by Molly Harper
“And you didn’t think this was something you should tell me? You didn’t think I should— I’ve never even met my father. I don’t know what he looks like. I know nothing about him. And you knew this whole time? How am I supposed to feel about that?”
“I know, it was wrong. I tried to find a way to tell you, but there’s no easy way to fit ‘By the way, I’m your long-lost father’s best friend since we were both human’ into the conversation. I barely got the chance to get to know you myself, so how was I supposed to tell you that? Libby, from the moment I saw you, I wanted to know you. And that had nothing to do with your father or you being sick or your talent—”
“What do you mean, ‘since we were both human’?” I interrupted him in a tone that made Finn wince. “Are you telling me that my father is a vampire, too?”
He cleared his throat and took a cautious step closer. “Yes.”
“And the whole thing about my talent being able to suppress yours? Was that a lie, too?”
Finn ran his fingertips along my arms, and I jerked them out of his grasp. He cleared his throat again. “Oh, no, that’s true. Just being near you has given me a whole new grasp on my control. But I didn’t realize that was what was happening until after you were turned. Your father sent me to town to check on you. And I did see you at that coffee shop, and I did see inside your head and see how desperate and sick you were. I went to your father, told him what you were thinking of doing, and he sent me to intervene. He wanted to turn you himself, but he thought you might find that confusing, meeting him and going through all the changes at once. He wanted to make sure you were safe, not left with some creep you met over the Internet.”
“Yes, it would have been tragic being saddled with someone I couldn’t trust as a sire,” I deadpanned.
Finn cleared his throat. “I was supposed to leave you alone after I turned you. But I couldn’t.”
“Right, because I was a solution to your problem.”
“But that’s not why I couldn’t leave you. I want you, Libby. I want to spend time with you and be part of your life. I know you’re upset with me now, but if anything, this is something to celebrate. Your father, Max, he wants to be part of your life so much, but he wanted to give you time. You can have more people in your life who understand you, who love you. How is this bad news?”
“And I’m sure you told him to stay put, give me more time, while you figured out how to best take advantage of my talent.”
“No, you don’t understand,” he protested.
“Oh, no, I think I’ve got a pretty good grasp of the situation,” I growled at him, getting up and yanking the battered hotel-room door open. “You stay away from me. And you tell my father . . .”
The unfamiliar word seemed to choke me, solidifying in my throat like a stone.
“What do you want me to tell him?” Finn asked, his voice so soft and gentle it broke my heart. “I’ll do anything you ask of me, Libby, just please, listen to me.”
“Tell my father he’s about thirty years too late.”
12
It’s important to carve out time in your schedule to volunteer at your child’s school and extracurricular activities whenever possible, if for no other reason than to remind the other children that your child’s parent can definitely beat up their parent.
—My Mommy Has Fangs: A Guide to Post-Vampiric Parenting
There was a very short pirate standing in my living room. He was wearing a black tricorn hat, a puffy white shirt, and a little vest with skulls on the lapels, but no pants. He adjusted his eye patch over his left eye, which was difficult, considering that he was holding his plastic sword.
“I’m ready for the Pumpkin Patch Party, Mom,” Danny announced while I was packing the last of the party supplies into my shoulder bag, including two extra bottles of HemoBoost. I would not suffer another emergency feeding situation in front of the PTA.
“You look great, Captain Danny,” I said, giving a jaunty little salute.
“Thank you.”
“Could I persuade you to put on pants?” I asked, waving in the general direction of his Underoos.
Danny pulled an indifferent face. “I don’t know if I feel like it.”
“It’s an important part of the costume. And what is with your sudden aversion to pants? This is the third night in a row we’ve had this conversation.”
“Did pirates wear pants?” he asked, climbing onto the couch.
“Pretty much full-time.”
“OK.” He sighed, sounding very put-upon as he padded up the stairs in his little pirate boots. “Is Mamaw going to be there tonight?”
