5
Feeding schedules are important. While your newborn childe shouldn’t wake up during the day, he will wake up far less whiny if he feeds just before sunrise.
—Siring for the Stupid:
A Beginner’s Guide to Raising Newborn Vampires
On the night of my grandmother’s funeral, two strange things happened. First, someone threw a recently detached deer head onto my front porch. Second, well, I’ll get into that in a bit.
Fortunately for me, Zeb came by the house during the day to retrieve a blankie left behind by the twins, and he found the deer head flung against my front door like a taxidermist’s Valentine. He disposed of it and hosed off the porch before Fitz could start rolling on it. He also called me to try to explain the situation and his theory that the venison delivery was the handiwork of the driver who had hit Jamie, but because daytime leaves vampires less than, well, conscious, I told him, “Take your muffins to Boston and shut it, Terrance.” And then I hung up on him.
As the sun set, I snuggled into Gabriel’s back and tried to hang on to those last dregs of sleep. Anything to keep me from the evening looming over me. I was supposed to drop by my mother’s house in about an hour to visit with the last of the well-wishers. There was a little part of me that felt guilty for not being there for my mom while she buried her own mother. But Mama had assured me that she would be fine as long as I did my time at the visitation.
She may have phrased it in a different way.
Gabriel had been my rock for the last few days, which made up for the fact that he and Jamie had been driving me to empathize with those crazy housewives who flip out and poison their whole church congregations. With three women in the family, it had been like a war zone in my parents’ house for one week a month. And we still weren’t as whiny as those two little wenches.
Gabriel complained that Jamie got Fitz too riled up when they played. One of their more memorable escapades resulted in Fitz dragging Jamie out through his doggie door and knocking off a chunk of the doorframe. Jamie complained that Gabriel watched too much History Channel. Jamie drank all of the Faux Type O in the house and left his empties in a pyramid formation on the porch. I will not describe Gabriel’s reaction when he walked in on Jamie watching Jersey Shore. I couldn’t tell whether it was because of the age difference or the generational difference or the fact that Jamie figured out that appearing to flirt with me in any way made Gabriel’s fangs grind. Either way, it was annoying as hell.
I’d promised them both that one more fight over whose turn it was to take out the garbage would result in my drinking a dozen of Andrea’s espresso concoctions, enabling me to stay up after sunrise and rip their fangs out as they slept. That had managed to keep them quiet for about twenty-four hours.
Drawing on experience with her werewolf relatives, Jolene told me that this was very normal pack behavior, particularly in a pack where the males perceived limited resources. In this pack, the resource was my time and attention. It helped to try to see both points of view. Gabriel had finally gotten me to agree to marriage, to long-term commitment, and our lives had settled down a little, only to have the rug yanked out from under him and a new disruptive family member added to our household. And poor Jamie, he just recently had normal body parts arrive, and then suddenly he’s dead, drinking blood, cut off from his family, and having to entrust his well-being to his former babysitter. Plus, because the school board considered him dead, he was being home-schooled through the end of his senior year. No baseball. No prom. And the board wouldn’t budge on a nighttime graduation ceremony.
Overall, we were lucky that he only blew up at us and screamed, “You’re not my parents!” once every few hours or so. I’d asked Jolene for advice on how to bring down the tension in the house, but most of her suggestions involved rolled-up newspapers. Rolled-up newspapers are not a universally applicable solution.
Jolene’s information from her cousin at the DMV was equally unhelpful. There were no plates in that sequence registered to a rusted-out early-model black sedan. There was a very similar plate registered to a pickup truck that had been sent to a car cuber in Monkey’s Eyebrow three years ago. So, my proactive bent to find the driver who ran Jamie down was at a temporary standstill. At least until I could get my own crime lab and analyze the paint samples scraped down Big Bertha’s body.
Why now? Why would someone want to hurt me now? It had been months since I’d had trouble with anyone. And the deer head on my porch was a troubling development, especially when combined with the dream about the angry guy on my lawn. I couldn’t help but feel that I was missing something. Something important. If I could just connect all of the pieces, I could fix it. Car accident … deer head … Gabriel … angry redneck.
And that was the moment when my brain pushed through that final layer of sleepy awareness and came fully awake.
Damn it.
Rubbing at my eyes, I reached toward the nightstand and grabbed my cell phone. Jenny had been texting me updates throughout the day. Most of it was stuff like “Aunt Maisie threw herself on top of the casket. Again.” Or “Mama saw what Cous. J. is wearing and said the f-word. Wish I had video cam.”
