Page 86 of Succubus

The therapist Dee sent her to said she would, maybe in a year. It felt, at the time, like the grinding down of a prickly soul until it’s only soul dust, too fine and soft to bother anyone.

But maybe it’s okay.

“Missed you the last couple weeks,” says Alice. “You’ve been so mysterious.”

I’m glad when Harini asks at the same time, “Are you doing some new vitamins or something? Carrot juice?”

“Not really,” I say as one of the other moms says, “I heard carrot juice is really good for hair and skin.”

There is a grating metallic screech and everyone turns to survey the parking lot, patchily visible through the leaves, where an enormous RV is attempting to insert itself into a regular-sized parking spot beside the port-a-potty.

“Oh God,” I whisper. He’s somehow managed to track us here. I told him very strictly to stay home. I left him with the iPad, playing a connect-the-dots game with the sound effects turned way up. He had been engrossed to the point of hypnosis. But here he is, knocking the RV against the bright blue port-a-potty, which wobbles treacherously. Someone gasps.

“Titi, Titi!” Ella is also gasping, out of breath, tugging on my shirt. “Can I eat some of the cake that Margaux baked?” I peel her fingers off me. Did that breathy urgency in her little voice used to irritate me so much? “It’s gluten-free! And egg-free, because Kunal and Shruti don’t eat eggs. And I think it might also be vegan.”

Alice leans in, lowers her voice. “That better be natural sugar up in that bitch. I’m talking some kind of a leaf ground up into sugar, or just a ground-up leaf.”

I laugh, trying to take my eyes off the RV, which has backed up and stopped, blocking half the parking lot. The graffiti artist succeeded on this side—it is sporting a distinctly phallic image in the same violent shade of green.

“Sure, Els,” I say, dismissing her. “Go for it.”

“I love celebrating thankfulness!” Ella declares, rapturous at the prospect of cake. Her friend is running toward us in a red knit toadstool hat, muddy hands cupped around something. What now? I am already gritting my teeth. It’s hard to remember why anyone would choose to be around children all day.

“I caught a salamander!”

“Is it okay?” Ella asks, nervous and intrigued.

And here’s Al, coming cheerfully up the path, wearing the same outfit we met him in, with the additions of Mom’s fringed suede jacket and a pair of her metallic silver Uggs. He pauses to sniff at a faded patch of goldenrod, bending very far over, then leaps back as though overwhelmed by its scent. He coughs dramatically, small eyes widening. He gives his nose a pat.

“Do you know him?” Alice asks, following my gaze.

“Oh. Um. Yeah. He’s— ” Crap. “A cousin of my dad’s. Just met him. It’s weird.”

“Oh wow, your dad’s! That must be a whole story.” She squeezes my arm sympathetically. She knows I hardly have a dad at all.

“It is,” I say, and it’s refreshing to be honest for one second.

“Well, I want to hear . . .” she starts, and I pretend to be paying attention to one of the boys, who is saying, “Can the grown-ups hide the gems again? We found them too quickly.”

“Can you guys just go work on your fort now?” My friend Abeo asks hopefully. “The grown-ups need more talking time.”

“I’ll do it,” says Liz, who is always up for kid projects. I like her less in this moment. She has an air of self-important, cultivated patience. A mommy martyr.

“Where’s that cake?” says Alice. “I need that.”

Two of the ten-year-olds baked it together this morning, apparently.

“Hey, T,” Sarika says, “Did my friend ever reach out to you about doula stuff?”

Al is still twenty paces from me, and he is distracted by the kids running by. He waves with both hands to them, smiling broadly, and one of them waves back.

“Yes! I had to say no, I’m sorry! I’m full at the moment.” Untrue. I am just busy being locked in a prolonged death match with an angel. And now Al is here until I kill said angel. And also maybe the aforementioned angel is currently murdering more of my half siblings. But also a solid third of my brain seems permanently occupied with detailed replays of the sex I’ve had with him.

“Hello, Tempest Dunlap!” Al whisper-exclaims, reaching me at last. He looks at me innocently, as though he can’t remember my very strict rule about not leaving the house.

I can feel everyone else looking at me, too.

“Hi, Al,” I say. I start introducing him around. “This is my dad’s cousin.” I give him a stern look as I say it, hoping he can tell this means he shouldn’t contradict me. “He’s visiting us for a little while.”