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“Um, nope.” He laughed nervously. “I guess that means it’s time for spring cleaning.”
“It’s September, Zeb.”
Zeb looked down and to the left, a sure sign of lying, and another image came up. Zeb was walking this girl to the door of a neatly kept trailer. He obviously wanted to kiss her and leaned about twenty degrees in but hesitated and pulled back. So, the girl grabbed him and pressed him into a full-on lip-lock.
I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. I do not have warm, squishy feelings for Zeb. But I am used to being the only woman under fifty in his life. Also, here were two young, vital people, starting what could be a bright future together. They could get married, have children, grow old together. I couldn’t do any of those things. I was wallowing in the depths of self-pity and general melancholy when the picture changed again. In the midst of his (fictitious) description of a Sunday spent hanging out with his parents, I saw Zeb trying to round to second base.
“Ew!” I yelled, vainly attempting to wipe the image through my forehead.
“It’s not that bad,” he insisted. “Better since my dad stopped drinking homemade persimmon wine.”
“No, you big liar, ew to the image of your over-the-sweater action!” I cried. “You were out with a girl this weekend. I saw the whole thing in my head.”
“You read my mind?” he exclaimed. “That’s just…well, it’s extremely cool. But I don’t think I’m comfortable with you knowing what’s going on inside my head.”
“No one’s comfortable with knowing what’s going on inside your head.” I snorted. “I didn’t mean to invade your mental privacy. Really. I’m sorry. But why’d you lie to me, Zeb? I’m glad you’re going out with someone. Seriously. Is she nice? What’s her name? Where’s she from? What’s she like? Are you going to answer my questions, or do I have to whack you with a stick until delicious candy surprises fall out?”
Zeb sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t want this to be weird.”
“I can’t make any guarantees, but let’s give it a shot.”
“Janie, I’ve been going to meetings, and they’ve been really helpful.”
“All right, then.” That was out of left field. Beyond the occasional overindulgence in wine coolers, Zeb had never had what I would see as a drinking problem. And after seeing what running a backyard meth lab did to his cousins, he never touched drugs.
“Do you mean, like, therapy?”
“It’s more of a support group for people who are dealing with alternative lifestyles.”
“Oh.” I thought for about a second before it struck me. “Ohhhh.”
How could I have been so blind? I’d been friends with Zeb for twenty years. Why hadn’t I noticed the lifelong lack of a serious girlfriend? His conflicted feelings about his father? His strange obsession with Russell Crowe? He was the only person in the state of Kentucky who actually saw A Good Year.
I threw my arms around Zeb and hugged him tight. It was the first time I’d touched him since turning that he hadn’t stiffened his spine and gotten all awkward. “Oh, Zeb, why didn’t you tell me?”
Weird pause amid the hugging. “I just did.”
“You could have told me years ago. I would have accepted you, not matter what. It wouldn’t have changed anything. I love you.”
Weirder pause. “Accepted what?”
“You being, you know—” I said, trying to find the most sensitive way to handle this life change without hanging umpteen million crosses around my neck and stabbing him. I tried to learn from our mistakes. “But what about the redhead? Wait, is she a he? Because, if so, she’s pretty convincing.”
Zeb made a sound somewhere along the lines of “Wrok!” Then, “What? No.”
Well, now I was confused. “You mean, you’re not gay?”
“No! Why would you think that?” he cried.
“You said alternative lifestyles.”
“No, your alternative lifestyle, you tool,” he grunted, waving in the general direction of my head, which I guess meant my fangs. Or maybe my brain; sometimes it interfered with the way I was supposed to live my life. “Jane, I’ve joined a group called Friends and Family of the Undead. It’s a support group for people whose loved ones have been turned into vampires. We meet every week and talk about how to deal with our feelings about your new lives. You know, being unsure of our safety around you.
Making you feel welcome in our lives and our homes. Stuff like that.”
I stared at him. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”
“I didn’t want you to feel like I was so upset about your change I had to seek psychological help, even though, well, I did,”
