Charlaine Harris: Dead Ever After

“Has anyone from his posse called you? What about Pam?” Tara was thinking I had reason to worry if the area vampires had decided I was nothing to them. And she was right to be concerned. “Just because you break up with the big guy doesn’t mean they hate you, right?” She was thinking they probably did.

“I don’t think we’ve exactly broken up,” I said. “But he’s pissed off. Pam passed along a message from him. A text message. ”

“Better than a Post-it note. Who have you heard from?” Tara asked impatiently. “All this weird shit has happened, and no one’s calling you to talk about it? Sam’s not over here scrubbing your floors and kissing your feet? This house should be full of flowers, candy, and male strippers.”

“Ah,” I said intelligently. “Well, the yard’s strangely full of flowers. And tomatoes.”

“I spit on the supes who’ve let you down,” Tara said, fortunately not suiting action to words. “Listen, Sook, stick with your human buds and leave the others by the side of the road.” She meant it all the way down to her bones.

“Too late for that,” I said. I smiled, but it didn’t feel as though it fit my face right.

“Then come shopping. I need some new bras, since I’m Elsie the Cow these days. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

Tara, breastfeeding twins, was notably more bosomy. Maybe more than a bit curvier, too. But I was hardly one to point fingers, and I welcomed the change of focus in our conversation. “How are the kids doing?” I said, smiling more genuinely. “I’m gonna have to babysit them some night so you and JB can go to the movies. How long has it been since you went out together?”

“Since six weeks before I was due,” she said. “Mama du Rone has kept them twice during the day so I could go to the store, but she doesn’t want to keep ’em at night when Papa du Rone is home. If I can pump enough milk to get ahead of the little monsters, JB would take me to the Outback. We could eat steak.” There was an avid look to her mouth. Tara had been craving red meat ever since she’d started nursing. “Besides, since Hooligans closed, JB doesn’t have to work at night anymore.”

JB had been employed at Hooligans as well as at a health club, where he was a trainer. At Hooligans, he’d been doing the (nearly) full monty on ladies’ night to raise extra money for the twins’ birth. I hadn’t spared a moment to think about the fate of the building and business since the owner, my cousin Claude, had vanished from the human world. That was definitely something to worry about when I ran out of other, more important stuff.

“Just let me know next time you’re in a steak mood,” I assured Tara, pleased at the prospect of doing her a good turn. “Where were you thinking of shopping today?” Suddenly, I was anxious to get out of the house.

“Let’s go to Shreveport. I like the maternity and baby shop there, and I want to drop by that consignment shop on Youree, too.”

“Sure. Let me put on some makeup.” In fifteen minutes I was dressed in clean white shorts and a sky blue T-shirt, my hair in a neat ponytail and my skin thoroughly moisturized. I felt more like myself than I had in several days.

Tara and I talked all the way over to Shreveport. Mostly about the babies, of course, because what’s more important than babies? But included in the conversation were Tara’s mother-in-law (a great woman); Tara’s shop (not faring too well this summer); Tara’s assistant, McKenna (whom Tara was trying to fix up with a friend of JB’s); and other items of interest in the Taraverse.

On this very hot summer day in July, it felt comfortingly normal to be having this gossip session while we took a gal-pal road trip.

Though Tara owned and operated an upscale boutique, it didn’t carry specialty clothes like maternity and new-mom wear. She said, “I want me some breastfeeding bras and a breastfeeding nightgown from Moms ’N More, and at the consignment place I want to pick up a couple of pairs of shorts, since I can’t get my fat baby ass into my pre-baby shorts. You need anything, Sookie?”

“I do have to get a dress for Jason and Michele’s wedding,” I said.

“Are you in it? They set a date yet?”

“I’m the only attendant as of now. They narrowed it to a couple of dates, but they’re waiting to pick one after they hear from Michele’s sister. She’s in the army, and she may or may not be able to get leave on those dates.” I laughed. “I’m sure Michele will ask her, too, but I’m a sure thing.”

“What color you need to wear?”

“Any color I like. She says she doesn’t look good in white, and besides, she went that route for her first wedding. Jason’s wearing a tan suit, and Michele’s wearing chocolate brown. It’s a cocktail dress, and she says it looks great on her.”

Tara looked skeptical. “Chocolate brown?” she said. (Tara did not think that was suitable for a wedding.) “You should look today,” she continued more cheerfully. “Of course, you’re welcome to look at my shop, but if you see something today at the consignment shop, that would be perfect. You’re only going to wear it once, right?”

Tara carried pretty clothes, but they were expensive, and her selection was limited by the size of the shop. Her suggestion was really practical.

We stopped at Moms ’N More first. The maternity and new-mom shop held little interest for me. I’d been dating vampires for so long that pregnancy was not something I thought about, at least not very often. While Tara talked lactation with the saleswomen, I looked at the diaper bags and the adorable baby items. New mothers were certainly beasts of burden. Hard to believe that once upon a time, babies had been raised without diaper bags, breast pumps, special trash cans for disposable diapers, plastic keys, walkers, premade baby food, plastic pads for changing, special detergent to wash baby clothes . . . and on and on and on. I touched a tiny green-and-white-striped sleeper with a lamb on the chest. Something deep inside me shivered with longing.

I was glad when Tara completed her purchase and we left the store.

The consignment shop was only a mile away. Since “fancy used clothes” didn’t sound very enticing, the owners had gone for Second Time’s the Charm. Tara seemed slightly embarrassed at visiting a used-clothing store, no matter how upscale it looked.

“I have to look nice since I’ve got a clothing store,” she told me. “But I don’t want to spend a lot on bigger pants, since I hope I won’t be wearing a size up for long.” Tara was actually two sizes up, her head told me.

This is one of the things I hate about being telepathic.

“Only makes sense,” I said soothingly. “And maybe I’ll see something for the wedding.” It seemed highly unlikely that the original owner of the dress would turn up at Jason’s wedding, and that was my only qualm about purchasing a garment someone else had worn a time or two.

Tara knew the owner, a bony redhead, whose name appeared to be Allison. After a hug of greeting, Tara hauled out pictures of the twins . . . maybe a hundred pictures. I was completely unsurprised.

I’d seen the real thing, so I wandered away to check out the “better” dresses. I found my size and began to slide the hangers along the rack one by one, taking my time about it. I was more relaxed than I had been in a week.

I was glad Tara had winkled me out of the house. There was something wonderfully normal and reassuring about our shopping expedition. The air-conditioned shop was peaceful, since the music was turned down very, very low. The prices were higher than I’d expected, but when I read the labels, I understood why. Everything here was good quality.