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“I’m just worried about you, Jane.” Mama Ginger tsked, patting my hands. “I don’t want you to settle for some no-good loser with a good line because you’re desperate.”
“I’m not desperate!” I exclaimed.
“You’re thirty—”
“Twenty-eight!” I corrected.
“And at this point, you’ll grab on to anything.” Mama Ginger shrugged.
I grumbled, “That is not completely accurate.”
Mama Ginger demanded, “Then where is Gabriel right now? Why isn’t he here with you?”
This was a pertinent question, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Mama Ginger. The truth was, I hadn’t seen Gabriel since the engagement party. He was in Lisbon this week, discussing the sale of some residential buildings he owned there. At least, I thought that was what he said in the voice mail he left me the day after the party. He hadn’t picked up his cell phone when I’d called, oh, twenty or so times over the last few days to try to get a better explanation. I even went so far as to call the hotel where he was supposed to be staying, but they didn’t have a Gabriel Nightengale registered. I was clinging to the hope that he’d either changed his plans or registered under some assumed name, such as Mr. I. M. Deceased.
“Gabriel spends a lot of time traveling for work,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “He owns a lot of different businesses, and he has to look in on them from time to time—”
Mama Ginger sighed, rolling her heavily shaded eyes at my naiveté. “Oh, honey, my cousin Pam said the same thing about her husband, Claude, and his plumbing-supply business, and then she found out that he had another family over in Butler County. He even gave their sons the same names so he wouldn’t mess up and call the wrong kids to supper.”
“I don’t think that’s something I need to worry about. And we don’t have the kind of relationship where we have to see each other every day.”
“Well, why not? Why doesn’t he want to see you every day?” she demanded. “Aren’t you worth that kind of commitment? Where is he going with this? Have you two even talked about marriage?”
“No!” I laughed. “We haven’t talked about getting married.”
Because state law prohibits it.
“Well, why not? Tick-tock, tick-tock, Jane. I can hear your biological clock ticking. You don’t have time to waste on some silly little fling that’s not going to go anywhere. If you want to have babies, you have to speed things along.”
Dang it.
The finality of vampirism had kept me from thinking about motherhood, or my inability thereof, for a while. Realizing that little Andy and Bradley were to be her only grandchildren, Mama had stopped inquiring after my stalled uterus and devoted her energy to her “grand-dog,” Fitz. And since I’d been avoiding the church ladies who normally inquired after my reproductive plans, I was no longer thinking defensively. My usual list of responses to “When are you having kids?”—including “When they come with a return policy”—had long since vacated the tip of my tongue.
So, faced with the age-old kids question for the first time in months, all I could do was stutter, “Wh-Who said anything about having kids?”
“I always just assumed you wanted them. You were so good with the kids down at the library. They loved you. And Zeb always talked about how much his students liked it when you came in for Fairy Tale Time. I’ve always thought you were built to be a mom. You know, you have those good roomy breeding hips anyway. Might as well put them to good use.”>Zeb slapped me on the butt and wandered away. My jaw dropped. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, but from the look on his face, I don’t think he was able to process whether Zeb had just besmirched my honor or butt-slapping was something we did when I was still human. Trust me, it was not. But I wasn’t about to goad my drunk vampire boyfriend in this tense atmosphere.
“What was that about?” asked Dick, who was watching Zeb with a mix of irritation and concern. “Zeb’s not usually such a—”
“Ash-hole?” Gabriel slurred, and swayed slightly.
Eager to change the direction of the conversation, I stared into Gabriel’s dilated pupils. “How did you get drunk so quickly? I thought our vampire constitutions kept us from being cheap drunks.”
“I’m not drunk!” Gabriel cried, indignant. “All I’ve had to drink was this punch Jolene’s cousins gave me. It’s delicious. It tastes like pineapple.”
“You were completely sober when I left you a few minutes ago.” I sniffed the cup and turned to watch as the bartenders poured two gallon jugs of grain alcohol into a galvanized metal tub with Kool-Aid, sliced apples, pineapple, and pears.
Like many a college freshman before him, Gabriel had fallen into the hooch trap.
Hooch is liquid evil. It’s about forty-proof, but the Kool-Aid and fruit cover the taste of the alcohol. So before you know you’re drunk, you’ve had about four Solo cups’ worth.
“Well, it’s a good thing you can’t eat the fruit,” I muttered.
“I think I’m going to enjoy this.” Dick chuckled, watching as Gabriel squinted at the neon bar lights. “Gabriel couldn’t hold his liquor when we were kids, either. He ruined the last good carpet at my house sicking up my daddy’s best bourbon. You should have seen how green his face got—”
Gabriel slapped a clumsy hand over Dick’s mouth. “Shh. Jane shouldn’t have to hear that story. It’s not a nice story, you can tell by looking at her face. I love Jane’s face. She makes the sweetest little face when I take her—hey!” He pouted when I slid his hooch out of reach.
“I think I’d like to hear this,” Dick said, his expression serious.
