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Mama considered that for a moment and seemed satisfied.
“Besides, I think we have a more immediate problem. As much as I appreciate you planning this expanded shindig for Jolene, what are we going to do about the extra guests? What if people don’t want me around because of the undead issue? This would be the first time I’ve seen a lot of the aunts and cousins since … Oh, wait, is Grandma Ruthie coming?”
“I decided it was best not to invite your grandma,” Mama said, carefully adjusting the folds of a chair cover. “And honey, if anybody has a problem with you being here, they can get the hell out of my house.”
I blinked back the mysterious moisture gathering at the corners of my eyes. “Thanks, Mama.”
“Who’s ready for some Texas Hold ’Em?” Daddy boomed as he came downstairs in his silly translucent green dealer’s visor. It went well with his lucky rainbow suspenders.
Dick was going to eat my father alive.
“You guys aren’t playing for money, right?” I asked.
I will admit to sweating a little when the doorbell rang.
The first guest to arrive was Iris Bodeen, a distant relative of one of my step-grandpas and an avid “band mom” when Zeb and I were in the Marching Howler Band. She handed Jolene a case of diapers and told her what a catch she’d snagged.
“Zeb was always good to my Jessica, even when she was going through her awkward phase,” Mrs. Bodeen said of her daughter, who had developed debilitating acne our sophomore year. “He was kind, even when it would have been easier not to be. He’s going to be a wonderful father.”
Jolene beamed at her.
Nina Tipton, whose rambunctious twins had made Zeb’s life hell his first year of teaching, almost cried when she talked about Zeb’s patience with them. “A lot of teachers would have just washed their hands of my boys … especially after the clown incident. But your husband worked and worked until they were able to sit still for a whole day without punching or kicking or trying out new wrestling moves. They would have been expelled from elementary school if it wasn’t for Zeb Lavelle.”
And on and on it went. It was a shame that Zeb couldn’t hear these testimonials, as he was sequestered on the back porch. An avid fan of the Gambler movies, Daddy was doing his best riverboat-dealer shtick for Dick, Gabriel, Zeb, and Mr. Wainwright. I frequently snuck to the back window to check on the “menfolk.” Mr. Wainwright seemed to be floating silently behind Gabriel giving Dick clues about Gabriel’s hand. I sent Aunt Jettie outside to even the playing field.
So far, I’d managed to stay under the radar, helping Andrea keep the plates filled while Mama handled hosting duties. The guests I did come across didn’t seem surprised or alarmed to see me. Well, my cousin Junie was making it a point not to speak to me. But that had far more to do with my discussing her stripping career near a microphone at a family funeral the year before than any vampire issues.
“Janie, honey, how have you been?” asked Loralee Warner, who worked with Mama at A Stitch in Time. Loralee’s usual mode at any party was to camp next to the buffet and watch the proceedings from there. She was a fan of tiny food she didn’t have to cook herself.
I lifted an eyebrow and searched for potential double meanings in Loralee’s words. I couldn’t find any.
“I’m fine, Miss Loralee. How are you?”
“Oh, my hair’s grayer, and my butt’s bigger, but what else is new?” She snorted. “You know, your mama told me about your, um, big changes that you’ve been going through.”
I could only imagine what Mama and Loralee talked about while trapped in the quilt shop for hours. On Mama’s frustrated days, I doubted I came across in a flattering light. “I’m sure she did.”
“You know, my sister’s boy, Jason, he was turned last year.” She sighed. “But it turned out to be the best thing for him. He actually had to think about what he did before he did it. Was it safe for him to leave the house? Did he have enough blood to get him through the week? Was he talking smart to a vampire who was older and stronger than he was? He had to do a lot of growing up. He’s almost tolerable to be around now.”
“Well, there’s something to strive for,” I muttered.
“Your friend Jolene,” Loralee said quietly. “She’s not quite human, either, is she?”
“Please don’t tell anybody,” I whispered, looking to see if the other guests overhead her. They were far too engrossed in Jolene’s opening what appeared to be a vibrating musical baby swing with five speeds.
“Oh, honey, I don’t care,” Loralee said. “The way I see it, you vampires and whatever Jolene is, you’re just making things more interesting for the rest of us. Are there any more sausage balls?”
And with that dizzying change of subject, the conversation was over. No one in this crowd, it seemed, cared that I was a vampire. These were people who had known me since the day I was born. Their children had attended my birthday parties. They’d attended all of my step-grandpas’ funerals. Being with them now was no different from when I was a human. As long as I kept the frothy punch flowing, I was welcome. Now, that wasn’t to say that I would be welcome in any crowd. There was a good chance that for the next fifty years, I would walk into any conversation with a human who knew me before I was turned expecting some sort of insult or rejection—which was a result of my own neurotic nature, really. Humans were neither all good nor all bad. And just as in my interactions with vampires, I would have to approach each of them on a case-by-case basis.
The fact that it had taken me this long to come to this “stunning” conclusion made me a little sad.
I wiped my hands on a tea towel and made my way over to Jolene, who was cooing over the double bassinet Andrea and Dick had given her.
“Dick wanted to buy you a breast pump.” Andrea snorted. “I learned never to take him into a baby store. Ever. He snickered every time he heard the word ‘nipple.’”
“Well, that’s what you get for dating a giant twelve-year-old,” I told her, sitting on Jolene’s left.
“Oh, honey, they’re all that way,” my mother’s best friend, Carol Ann Reilly, told me in a world-weary tone.