Scrolling through her texts, I smiled, although I was sorely disappointed to have missed Mama dropping the f-bomb. Jenny had, however, had the presence of mind to use her phone to snap a photo of Cousin Junie’s ensemble—what looked like a low-cut backless black top and a leopard-print wrap skirt better suited to the poolside than the graveside. I burst out laughing, which made Gabriel stir beside me.
Shaking my head, I texted back that I was sorry I had missed it and would see her soon. So far, the mourning process seemed to have brought the three of us closer together. Heck, Jenny and I had actually shared a couple of bemused smiles at the visitation, when Junie showed up with her signature “Hot Dog Bake” and insisted that Mama have some to keep up her strength. And Mama was deeply appreciative when Jenny distracted her long enough that I could dispose of the offending mix of hot dogs, crushed Ritz crackers, and cream of mushroom soup.
Yack-worthy casseroles aside, the visitation had been surprisingly pleasant. In Half-Moon Hollow, visitations were held on the evening before the burial, giving the community the chance to offer condolences to the bereaved and help them consume the overflowing buffet of condolence foods. It is believed that the deceased soul will not be able to pass over to the Great Hereafter unless all humans in attendance are stuffed to the gills with grits casserole, deviled eggs, and funeral potatoes. These foods are to be present at every stage of the mourning process, from comforting family members immediately after the death to the luncheon after the burial. If at any time an empty plate or serving platter is spotted, the shabby, halfhearted treatment of the deceased will be the talk of the town for months.
So, when the sun had set the night before, I had showed up with the requisite buffet offerings, although the very smell of homemade pimento cheese had made Gabriel roll the car windows down just so the ride would be bearable. I’d taken my place at Mama’s side in the receiving line, which, as Southern Funeral Law dictated, included anyone who had ever met Grandma Ruthie or anyone she was related to by blood or marriage. And a few people had actually shaken my hand, despite the fact that it obviously made them uncomfortable.
As a human, I’d done everything possible to avoid these situations. And other than being seriously wearing on my mental shields, it had been downright tolerable. Maybe it was better simply because Gabriel had been there. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to attend one of these things alone. It had been almost disorienting how sweet it was to feel his hand at the small of my back as I walked across the room. I didn’t get the pitying “you poor spinster librarian” looks. There were no pointed questions from Mama’s friends about when I would settle down. Bessie Paxton didn’t even make a snarky remark about the “stress” I’d put my poor grandmother under, something she did regularly when Grandma Ruthie was still alive.
Then again, I imagine that sort of thing tends to diminish when your scary vampire boyfriend is standing right behind you.
As sick as it was to think of a funeral visitation as a night out, it had been nice to be out of the house and childe-free for an evening. Andrea and Dick had stayed home with Jamie, which he’d bitterly resented. He’d said he didn’t need to be babysat. But then Dick had offered to show him how to hot-wire my car, which I’d bitterly resented. The trick had been getting through the visitation with my poker face intact whenever a mourner mentioned “that poor Lanier boy” and how torn up his parents were over his being turned. Jenny had—surprise, surprise—managed to keep my involvement in the situation to herself. I think she was using a combination of meditation and internally chanting her sorority’s secret motto to keep from spilling the beans.
For my part, every time Jamie had been mentioned, I’d turned back toward the open casket and looked at Grandma Ruthie. She would have been very pleased with the delicately tinted peach suit Mama had found hanging in her closet in a garment bag marked “Visitation Attire.” At some point, one of Whitlows was going to have to change her into the black bombazine gown that had been marked “Burial Attire.” She’d even attached little bags with matching shoes and accessories.
It was strange that Grandma was making her final appearance at Whitlow’s Funeral Home, where she’d been mourning husbands since 1957. I had a sneaking suspicion that they would name the room after her in memoriam. She’d left very specific instructions for how the room would be laid out, the flow of traffic through the receiving line and around the buffet, and the spray of white roses and gardenias on top of the dignified maple casket. And true to form, she had actually written her own eulogy for Reverend Neel. Mama had given the good reverend her blessing to wing it, once she saw that it was thirty-seven typed pages.
So far, the only real sore spot in the planning had been Wilbur, who had pitched an unholy fit and made a dramatic exit from the funeral home when he found out that he had not, in fact, been included in Grandma’s will. His indignant fury that he hadn’t been left “with so much as a red cent,” confirmed my long-held suspicions that Grandma Ruthie had been another installment in Wilbur’s Retirement Through Inheritance Plan. But at least Grandma Ruthie had died of natural causes, unlike the suspicious exits of Wilbur’s previous lovers.