“I’m pretty sure she will be. And Harley, too. And I am one hundred percent sure he will be wearing pants. You guys will be hanging out with Braylen and Kerrianne while Mom and Mr. Wade run the games. And then we’re coming back here for The Great Pumpkin and hot cocoa.”
“Sounds good!” he called. After a few minutes, he yelled, “Hey, Mom, did pirates wear sweatpants?”
“I can’t help but think this conversation is going to be the highlight of my evening,” I grumbled to myself as I carted the bag of party stuff out to the van. “Also, I don’t know if I should let my child spend so much time with Dick Cheney.”
Like the biblical plagues of old, the Pumpkin Patch Party was finally upon us. I guessed I should be grateful that because of bursting-into-flames issues, I didn’t have to help with setup. By the time I arrived, the games were set up, the popcorn was popped, and the inflatables were . . . inflated. Chelsea Harbaker and the other moms had done a remarkable job strategically placing hay bales and pumpkins so the front of the school actually looked like a place people would come to sort out their fall harvests. The actual pumpkin patch, run by Marnie Whitehead and provided by McDonough’s Tree Farm, was spread out over the front lawn. At the end of the night, each participating kid could buy a pumpkin for a dollar, a ridiculously low price for their future jack-o’-lanterns, but McDonough’s was happy to get rid of some of its “irregular” specimens.
Wade had been busy helping some of the other dads put together the dunking booth and the ring toss and other carnival games that were actually designed to allow the children to win. As for me, I’d been wrapping up all of the raffle issues, including redesigning the tickets at the last minute because it turned out the state had some scary, heretofore unknown laws about charity-related gambling and what was supposed to be printed on the tickets. I was not going to jail for the Pumpkin Patch Party.
Danny ran ahead of me, eager to find Harley among the kids whose parents had arrived early to volunteer. The air smelled, frankly, repugnant, between the popcorn and the caramel apples and the mulled cider. I was sure it smelled heavenly to the humans, but it was like walking through a Wicks & Things where all of the candles were garbage-scented.
It was nice, but somehow a little disturbing, that this Pumpkin Patch Party looked almost exactly like the Pumpkin Patch Parties I’d attended as an HMHES student. The same booth banners, the same games, the same families milling around, seeking good old-fashioned entertainment.
If I returned years from now with Danny’s children, would anything have changed? Would Chelsea, who seemed to be having some sort of nervous breakdown by the snow-cone machine, still be there, trying to organize everybody into oblivion?
And suddenly, I was struck with an image of myself, the exact same age but wearing Marge’s “Number 1 Grandma” sweatshirt. And it made me shudder.
“Miss Libby!” I turned to see Harley running at me full-tilt, dressed as a ninja. His straw-blond hair stuck out at all angles, mussed from the ninja hood draped around his neck. As I caught him, I noted with some discomfort that the costume included ninja throwing stars.
“I’m a ninja, Miss Libby!” Harley cried. “Where’s Danny? I want him to see my costume.”
“You bought that costume purely for the throwing stars, didn’t you?” I asked Wade as he approached, even as a pleasant warm sensation spread through
my chest at Harley’s easy affection. This was a far cry from the shy child who’d refused to correct Danny’s butchering of his name for the sake of politeness.
“It’s nice that you know me so well,” Wade said.
“I was talking to him,” I informed him. “Or so I thought.”
“Dad made me leave the nunchuks at home,” Harley informed me. “I gave myself a bloody lip.”
“It was for the greater good,” I told Harley.
“That’s what Dad said!” Harley exclaimed.
“Your dad’s a pretty smart guy,” I said. “Kerrianne and Danny are over by the bouncy castle if you want to find them.”
Harley wriggled loose from my grip and ran toward the bouncy castle. “Thanks, Miss Libby!”
Wade’s eyes followed Harley until he reached the “safety” of the inflatables and Kerrianne’s company. Wade leaned close, nuzzling his cheek against mine before planting an open kiss against my mouth. “Hi.”
I was smiling when he pulled away from me. “Hey.”
