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“That’s my Mama,” I conceded.
“Well, Sherry, it’s refreshing to see a parent so vocally supportive of her child after they come out,” said DeeDee.
I rolled my eyes. Can we talk about the fact that her “bad patch” involved force-feeding me pot pie and trying to give me a tan? I sulked through DeeDee’s discussion of the pain and confusion of new vampires adjusting to a human world and through her preplanned talk on subconscious conversational slips that can be highly insulting toward vampires. I couldn’t help but think this last topic was directed toward Mama, and I was all for it. But she was so caught up taking notes and beaming beatifically at DeeDee that I’m pretty sure the clue sailed right over her head.
The group broke up to socialize, which was usually my favorite part of the meetings, but this time, I was dodging my mother with a sudden, extremely urgent search for coffee filters in the stockroom.
“Jane?”
“Gah!” I cried, jumping and whacking my head on a shelving unit.
“Are you all right, hon?” Mama asked, cooing over my new contusion.
“No, no, I’m not,” I grumbled, rubbing my forehead.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to catch you in private,” she whispered. “I just wanted to see how you’re doing, you know, since Gabriel broke up with you. Your daddy and Jolene said you took it awfully hard.”
“Wha—G-gabriel did not break up with me. I broke up with him. And what is Jolene doing talking to you about that? If she thinks she can deflect belly questions by baiting you with information about me, well, that’s just evil and brilliant, actually. I don’t think I give her enough credit …”
“Oh, you’re so silly. Now, I’d like to talk to you about your grandma’s birthday,” Mama said breezily. “Your grandma Ruthie wants to make sure you apologize to Wilbur so we can all enjoy dinner without any unpleasantness.”
“Hmm. Unpleasantness like bringing up the fact that Wilbur tried to stake me with his cane the last time I saw him?” I asked. Mama made a “disappointed” face.
Sometimes newly turned vampires are only given enough blood to enable them to wake from the death sleep. They have none of the vampiric strength or speed … or charm. They’re called ghouls. I only know this because my grandma Ruthie almost married one of them earlier this year. Despite the fact that Wilbur looked like Skeletor and may have bumped off several of his wives to sustain his endless after-death retirement, he and Grandma Ruthie decided to keep dating. After he tried to dust me with his cane.
It turned out that Wilbur and Ruthie were a perfect match. After all, Grandma Ruthie’s four husbands and previous fiancé all died under equally suspicious circumstances, involving a speeding milk truck, a brown recluse bite on the inside of the throat, a previously unknown allergy to Grandma Ruthie’s famous strawberry-rhubarb pie, a golf-related lightning strike, and a miscalculation of Viagra dosage. Wilbur and Grandma Ruthie seemed very happy together, though I guess when you never know when your lover might facilitate your release from your mortal coil, it’s important to keep up the appearance of happiness. Frankly, I was glad they were still so lovey-dovey. For me to win the “dead pool” with Zeb and Dick, either Wilbur or Grandma would have to meet a grisly end in a botulism outbreak next spring.
“No. Absolutely not. You all can just celebrate without me,” I told Mama. “I do not apologize to people who try to kill me. It sets a bad precedent.”
“Oh, but your grandma Ruthie will be so hurt if you don’t show up!” Mama protested.
“No, she won’t,” I told Mama. “You know she won’t. She’ll be much happier, and things will be a lot less tense without me there. In fact, that will be my gift to her this year, not showing up.”
Mama looked resigned but unhappy, which was generally how we both felt when negotiating the logistics of family gatherings. “Sometimes I just don’t understand the things that come out of your mouth, baby,” Mama said, pushing my hair back from my face.
“I hear that a lot,” I told her.
Mama chuckled, rolling her eyes. “Now that we have that out of the way, how are you doing, really?”
“Other than spending an unhealthy amount of time faking answers to magazine quizzes so I get better scores, I’m fine,” I told her. “The shop is doing well. I have sweet, patient friends with a high tolerance for whining. Zeb and Jolene keep me involved in their never-ending baby-name debate. Dick is the older brother I never really asked for. Andrea wants to start a belly-dancing class next month. My life is very full.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Mama asked.
“No, I do not.”
“Honey.” She sighed, tipping my chin toward her. “I know it hurts right now, but whatever Gabriel did, I’m sure he’s sorry. And if he’s not, maybe Adam Morrow is still interested …”
“No. Mama, I love you. I love that you’re being supportive and that you want to put me back up in the saddle. But trust me, trust me, you don’t want me dating Gabriel … or Adam. I’m better off alone right now.” I kissed her cheek. “But I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said, squeezing my cheeks. She let out a cleansing breath and returned to her normal cheerful tone. “Maybe it would help if I invited Adam’s mama to the meetings. You know, maybe if she learned to be a little more open-minded like me, it would make it easier on the two of you if you just happen to start dating.”
I thought about making a smart comment, but for the sake of this newfound bridge of mother-daughter understanding, instead I said, “Maybe we shouldn’t make more connections with the guy who has a fuzzy perception of personal boundaries?”
“Oh, you’re so strange sometimes,” Mama said in that tone of voice that always left me unsure of whether she was going to pay attention to what I said.
The gears in my brain whirred, searching for any activity that would keep Mama occupied and safely away from Adam Morrow’s mama. When all the machinery clicked into place, a wide smile spread over my face.
“Mama,” I said, putting my arm around her. “How would you like to throw Jolene a baby shower?”
