And there was the guilt again. I had completely derailed Ben’s life. He didn’t know me. He didn’t owe me anything. He was a sweet boy who had come to see me in my sickroom after knowing me for less than twenty-four hours. And it had bitten him on the ass. Or the wrist. I was literally the worst.
And Ben, who was oblivious to me mentally kicking my own ass, was still talking. “Kids? Yeah, maybe, I was thinking that kids would be something I would enjoy,” he said. “I come from a good family. I had good parents, a happy childhood. There was no reason to think that I wouldn’t be happy being a family guy, with a minivan in the garage and two-point-four kids.”
“And then I came along and took that sweet, sweet minivan plan away from you,” I said. “Sorry about that.”
“I’m starting to accept it. I mean, we can do all of these other things, pretty cool things, really, that we’re going to get in exchange. Like never aging, never getting sick. And hey, male pattern baldness runs in my family, so I probably owe you one.”
“That’s kind of sick.”
“The main thing is my parents. Their faces when they saw me on the video chat. Not being able to tell them I’m just a few miles away. It’s killing me. And what’s worse is that I don’t even know whether they’re going to be able to accept me once I am able to see them in person.”
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. But I noticed he hadn’t mentioned losing the life he’d planned with Gigi. Was that because now that they were both vampires, he thought they could get back together? Was he just being nice to me now because he was a nice person who didn’t want to be at odds with his unwanted roommate? Why didn’t he even mention her? Why was she such a taboo subject?
He sighed and gave me what passed for a smile. “What about you? You haven’t mentioned your parents. Kids. Plans. Pets. Baldness?”
“Nothing special.”
“Oh, come on. I told you all of my boring details. Share with the class. What are your parents like? What were you planning on doing after graduation? Were kids something you’d considered?”
“No!” I said, cackling. “Sorry, that laugh was too loud.”
I cleared my throat. This was the stuff we hadn’t talked about in our enchanting conversation in front of the dorm. No one wants to hear about your tragic past on the first pseudo-date. I’d deflected, turned the questions back on him, not only to avoid talking about myself but also because I’d liked hearing about his normal childhood, his normal high school experience, his loving parents.
As if he could hear my train of thought, he said, “Come on, that night, in front of the dorm, you didn’t talk much about yourself. I mean, you talked about the ‘now,’ about school and your friends and that sort of thing, but nothing before you got to UK. It was like you were hatched as a fully formed undergrad. Why was that?”
“You don’t want to hear this,” I said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
“I do,” he insisted. “I really do.”
“Kids? No, I wasn’t considering them at all. I mean, maybe in ten, fifteen years, but I did not feel in any way prepared to take care of another person. And maybe in a couple of years, I’ll feel differently, like something was taken from me, but for right now, I’m good. I mean, Jane never had biological kids, and she’s raising three of us right now. You never know what could happen. Graduation plans? I picked an English major because I like to read, but I don’t think I’d ever want to teach little kids. I’m not good with them. You’ve seen how I talk to Georgie. That’s how I usually talk to kids, even if they aren’t basically tiny, terrifying adults. I just don’t have that thing that makes you good with them. Which is yet another reason that not having any of my own is not a huge blow to me.”
I continued, “I thought maybe I’d go to grad school, eventually get a PhD if I could afford it, and end up teaching at a college. I loved college. I loved living on my own, making my own decisions, controlling my diet, my schedule, my room. I loved my classes and feeling like I was a part of something bigger, a community. I could see myself being very comfortable in that kind of environment for the rest of my life. But unless I get this pesky urge to drink every human I meet under control, that’s probably going to put my teaching career off for a while.”
Ben was frowning at me. “Did you have super-controlling helicopter parents or something?”
“What?”
“Your diet, your schedule, your room. Did your parents not let you make those decisions on your own when you were at home?”
I bit my lip. Well, this was it. I could play it off by being glib, or just put it out there and hope Ben didn’t feel sorry for me. I really hated the face people made when they heard the words “foster kid.” It was always the same, a tilt of the head, a furrow to the brow, and sometimes there was even a sad little “Aw.” And it changed the way people interacted with me. If I was having a bad day, well, I must have abandonment issues, because I was a foster kid. If there was one cupcake left, I should have it, because I probably didn’t have many treats growing up as a foster kid. It was better just to let people think I’d had an average upbringing so I didn’t get patronized.
But I was probably going to be stuck with Ben for a while, and he was probably going to hear something from Jane eventually, so I pursed my lips and said, “My dad was stationed at Fort Campbell. My mom was working at a gas station, earning some extra money while she took nursing classes at the community college. He came into the station to fill up his truck, and bam. He said it felt like he’d been hit by lightning the first time he saw her. He said, ‘Twenty-five dollars on pump twelve, a Slim Jim, and how do you feel about dogs, kids, and men who leave their socks on the floor but are otherwise pretty damn charming?’ Mom was laughing so hard she could barely write down her phone number.”
“So there’s a family history of being approached by extremely clever men?” Ben suggested.
“If the last few weeks are any indication of your ‘approach’ technique, you have a lot to learn about ‘clever,’ buddy,” I told him.
Accidental Sire (Half-Moon Hollow #6)
Molly Harper's books
- Bidding Wars (Love Strikes)
- The Art of Seducing a Naked Werewolf
- A Witch's Handbook of Kisses and Curses
- Driving Mr. Dead (Half Moon Hollow #1.5)
- Nice Girls Don't Bite Their Neighbors (Jane Jameson #4)
- Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men (Jane Jameson #2)
- Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs (Jane Jameson #1)
- Nice Girls Don't Live Forever (Jane Jameson #3)
- The Undead in My Bed (Dark Ones #10.5)