Shuddering at the thought of Wilbur being anyone’s lover, I glanced at the clock and realized that I had about twenty minutes to get to Mama’s house, or she’d start to think I wasn’t showing up. Shaking Gabriel’s shoulder to wake him, I climbed out of bed and padded into the bathroom for my somewhat extensive daily dental regimen.
I turned on the shower, letting the room slowly fill with steam and desperately trying to remember the deer-head conversation with Zeb. I looked in the mirror and saw that my hair was actually doing something seminormal, so at least I wouldn’t have to wrestle it into submission during my limited grooming window. Yes, vampires could see themselves in mirrors. And doing so post-turning was a much more pleasant experience. I basically got the bookworm’s dream makeover package. My skin was clearer. My hair had changed to an actually desirable color found in the brunette spectrum. My eyes, formerly an unremarkable muddy hazel, were now a clear and compelling hazel. My teeth were whiter, but I did have to maintain the aforementioned brushing and flossing routine.
I didn’t expect to wipe the steam away from the glass and see the bluish, shadowy figure of my grandma Ruthie standing behind me, glaring at my reflection.
“What the fack!” I yelped, turning and scrambling away from the ghastly apparition of my grandmother in the buttery yellow pantsuit she’d worn to her last Garden Club meeting. My feet slipped out from under me, and I landed against the closed bathroom door with a loud thump.
“Language, Jane.” Grandma sighed, peering down at me with that familiar disapproving curl to her lip.
“Jane!” Gabriel called from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”
I pressed myself hard against the solid oak, eager to put more space between my grandmother’s sneering specter and myself. For the first time in my life, I was honestly afraid of Grandma Ruthie. Alive, she’d been a judgmental and intimidating presence in my life. Now she was just scary. Her mouth was an angry faded slash across her face. Her eyes were shadowed, opaque, and dark. I could see every bad thought she’d ever had about me reflected in them.
“Grandma Ruthie, what the hell?” I yelled as Gabriel pounded on the other side of the door, rattling the knob. “What are you doing here?”
She smirked at me and turned toward the mirror to adjust her smoky wisps of hair. “I honestly don’t know. I was yelling at that simpering idiot Bitty Tate, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in the foyer here at River Oaks. You were sleeping, lazy little snip that you are. So I made myself at home, and don’t think that I haven’t seen how you’ve been running things around here over the last few days, Missy. You should be ashamed of yourself, turning your ancestral home into a den of iniquity.”
“Didn’t you see a tunnel of light?” I asked. I reconsidered, then added. “Or maybe a large warm pit opening up beneath you?”
“I’m not dead, Jane.”
I snorted as the knocking on the other side of the door stopped. “Which is a shame, since they buried you this afternoon.”
“No, I’m not dead. Obviously, the good Lord has another purpose for me, Jane. And it’s quite clear why I’m here,” she said, sighing happily. “It’s finally my time to be mistress of River Oaks.”
“Um, first of all, that’s a really creepy way to put it. And second, I’m already the mistress of River Oaks.”
“Not by right.” Grandma sniffed. “The house should have gone to me. You’re just a usurper, a pretender. Jettie must have been out of her mind to leave it to you.”
“Well, it’s too late now, because you’re dead.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah, but I have a physical form; you don’t.”
“You have a choice. You can accept that I’m here to stay and stay out of my way. Or you can move out and leave the house to my judgment, as you should have in the first place.”
I stared at her. “You mean it, don’t you? This house means so much to you that you’d rather it sit empty and cold, a shell for you to wander around in for eternity, than for me to stay here and fill it with life.”
“Well, you’re not exactly filling it with life, are you?” she asked, sneering nastily and looking to my middle, to the womb that would never produce future Earlys. “Better that it be maintained by someone who appreciates the family history, who will care for it, love it. You’ll only turn it into a tomb.”
“You’re insane. I used to joke around about how you were crazy, but death has honestly pushed you over the deep end, hasn’t it?”
Her misty form undulated toward me like some sort of psychotic sea creature. Her bitter, twisted face leaned uncomfortably close to mine as she spat, “You’ve had it entirely too easy, Jane. All your life, I’ve never understood what you thought was so special about you. You expect everything to just fall into your lap as it always has. Well, no more. I will be making life here at River Oaks very unpleasant for you, from here on out. How would you like to go to your death-sleep one morning only to wake up with the full sun shining on you because I’ve thrown open all the curtains?”
