’d briefly returned inside for Thea’s forgotten blanket and left the bag open beside Charlie’s stand.
My parrot must have grabbed the dangling red keychain while I was in the nursery!
I hadn’t checked the pocket before leaving again.
I’d briefly returned inside.
Charlie had dropped the keys beside the cube instead of inside it.
I’d locked myself out because I thought they were still in my bag.
The scratches?
Charlie’s beak.
I stared at him.
“You’ve been stealing my keys and listening to me panic?!”
“Where are my keys?!”
I’d locked myself out.
“Exactly!”
“Good girl!”
I laughed until my stomach hurt, while Megan joined in.
***
The following morning, I called Ben.
“I figured out the mystery.”
He sounded curious.
“Really?”
I called Ben.
“My parrot stole my keys.”
Silence.
“Your what?”
“My African grey.”
Another pause.
“You’re telling me your bird was responsible for four missing sets?”
“Yes.”
I explained everything.
“Your what?”
By the time I finished, Ben was laughing hysterically.
“I’ve dealt with toddlers flushing keys, dogs burying them, and people leaving them in refrigerators,” he said. “But never a parrot with a key collection!”
“Well, congratulations.”
“I’ve dealt with toddlers flushing keys.”
***
I bought a covered, wall-mounted key cabinet and installed it where Charlie couldn’t maneauvor to.
I moved his play stand away from the hallway and removed the activity cube from his area.
He now has bird-safe toys that I rotate to keep him entertained.
And I make time every afternoon to play with him while the twins nap.
I moved his play stand.
***
It’s been four weeks.
I haven’t lost a single key.
Theo and Thea are doing well, Charlie gets more attention, and I’ve stopped questioning my memory whenever something disappears.
***
Last weekend, Megan visited.
I showed her the new key cabinet.
It’s been four weeks.
“Very secure,” she said. “Think Charlie’s planning another robbery?”
“Don’t give him ideas.”
We were standing in the hallway when Charlie called from the living room.
“Where are my keys?!”
Megan started laughing.
I shook my head.
“Don’t give him ideas.”
“They’re locked up, Charlie!”
There was a pause.
Then, in a perfect imitation of my exhausted voice, he shouted:
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!”
Megan doubled over!
I laughed so hard I had to sit down!
“They’re locked up!”
Motherhood has taught me plenty.
How to survive on little sleep.
How to change two diapers in record time.
How to warm a bottle while holding a crying baby.
But I never expected the biggest threat to my household organization to be a preteen parrot with a talent for theft.
Motherhood has taught me plenty.
At least, I got my keys back.
Unfortunately, Charlie has learned another phrase.
Every time I walk past his perch, he looks straight at me and announces:
“Don’t give him ideas!”
Which is exactly what I’d expect from someone with a hidden collection of stolen keys.