“I missed you while you were serving your tour with the pumpkin brigade,” he said, sliding his hand around my waist and settling it just above my ass. I snuggled against him, not even minding the public ass pat. As much as I lusted after Wade, I’d come to appreciate his more internal qualities even more since Finn’s coerced confession. Wade was honest and considerate and trustworthy. And had I mentioned honest? I’d come to understand that I needed a bit less drama and a bit more Wade in my life.
“You, too. It’s sort of insane how much I’m looking forward to watching a Charlie Brown special with you and the boys later,” I told him, pecking him on the lips.
A few of the parents, including Chelsea and Casey, had stopped in their tracks to stare at the spectacle of the vampire mom and the biker dad making out near the dunk tank. “Move along, people. Nothin’ to see here,” Wade barked at them, prompting an instant return to whatever task they’d dropped in order to gawk at us.
“That’s going to take some getting used to,” I muttered.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Wade said. “Now, did you have a healthy ‘breakfast’ when you rose for the night?”
“Yes, definitely,” I promised. “And I brought some snack bottles, just in case.”
“Well, that’s a shame. I was thinkin’, maybe later, after The Great Pumpkin when the boys have gone to sleep, you might have another ‘emergency.’ I’ve been eatin’ a lot of cookies and drinkin’ a lot of juice in preparation.”
“Don’t use me as your excuse to eat cookies,” I chided. “Don’t endanger your abs in my name.”
Wade hooted. “I see how it is. You only want me for my body!”
“Oh, yes, I thought I made that clear with my seductive opening comments in the janitor’s closet,” I purred.
“You know, we can always visit that closet later, after everybody’s gone home,” he said, hooking his fingers through the loops on my jeans.
“Why would I be here after everybody else is gone?”
“I sort of volunteered you for the cleanup committee.”
My jaw dropped as I stammered, “Wh-why? Why would you do that?”
“Because we haven’t been able to spend a lot of time together lately. And you weren’t able to help set up, what with the whole sunlight thing. The other moms were more than willin’ to throw you under the bus, by the way.”
“Bitches.” I tried not to pout, really, I did.
“It will give us some time alone together and let the boys work off their sugar high while they’re on Kerrianne’s watch.”
I glanced over to the caramel-apple stand, where Danny and Harley seemed to be wrapping their caramel-coated fruit in cotton candy. “Good call,” I conceded, sticking my finger in his face. “But for the record, this is not a date. You do not get credit for planning this.”
Wade snapped his teeth, barely clamping down on the tip of my finger. I yelped, laughing and yanking my hand away. He laughed and kissed my cheek. “You just wait, I’ma date the hell out of you.”
“That’s not a declaration or an answer of any sort.”
“Crazy girl,” he scoffed. “I gotta get goin’. I’m needed over at the cakewalk.”
“Better you than me.”
“Maybe later, I’ll win you one of those big stuffed elephants at the ring toss,” he said. “Come on, boys! Let’s go cheat some ladies out of some cakes.”
I laughed as Wade led our sons to diabetic crisis, but the happy expression on my face died quickly as Chelsea and Casey minced their way across the “fairway” toward me with matching “approaching an uncomfortable conversation” expressions on their faces.
What had I done now? PDA with Wade within view of their impressionable children? Or just walking while undead?
“Libby, hiiiiiii,” Casey intoned.
“You really need to learn to use fewer ‘i’s when you’re feeling awkward,” I told her.
Casey’s eyes went wide. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Chelsea cleared her throat and tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. “Libby, we’re just a little surprised to see you here, that’s all.”
“Why?” I asked. “I organized the raffle and the auction, and apparently, I’m the cleanup crew.”
Casey managed to look guilty for a second, or possibly scared. In truth, all of her expressions just read “vaguely gassy.”
“It’s just that your presence is making some of the other parents uncomfortable,” Chelsea whispered. “Safety concerns, you know.”
Casey added, “They’re afraid you’ll attract the wrong element.”