“You can’t.” I laughed. “You’re not strong enough to move objects yet. It took Aunt Jettie months to figure it out. And by the time you do, I’ll have figured out some sort of exorcism ritual to toss your flat, disembodied ass out of my house!”
With that last syllable, the door behind me suddenly gave way. Grandma Ruthie’s spectral form dissipated as the shower steam billowed out of the doorway. I flopped back against the fallen door, my head striking the wood with a dull thud.
“Ow!”
Gabriel and Jamie were standing over me with crowbars in their hands and confused expressions on their faces.
“Aw, man!” Jamie cried, throwing his crowbar down in disgust.
“Explain,” I said, arching my eyebrow at him.
“Gabe said we could kick the door down if we couldn’t pry it loose from the hinges,” he grumbled. “I was really looking forward to it.”
“Well, why don’t you go down to the root cellar and kick through a cabinet door,” I told him. “There should be plenty of the old ones left over from the kitchen remodel.”
“Really?” He beamed at me before scampering down the stairs. “Thanks!”
“Do you really think encouraging wanton destruction is the best way to foster him into a mature, responsible vampi—umhpf!” Gabriel exclaimed as I launched myself at him, throwing my arms around him. “Jane, what’s the matter?”
“Grandma Ruthie is here with us,” I whispered, knowing that in all likelihood, Grandma’s invisible self was hovering somewhere in the room, watching the havoc she was wreaking.
“Oh, sweetheart, of course she’s still here with us. I know the two of you didn’t part on the best terms, but you’ll always carry your memories of your grandmother with you. The fond memories will outshine the bad.”
“No, I’m not stuck in the depression phase, Gabriel. I’m saying Grandma Ruthie is here with us, haunting the house. She was in the bathroom with me just now, basically declaring open war against us if we don’t move out. I sent Jamie away because I didn’t want to scare him.”
“The same boy who wanted to watch the Saw marathon the other night?”
“Enjoying exorbitant movie violence isn’t the same as knowing there’s an angry septuagenarian poltergeist hanging around the house.”
“What do you want to do?” Gabriel asked.
“Well, I don’t want her in the house, that’s for sure. Do you think Dick knows a guy who could do an exorcism?”
“Of course he does,” Gabriel said. “Whether that will involve paying his guy with a case of stolen car batteries, that’s the real question. I’ll call him. Why don’t you get dressed and go to your mother’s? I’ll stay here with Jamie and try to sort this out.”
“I wish you were going with me. You’ve made this whole process so much easier,” I said, kissing him deeply. He gave me a quizzical smile. “Hey, you’re forgetting how many grandparents I’ve buried. Even with the haunting issues—comparatively, this has been a cakewalk.”
“I wish I could go with you, too.”
I bit my lip and stifled a giggle. “I would believe you’re only saying that to be nice, but I am leaving you here with an undead teenager and a dead senior citizen.”
“I’m stowing away in your car.”
I slipped into the black pencil skirt and pewter-colored cardigan I’d picked for the funeral “after-party.” I was still strapping on my black heels when I came out onto the porch to find Jamie doing scissor kicks through a series of cabinet doors he’d set against the foundation of the house. I shook my head at him, feeling a rush of genuine maternal bewilderment.
“If I catch you buying ninja stars from Dick, we’re going to have a problem.”
Jamie grinned up at me and, without looking, toed a door up from the ground and punched through it, midair. His enthusiasm for destruction was contagious. I barely contained a snicker as I accused him of being a show-off.
Hearing a faint engine noise in the distance, Jamie and I turned to see a black pickup roll down the driveway, spitting dust and gravel in its wake. Instinctively, I moved closer to my childe, positioning myself between him and the unknown driver. Jamie seemed mesmerized by the truck as it moved toward us. I cast out my senses, and I could feel the chaotic tumble of red, angry images. Whoever was in that car wanted to rip me to shreds.
“Do you know who that is?” I asked quietly as I took off my heels. I’d learned from experience that trying to fight in pumps got you nowhere.
Jamie’s mouth flapped open like a guppy’s. The passenger door popped open, and I saw Jamie’s mother jump out. I saw now why Jamie was so paralyzed by the approach of the truck. Hell, seeing the look on Rosie Lanier’s face, I was a little afraid.
