“Always,” she said, giving me a brief kiss on the lips.
“Better be careful in that dress,” I said. “Someone might mistake you for a work of art.”
After we’d moved here last year, Sydney had been ready to throw herself into the job market to support us, and that’s when we’d had our first real fight that didn’t involve something supernatural. I’d been insistent she finally go to college. She’d said it could wait until our finances built up. Fortunately, another good friend had come through for us: Clarence. With his ample fortune, he’d been more than happy to send us regular stipends—in fact, we’d had to limit him so as not to attract too much attention. But between those payments and student loans, Sydney had finally achieved her dream of studying ancient art at a local university. She’d even nabbed an internship at their museum.
Recently, I’d also been able to help our family income with . . . my own job.
Sometimes that seemed like the most surreal part of all. Me, Adrian Ivashkov, earning an ordinary living. After all the bizarre ups and downs I’d had with money, going from a spoiled kid with unlimited funds to a guy cut off by his father, it seemed unreal sometimes that I now got by with an hourly wage like everyone else. Equally astonishing was how much I’d grown to like it. I’d honestly never expected to get a job with my art degree—if I even finished it. There just weren’t that many jobs demanding artists and certainly not ones that needed people with incomplete art degrees. While helping out a neighbor one day, though, I’d learned her daughter’s preschool was looking for a part-time art teacher. At that level, my degree didn’t matter so much, just my enthusiasm for teaching art to kids. Incredibly, I’d turned out to be pretty good at it—though maybe it was just my natural-born immaturity that allowed me to relate to kids. I’d found a few other preschools and pitched myself to them too, eventually gathering enough part-time positions to contribute substantially to our family’s income.
The original place liked me so much that the director had told me if I finished a bachelor’s degree in education, I could come work a full-time teacher’s position with better pay and solid hours. Sydney hadn’t pressured me to go back to college, but when she’d heard that, her eyes had lit up, and I had a feeling she’d be working my college tuition into her master budget.
I’d never seen this budget plan, but it apparently accounted for a lot of things. So far, it managed to support the five of us in the rented house and had a timeline in place for when we’d be able to afford a house of our own, more education for her and me, and eventually Declan’s education. It was pretty impressive that she could make all of this work, but then, I’d learned to expect impressive things from her.
She hugged all our guests and then took Declan from Jill. Pretending he was our dhampir son might have started off as an act, but it had become reality as far as we were concerned. Sydney loved the little guy fiercely and, like the rest of us, would do anything for him. She kissed the top of his curly head and was rewarded with a smile. “?Cómo estás, mi amor?” she asked, carrying him off to the kitchen to check dinner.
Rose turned to me. “Did she just speak to him in Spanish?”
“Yeah,” I said. “She only speaks to him in Spanish, actually. It was in some parenting book she read about kids learning a second language.”
“We should eat,” my mother said, shooting me a wry look. “Otherwise a crime against fine cuisine might be committed.”
That was another thing I’d taken upon myself, along with my collection of jobs: cooking. And it turned out I wasn’t so bad at that either.
Later, when dinner had wound down and we were all around the table, I found myself gazing around and unable to believe this was how my life had turned out. Never would I have guessed I’d fall so comfortably into the role of husband and father. Never would I have guessed I’d be married to a human. And I certainly wouldn’t have guessed I’d be so happy without spirit.
After we’d rescued Jill and agreed to raise Declan, we’d had to make a very quick decision about where to run off to with our newly bought freedom. Northern Maine had won out. Close to civilization but far enough that it wasn’t so easy for someone to sneak up on us. I still woke conflicted sometimes, feeling guilty for loving Declan so much, being so glad I was able to call him my son. And always, always, I felt guilty for not saving Olive, for not having rationed my spirit that night.