I glanced around at the other parents, who didn’t seem to be noticing me now that I wasn’t making out with Wade in front of their kids.
“Is it them I’m making uncomfortable or you?” I asked Chelsea. “Because it seems to me that you were plenty comfortable with me doing all your crap work, driving all over creation to pick up gift cards and gift baskets and two hundred pumpkins. Do you have any idea how long it takes to load two hundred pumpkins into a minivan?”
Chelsea stammered an answer, but I cut her off.
“Save it. It occurs to me that the best thing for me to do would be to just walk away from the PTA, to save us all this tension and discomfort. You don’t want me here. And honestly, this experience hasn’t been as rewarding as I’d hoped.”
Casey’s face brightened considerably. “Really? Oh, that’s a shame.”
“But screw that noise. If I want the PTA to change and be more friendly for parents with supernatural needs, I’m going to have to be that change. I’m going to have to run for PTA president.”
Chelsea’s cherubic cheeks went bone-white, and she made a noise that sounded like a choking giraffe.
“And given the number of people you’ve railroaded over the past few weeks for the sake of the Pumpkin Patch Party, I think I can get the votes.”
I turned on my heel, smirking to beat the band, and as I ducked behind the dunking booth, I ran right into my father-in-law, who looked downright smug himself.
“Libby.”
I hadn’t seen him face-to-face in months, on advice of the Council. The difference in his appearance was startling. He’d lost weight, especially in his face, where his cheekbones seemed more prominent, and his eyes were underscored by dark circles. He was grinning at me, but the smile didn’t reach his brown eyes. They were as flat and glassy as a shark’s. Frankly, the effect was creepy, and I took a step back from him. Predatory pride be damned.
“I was hoping to see you tonight,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. “Why would that be, Les? According to my lawyers, you’ve been pretty reluctant to talk with me in any rational, civil way.”
“Well, I just didn’t know how to communicate with you before,” Les said. “I think I’ve figured it out now.”
“Again, I say, really?”
“Sure. I’d like to me
et with you and your Council rep on Monday to work out the details, but I think we can come to an agreement.”
I stared at him, long and hard. Was my father-in-law completely high? We’d spent the better part of two months going round and round over the very basics of a simple visitation schedule, and suddenly he had some sort of epiphany to go forth and be a proverbial thorn in my side no longer? Why hadn’t Marge mentioned this on one of her handful of secret visits to our house? Had one of Jane’s vampire friends fiddled with Les’s brain? Was that a secret vampire power, emotionally manipulating controlling old men? It was still cooler than my vampire power.
“So what time is Danny heading home?” Les asked casually.
“In a bit. I don’t want him staying up too late.”
“But you’ve probably got cleanup duty after everything shuts down, right? Most of the parents do,” Les said, his tone too casual to be genuine. “I’m assuming that the sitter the Council hired will be with him tonight. You’re not just going to leave him alone in the house, right?”
“Why do you ask?”
Les shrugged, sliding his arm around Marge’s shoulders as she sidled up next to him. She creased her brow, looking between Les’s contrived relaxed posture and my face-full-o’-tension. “Just want to make sure our grandson is taken care of.”
“I’ve always taken care of Danny,” I told him. “No matter what. He’s a happy, healthy little boy. And if you’re interested in spending time with him, instead of trying to reshape him into the boy you think he should be, I think we’ll be able to iron out an arrangement. But you are his grandparents. That’s your role. I’ll respect your role, if you respect mine.”
For a second, Les’s easy demeanor dropped, and I saw the rage simmering underneath the surface. His dark eyes focused on me with a sharp hatred I could feel like heat on my skin. His lip drew back in a snarl. I was afraid he was going to take a swing at me, not because I was worried about him hurting me but because beating an old man into the ground, particularly an old man who was suing me for custody of my son, was not going to help me in court. But as soon as the rage had appeared, it ebbed. Les’s face relaxed, and his hand was hanging loose at his side. “Well, you never know what could happen,” he told me, walking away without a word to his wife.
