“Sure.”
“I wish there was more I could do for you. I've been MIA as a friend.” He pulls my feet into his lap and starts massaging them. Oh heaven. Jamie gave the best foot rubs. I hadn't had one in months. We hadn't done anything like this in months.
“You've had a pretty good reason.” I close my eyes and lean back into the couch. I may have told Jamie Thing One, but there was still Thing Two and Thing Two-and-a-half. Still, Tex knew about those, so with my two best friends, I'd covered both Things.
There is such a freedom in unburdening a secret. But it is our fear of what will happen after the secret is out that keeps our lips sealed. I hadn't exactly been afraid of telling Jamie. I was just afraid that saying it out loud, my mother is going to die, made it real.
But it was real.
Jamie finally departs, taking with him the rest of the groceries and my secret. He promised that we'd go out to Miller's that weekend like old times. Come hell or high water or an army of noctali, I would be there.
Peter comes down the stairs as soon as Jamie's truck is gone.
“Well done.”
“Thanks. It felt good.”
“I could tell.” There's something off about him. A nagging feeling that pulls at me. I take a moment, trying to understand it.
“Are you okay?”
“I am fine.” Oh please, I was the queen of I Am Fine-land. But I let it go. I had to pick my battles sometimes.
Mom finally emerges from her room a few minutes later while Peter and I are cleaning the kitchen. She appears to have gone totally zen about the whole thing, asking if I would make her some tea in a completely calm voice, not taking any notice of Peter. I hope she isn't stuffing what happened earlier away in some dark place where it will attack her in some quiet moment. I hope I haven't broken her. Again.
“Was that Jamie I heard?”
“Yeah, he brought over my homework.”
“He's a good boy.”
“He is.”
She takes a sip of tea and scratches her head. She's not wearing a wig. It's the first time Peter's seen her without one. I'm surprised, but I keep my mouth shut.
Setting down her cup, she looks up at Peter for the first time.
“So you're an angel.”
“Not quite,” he says, making me laugh. Mom looks back and forth between us before taking another sip of tea.
“He's a little bit of everything supernatural.” I can tell she's mentally struggling with it. For some reason, actually seeing Peter in his noctalis form was more shocking than telling her he wasn't human in the first place.
“You look like an angel,” she says, tracing the rim of her cup. I had to agree with her there. He did. Something in the way she said it reminded me of a conversation we'd had a few weeks ago. About heaven and angels and what happens after you die.
Oh.
I send her back to bed after another cup of tea, and she doesn't protest. I'd like to go to bed myself, but someone has to be alert in case she has another episode.
By the time Dad pulls in, I've got the last load of laundry in the dryer, baked macaroni and cheese in the oven, the table set and my mother on the couch with a cup of tea and a romance novel. Booyah.
She's thoughtful, but calm. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, but as time wears on I expect it less and less. My mother was strong. Strong enough to see a vampire angel and not run away screaming.
And now it's time to say goodbye to Peter, at least for a little while. I'd rather tear my own arm off than be in a separate room, but it has to be done. I put on a brave face. Or try to.
“I will see you later.”
“Bye, Peter.” I give him a kiss on the cheek. He turns my head and gives me a soft one on the lips. Between that and his smile, my knees go weak and I almost fall when he zooms up the stairs. My heart wants to lunge out of my chest and chase after him, but I'm able to keep it in my chest.
“He's like Batman, vanishing into the night with a swirl of his cape,” Mom says from the couch.
“I prefer to think of him as the Phantom of the Opera. You know, without all the stalking tendencies and love for basements and singing.” I had no idea if Peter could sing. Probably. He was good at everything else.
“He needs a mask,” mom says, going back to her book.
“True.”
Dad bumbles in, sighing heavily as he puts his briefcase down. As if it holds all the weight of the world. Wasn't Atlas the one who held the world on his shoulders?
Immediately, he goes to the couch and Mom. She and I had already had a chat about what we would tell him, and what we wouldn't. We both know that he would probably have a heart attack, and neither of us wants to go through that.
“Hello, Sam.”
“Hi, Taylor.” His face lightens up considerably as he goes to give her a kiss. It reminds me of the moment I had with Peter earlier. God, I have a one track mind.
“How are you?”
Making my exit, I go to the kitchen to take the casserole out of the oven, giving them some privacy.
“Good. Ava's been taking good care of me.” We'd also made a pact that we weren't going to talk about the fact that I stayed home unless it came up. Which it shouldn't. Dad didn't pay much attention to my school stuff, unless I was failing or something. He left all that in my mother's capable hands. Which was hilarious, considering she was the one who'd let me play hooky today. Actually, it had been more like painy, at least until Peter had gotten back.
“She has?” He looks over at me, and though his voice is pleasant, his eyes are narrow and suspicious. I smile and nod, straightening my apron. Mom's letting me borrow it. I feel so freaking domestic.
“How was work?” Mom tugs at his sleeve, turning his attention back to her. He sits down, taking her feet into his lap as he tells her about a board meeting he'd attended. I tune them out, content to let their voices be the soundtrack to my dinner-making.
Between their talking and the chopping sound as I make a salad, the house feels kinda peaceful. I should stay home more often. The only thing that could make it better is in my room. I send my contentment his way. After all the turmoil of the day, we could use a little contentment.
We have a quiet dinner before I park myself on a chair and half-ass my way through the work I missed. It wasn't much, but there was a worksheet for geometry that I struggled with. Math has a vendetta against me. I don't know what I did to piss it off, but we've been at odds my whole life.
I happen to know for a fact that Peter is fabulous at math. He's good at everything academic. Because he's had so much freaking time to study. Also, his brain works ten times faster than mine. Sometimes he makes me feel like an ogre. A stupid, glompy ogre. As long as he finds my glompiness endearing, I guess that's all I can ask for.