Apparently, Ophelia had informed Jamie’s parents who had sired him.
I remembered Rosie Lanier as one of those impeccably dressed moms who managed to traverse a muddy soccer field without dirtying her Naturalizers. Her once carefully maintained mane of blond was dull and stringy, sticking to her red, blotchy face. It looked as if she hadn’t removed her mascara in days. And as she stormed across my lawn and lunged at me, I could see that not only were her shoes muddy, but they didn’t match.
“How could you?” she demanded, slapping me across the face. “How could you do that to him?”
My cheek stung from the impact, but I accepted it. I was inclined to think that I deserved to be hit, whether I’d saved her son or not. I couldn’t bring myself to lift my hand to stop her, even as she shook me so hard my earrings clattered to the gravel.
This was just not my day. Night. Whatever.
“You killed my son!” she screamed, rearing back for another blow. Mr. Lanier stepped out of the truck. He was staring at Jamie, watching his son with a mixture of horror and uncertainty. I was yanked inside his head before I could stop myself. His thoughts were a dizzying tidal wave of love, horror, relief, regret, and overwhelming fear. He’d never thought he would see his son alive again, and, well, he wasn’t really, but he was moving and talking and staring right at them. And while he wanted to run to him and throw his arms around Jamie, he was struck still by fear. Would Jamie hurt them? Try to bite them? He knew that I was a vampire and that I’d never hurt anyone. But did that mean that his son was safe? Should he be moving closer to protect Rosie from us?
At this point, I wanted someone to protect us from Rosie.
Gabriel came rushing out of the house just as Rosie backhanded me.
“Mom, stop!” Jamie cried, grabbing at Rosie’s wrists.
“Rosie, please,” Mr. Lanier said softly, stepping closer.
Mrs. Lanier shook off Jamie’s hold. He let her shove him away as she seethed. “You killed my boy, you monster!”
“Mrs. Lanier, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Don’t you talk to me about choice, you murdering bitch!”
As she stalked closer to me, Gabriel stepped between us and took hold of the arm that she was swinging at me. “You need to calm down, ma’am.”
“Hey!” Jeff yelled. “Get your hands off my wife!”
“Gabriel, go inside,” I said in a low, even tone. He hesitated, but I leveled a “don’t argue” gaze at him. “I can handle this myself.”
“I’ll be right inside,” he said. He looked toward Mrs. Lanier and added, “Watching.”
“Mom—Mom, I’m standing right here!” Jamie cried. “Can you at least look at me?”
“Mrs. Lanier, you’ve known me since I was a little girl. Do you honestly think I would have hurt Jamie? Would I have bitten him if it wasn’t absolutely necessary?”
“I don’t know who you are since you became this thing!” she shouted at me.
“This thing is just like your son. Jamie’s the same sweet kid he always was, just a little different now. You have an amazing opportunity here. You almost lost your son, but you can still talk to him. You can still hold him. And tell him you love him. Can you honestly say that you don’t want that?”
“I don’t know!” his mother shouted.
“You don’t know?” Jamie and I chorused.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Jamie demanded. “I’m your son!”
“You’re a vampire,” she shot back. “You drink blood. You’re dangerous. We weren’t even allowed to know where you were until today, ‘for our own protection.’ Did you think we were going to bring you home with us? Did you think we’d let you near your sister?”
And by the look on Jamie’s face, I realized that yes, Jamie did expect to be taken home. Even though we’d explained that he was staying with us for the time being, he’d expected to go home with his parents. And he couldn’t comprehend that it wasn’t going to happen that night. It might never happen.
Suddenly, I realized that my mother was not so bad.
“Mom,” Jamie said, his voice dangerously close to a sob as he stepped forward and took her hand. “Please!”
“You stay away from us!” she yelled, stepping back toward the truck.
“You can’t just cut him off like that!” I exclaimed.
She yanked the truck door open. “I can do anything I need to do to protect my family.”
“He’s your son!” I cried.
Rosie slammed the truck door, but Jeff gave Jamie one last sad look. Quietly, he said, “Our son is dead.”
The engine roared to life, and the truck thundered back out of the driveway. I watched the taillights dim in the distance, mesmerized by the fading color. Jamie sat down on the porch steps with a thud. Although he was naturally quite pale, his face seemed ashy gray.
“Well, I don’t have to worry about school anymore,” he said. “Or baseball or college.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was a manly, though weary, gesture, and he might have pulled it off, if not for the faint bloody smudges of vampire tears around his eyes.
