He ushered me inside, took my jacket, and wrapped me in a strong hug. When he pulled back, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced.
“Did you sleep well last night?” I asked.
“Like a rock. I’m so glad your mother brought me here. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I looked around the house. From the entry, I could see the living room, and farther back, the dining room then kitchen. The cozy decorations made it feel lived in. As did the smells of chocolate and vanilla. I inhaled appreciatively.
“It is a nice house,” I agreed.
I followed him toward the dining room, which flowed into the kitchen. My mom, dressed in a gossamer evening gown that was barely decent, rose from her spot at the table and opened her arms for me.
“I’m so glad you could make it, baby.” She hugged me, her hand stroking over my hair. “Is the taste gone?”
I pulled back and nodded with a smile.
“The taste is gone, but not the problem.”
She gave a curious frown.
“Tell me about it.” She motioned for me to take the seat beside her, and I glanced at Dad, who was already happily moving around the kitchen.
“Another brownie was in my room this morning. The little sister of Piepen’s very jealous girlfriend. I feel like I’m on some bad daytime drama show, and I just want it to stop.”
“Did you feed off of this one?”
“Gods, no.”
“Eliana. You know better. It’s God with a capital G,” Dad said from the kitchen.
“Jason, censoring what she says doesn’t change her thoughts, only the words she’s willing to speak in front of you. Is that what you want?”
Dad gave Mom a sheepish, yet completely devoted, look.
“No. You’re right.” He returned to the food he was removing from the oven. I watched him for a moment, my heart heavy.
“I’m glad this one wasn’t as persistent,” Mom said, patting my hand. “In time, Piepen will forget about you.”
“I sincerely hope so.”
Dad carried two plates to us and set them down with a flourish.
“For my beautiful ladies.”
I glanced at the chocolate and whipped cream loaded waffle and gave Dad an appreciative smile.
“It looks amazing.”
He hurried to get his plate, and Mom picked up her fork, trailing it through the cream and chocolate.
“This is divine, Jason. Thank you for cooking for us.”
“Your pleasure is my pleasure.”
I fought not to react. It wasn’t easy when bile was riding the elevator up my throat.
“Adira told me you went to the Roost last night. Did you enjoy yourself?” Mom asked.
“Not really.”
