Молли Харпер - Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs

Jettie appeared near the window, surveying the little tableau we presented and grinning from ear to ear. “And it’s not even my birthday.”

Aunt Jettie danced over to the china cabinet a few feet behind Jenny and Grandma and began levitating various bric-a-brac over their heads. Fortunately, Mama was rearranging the photos on my mantel to keep hers at the forefront, so she didn’t notice. I clenched my jaw and shook my head at my ghostly great-aunt, who was making spooky

“Ooooooo” noises that nobody else could hear.

Jenny, who had obviously been waiting patiently for this opportunity, was unaware of the candlestick floating over her head. She quirked her carefully painted lips (which matched her twin set) and said, “So, Mama says you haven’t gotten another job yet.”

If I corrected her and said anything about my new job, it would only prolong their visit, so I shrugged it off. “Daddy says you repainted your kitchen.”

“How are you going to pay the bills? You know, the taxes on River Oaks are coming up soon,” she said, trying her hardest to be nonchalant. “If you can’t pay them, you can always come to Kent and me for a loan.”

I narrowed my eyes at my sister. Same old Jenny. The same Jenny who refused to let me touch her pep-squad pom-poms because I’d “mess them up.” The same Jenny who picked our second cousin to be a bridesmaid over me because everyone else in her wedding party was thin and blond, and she didn’t want me to “stick out.” Well, screw the same old Jenny.

“I’d rather roll naked over broken glass and dive into a pool full of lemon juice, but thanks,” I said, smiling back. “Besides, Junie said there are some shifts opening up at the Booby Hatch. I thought I’d give that a try.”

Mama gasped and turned, prompting Jettie to drop the candlestick behind the couch with a thud.

No one noticed, because Grandma Ruthie loudly demanded, “You know what your problem is, Jane?”

“No, but if I had a couple of hours, I’m sure you’d tell me.”

“You’re too full of yourself.” She sniffed. “Always have been. I’ve never understood what you thought was so special about you—”

“Why don’t you just go get dressed, honey, and we’ll wait down here?” Mama asked, her voice desperately cheerful.

“I wasn’t finished, Sherry,” Grandma Ruthie said.

Behind her back, Aunt Jettie muttered, “The minute she’s finally ‘finished,’ that’s when we’ll know to call the undertaker.”

“Well, what about selling the house?” Jenny asked, irked that the conversation had strayed from her agenda. “You don’t need all the space to yourself. I have two growing boys. We need the room. And it’s just impractical for you to have all this room now that you’re broke.”

“I’m not selling you the house so you can raise those two wolverines you call children here.” I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Jenny, you’re about as subtle as a sack of hammers. And I’m not broke. So just back off.”

“Jane, how about getting dressed?” Mama asked again. Her voice was desperate now. “We’ll need to hurry if we’re going to get a table.”

“Mama, I can’t. Really, I can’t.”

“And why not?” Mama cried, eyeing my pajamas, which were decorated with little goldfish. “What could be so important that you can’t drag yourself away to spend a little time with family? I haven’t seen you in weeks. And it’s not like you have a busy schedule without working.”

“I am working! OK?” I exclaimed. “I’ve had a job for almost a week now.”

Oh, crap.

“What?” Mama demanded, her face paling. “How could you not tell me you have a new job? You know how worried I am about you! How could you not do something as simple as pick up the phone to tell me you got a job? And where, if I’m allowed to ask, are you working?”

“It’s a little book boutique, very specialized, in the old downtown area. You probably haven’t seen it before.”

Mama scoffed. “Well, excuse me for not having the sophisticated tastes in books that you do.”

Jettie circled Mama, shaking her head. “You really shouldn’t have told her, Jane.

It’s going to make them stay longer.”

“I know,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

“Jane! What a hurtful thing to say!” Mama exclaimed.

For a moment, I lost track of the various conversations. “Wait, what?”

“Now, I think you need to just go upstairs and get dressed.” Mama sighed, plucking at my pajama top. “I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to join your family for a simple meal. You know, your Grandma Ruthie only has so much time left.”

“Mama, I can’t go out with you tonight.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because I—” I looked up, in the hopes that a plausible excuse would be written on the ceiling, I suppose. Monday night—what could I be doing on a Monday night? If I said I had plans with Zeb, Mama would tell me I could see him anytime. I couldn’t say, “Date with Gabriel,” because Mama would demand to see him.

“Um, a party!” I cried, peering through the kitchen door and spotting Missy’s card stuck to my fridge. “I’ve been invited to a cocktail party tonight.”

“Who would invite you to a cocktail party?” Jenny asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

Even without telepathy, I could tell what she was thinking: Who would invite me to a cocktail party but not her?

“It’s just a networking thing.” I smiled and winked at Jenny. “You know, all of the Hollow’s best and brightest young professionals, getting together, making connections, swapping numbers.”

OK, it sort of sounded like a swingers’ cocktail party when I put it like that.

Jenny’s lips disappeared as if she’d eaten a persimmon, though, so it was worth it.

“Well, I’m so glad!” Mama cried, patting my back. “It’s wonderful that your new job has you socializing.”

“You know what they say about jobs that involve socializing,” Grandma Ruthie said under her breath. From behind her, Aunt Jettie slapped the back of her head.

Grandma cried out and turned to look for what had hit her. I snickered. Jenny shot me an annoyed look.

This wasn’t turning out to be such a bad visit after all.

Mama turned on me, hands on hips, asking, “So, what are you going to wear?”

Oh, crap.

Never leave a vampire social gathering without thanking your host. A faux pas like this can lead to feuds lasting hundreds of years. (From The Guide for the Newly Undead).

I t took another hour and fourteen outfits before I could get everyone out the door and get ready for the party. I’d decided to actually attend, since (a) it would get Missy off my back, and (b) Mama was likely to swing back by the house to see if I really left or not.

I knew that Ophelia had told me to stay home, keep a low profile, but if nothing else, attending the party would prevent further “Oh, come on, shug!” calls from Missy.

Also, I kind of wanted to see what the gossipy Undead would say about me to my face.

Besides, Jenny and Grandma had a wonderful time “helping me,” perched on my bed, picking each and every outfit apart. The pink dress made my ankles look chunky.

The yellow sweater made me look sallow. The green jacket made my shoulders look like a linebacker’s.

I finally agreed to Mama’s chosen outfit—a navy-blue dress I’d had since high school, complete with a white sailor’s collar—just to get them out of the house. And then I ran back upstairs to put on black slacks and a soft blue cashmere sweater that Aunt Jettie had bought for me on my last birthday. Touched by the gesture, Jettie agreed to stick around the house that night, just in case Jenny and Grandma returned to help themselves to the silver.