That was what they all said.
* * *
She paused to update Catcher while I gave Ethan a rundown on the ward and asked him to give us a little time to rest. And, since we had unfinished business, some time for me and Mallory to discuss some things . . .
When I’d changed into comfy pants and a Cubs T-shirt, I switched on the television and found the correct channel. Mallory kicked off her shoes, and we fell across the bed and on a box of Mallocakes I’d been keeping in a drawer for just such emergencies like hyenas at a kill. If hyenas had been magically stressed supernaturals with an addiction to chocolate.
“How’s the chocolate drawer?” I asked, tearing the cellophane on a Mallocake, taking a heady bite of chocolate sponge cake and cream, and closing my eyes to savor it.
“It misses you,” she said, pausing midbite to watch an orca devour the torso of a swimmer in one bite. “But I keep it company.” The chocolate drawer was, as the name suggested, a drawer in Mallory’s kitchen that, when we’d lived together, had held my chocolate stash. I should have asked her to send me a care package. Not that Margot or Ethan spared any expense where treats were concerned.
Mallory adjusted pillows behind her, snapped into a Mallocake wrapper.
“You ready to tell me about the wedding?”
She chewed, eyes on the screen. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mallory Delancey Carmichael. I know you better than anyone else in this world, except possibly Catcher, and that’s only because he knows you carnally.”
“I don’t like the sound of that word. Carnally.”
“I didn’t like saying it. Spill.”
She rolled her shoulders, groaned. “It’s not a big deal. We just think it would be better to go ahead and do something simple.”
I put down the Mallocake and stared at her. “Please tell me his proposal was more romantic than that—than he wants to just ‘go ahead.’”
“We’re just not at that white-lace-and-big-veils kind of stage right now.”
“Then what stage are you at?”
“I don’t know.” She made a sound of frustration, then stuffed an empty wrapper in the box, grabbed another. “I don’t know. But not everything has to be a big dramatic production.”
“Said the girl with the blue hair who dresses up for Halloween, has a room dedicated to sorcery and spells, and is currently watching the second movie in the Orca Attack trilogy.”
“I still can’t believe you let me skip the first one. What if I missed a crucial plot point?”
“Big sea mammal eats people with extreme prejudice. Humans kill it. Respawn. Repeat. Now you’re caught up. The point is, much like the Orca tales, you like dramatic productions.”
“I liked them,” she clarified. “When I was younger and love was about romance and flowers.” She looked at me. “Love, as you well know, is about a lot more than that. It’s about effort and patience and commitment. I love Catcher. And I want to marry him. And I want you to be happy for us.”
I scooted to sit sideways, facing her. “Look, I guess I just figured, when the time came, you’d announce your wedding with a town crier and full-on party. If that’s not what you’re into right now, so be it. I get that the wedding isn’t the important part. The marriage is. And if you’re happy about this, then I’ll be happy. But that’s the part I can’t really tell. Are you happy? Is this what you want?”
She looked away, moistened her lips. “I just . . . I know he loves me, and I know he wants to be with me. But I’m having a hard time telling if he wants to get married because he wants me, or because he wants back in the Order.”
That was a tough one, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to answer it. “That puts you in a tough position.”
“Yeah,” she said. She hadn’t opened the Mallocake, but played with the ribbed edges of the plastic wrapper. “I understand that I made the world we live in now. I understand that I didn’t exactly help his relationship with the Order. And he accepts that, just like I accept him. I’m very content. I mean, circumstances being what they are.”
That was the phrase I didn’t like. The blame she was putting on herself for a problem she didn’t really create.
“Circumstances being that you’re a brilliant sorceress and a good person who pulled herself back from a total shit storm. I’m not excusing what you did—but you took responsibility for it, and you’ve tried to make amends. That’s all you can do. As for Catcher and the Order, that’s history. That’s between him and the Order, which, as far as I can see, is completely worthless anyway.”
She laughed through welling tears. “Yeah, I kind of feel the same. But as much as we’d like to, we can’t ignore them any more than you could ignore the GP. I just—I don’t know. I don’t need him to prove that he loves me. But I sure wish he’d focus on us a little more.”
She brushed away tears. “I’m just being silly.”
I reached out, wrapped my arms around her. “You aren’t being silly at all. You’ve got needs, and you’re entitled to them. And you need to talk to him.”
She nodded, laughed a little. “Who’d have thought you’d be giving me relationship advice?”
“Who’d have thought you’d be marrying the world’s grumpiest sorcerer? I love you, Mallory. If this is what you want, then this is what I want for you. You just tell me when and where, and we’ll be there.”
Because that’s what friends would do.
* * *
Once upon a time, I’d have said it was impossible to eat too many Mallocakes. That my vampire metabolism made up for my enormous appetite, and I could feast to my little heart’s content and never pay the price for it.
That was, shall we say, a mistakenly optimistic approach.
Four Mallocakes later, I begrudgingly admitted defeat. Which was why Ethan returned to the apartments to find Mallory and me lying on the bed, television on, pooched stomachs taking a much-needed breather.
“Oh, this is quite a sight,” Ethan said with obvious amusement, then spied the empty box of Mallocakes. “A vampire and sorceress done in by chocolate snack cakes.”
“Mallocake ’splosion,” Mallory said weakly. “Pew, pew, pew.”
“I think there’s one left.” I moved just enough to skim fingers against the box, tip it up. “Yep. One. You can have it.”