“It’s OK to be upset, Jamie. There’s nothing wrong with being hurt when your family rejects you. And it could have been worse. Gabriel’s family tied him to a tree and left him out for the sun.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“My mom keeps trying to force-feed me pot pie,” I added.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Have I not mentioned the ‘solid foods make us vomit’ thing?” I asked, cringing. “There’s a whole thing with our enzymes—well, a lack of enzymes. The bottom line is that all human food will now taste like wet dirt and gym socks to you.”
“I’ve been too thirsty to think about it,” he said, his brow furrowed. “But now it makes a lot more sense that you don’t have any food in the house … Well, this day just keeps getting better and better.”
I smiled at him sympathetically. “It’s OK. You know, you’ve adjusted to this new life pretty well, considering. You haven’t had a big freak-out moment. I had several when I was first turned. You haven’t tried to run away. You haven’t tried to attack a bus full of nuns. As your sire, I’m very proud of you.”
He groaned. “What is your deal with the busload of nuns?”
“It’s an interesting visual,” I said, shrugging and pulling him to his feet. “Come on, we’ll go inside, and I’ll warm you up a bottle of blood.”
“What about your mom? Weren’t you supposed to go over there tonight?”
“I’ll call her and tell her I can’t make it. She’ll be fine.”
Unfortunately, Rosie Lanier managed to call my mother before I did. Mama took time out of her busy grieving schedule to call me and yell like I haven’t heard since that time she found the belly-button ring I’d sported for a grand total of three weeks in college.
“Oh, Jane, how could you?” Mama cried, so loudly that I had to pull the phone away from my ear. “You were doing so well, not eating people.”
“I didn’t eat him, Mama, I was saving his life. It was either this, or he was dead. It was the same sort of situation I was in, injured and not likely to get medical attention in time. Jamie asked me to turn him, just like I asked Gabriel to turn me. Would you have rather Gabriel just left me alone to die because he was afraid of upsetting you?”
“No, honey, you know that. It’s just—Oh, how am I going to face Rosie?” she fretted. “This is so much worse than that time Jamie threw that water pistol at your head and left you with that little divot in your eyebrow.”
The aforementioned dented eyebrow winged up to my hairline. I’d completely forgotten about that. Jamie’s mom had made him pay for my emergency-room deductible with his piggy-bank savings and birthday money. But he never pitched another tantrum while I was babysitting him. I was so bringing that up later.
Mama’s insistent voice jerked me out of my thoughts. “Aren’t you worried about what people will think?”
“When have I ever worried about what people will think?” I asked.
“That was before you owned a business that depended on the goodwill of your neighbors.”
Dang it, she made a good point. My vampire and werewolf customers wouldn’t care much about my emergency sire status, but a sudden exodus of walk-in human customers would hurt business. I would have to talk to Andrea about increasing our online sales presence, just in case.
“I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Well, what does Gabriel think of all this?” she demanded.
“He’s fine with it,” I said, my voice rising to an octave only Fitz could hear. From across the kitchen, Gabriel gave me a sardonic little frown.
“Honey, you have to be careful. You’re in a very delicate stage in your relationship right now. You’re living together. Gabriel’s finding out about all of your annoying little habits.”
A little huff of outrage escaped my mouth. “What annoying little habits?”
“You’re discovering things about each other every day, not all of them good. Most of them not good,” Mama continued without pause. “And you’re not married, so Gabriel practically has an escape hatch built into the back door. And then you add an attractive younger man to your household—he’s practically an adorable baby bird with a broken wing. This is going to add stress to your already fragile relationship.”
“Fragile?”
“It’s like you’re trying to chase Gabriel away.” Mama sighed. “You’re not getting any younger, you know, honey.”
“I’m not getting any older, either.” I snorted.
“You know what I mean!” she exclaimed. “It’s like you’re trying to sabotage your relationship. Don’t you want to get married? Don’t you want to make a commitment to Gabriel?”
And suddenly, we were right back to the sort of conversation human Jane would have had with her mother. Obviously, Grandma Ruthie’s death had sent Mama into a regressive tailspin.
“Actually, I’m not worried about making a commitment to Gabriel, because we’re already engaged. Have been for a couple of weeks now. ‘K ‘bye!”
I hung up the phone, despite Mama’s overjoyed shrieks, and banged my head against the countertop.
“I’m going to kill Ophelia for this. I don’t care how many intimidating quips she throws at me. Her adolescent ass is mine.”