After hanging up the phone, the crane operator said, “You got your wish. There’s an auction, tomorrow, 5:30 p.m.”
The crane remained parked outside, the hooded executioner of our beloved house. What do you do with your last night of happiness? Can you possibly enjoy it? I thought the answer was no, but I was wrong.
Heaven, Vlad, and I sat in the living room in mismatched chairs. A feeling of near contentment settled over me. My family (?) and I were gathered around the fire, ready to get tanked.
I poured Vlad’s bottled virgin blood into three margarita glasses.
“I almost had a gift as well, not for you, Vlad, but for Heaven.” I turned to my new sister. “I was going to give you the deed to the inn before yesterday—”
“Oh, yeah?” She looked back and forth between us two old-ass white people. “What is this, reparations?” Then a funny look came over her. “I imagine white guilt probably hits different for you two, since you were there. Where were you during the Civil War and Reconstruction?” Heaven asked demurely.
“You know, I can’t remember,” I said, truthfully. “I think I was in Italy?”
“Well, that would have been a really nice gift if the house weren’t set to be auctioned off tomorrow,” Heaven said.
I shrugged. “I tried.”
“If you gave me the house, I would’ve pulled a Sandra Bullock,” Heaven said. “You know how in that one movie she lies in front of the wrecking ball?”
“Yes, and then she and Hugh Grant save a community center where old people do aerobics or whatever. Basically us.” If only. “It’s our story, except we’ll have to recast it. Rachel Weisz can play me—”
“What?” A look of amusement crossed Heaven’s face. “You think that’s who you look like?”
“It’s true,” I said. “A guy on the street told me that once.”
She shook her head. “Whatever. Just call me Issa Rae then.”
“Okay, so Issa Rae will play you, Rachel Weisz will be me, and who isgoing to play you, Vlad?”
Vlad said, “Tiffenie, I have a late Chrithmas gift for you as well.”
I turned to him, expecting him to present me with a wrapped bauble with a bow, a little package from Tiffany and Co. After all, he did owe me an engagement ring.
Instead, he handed me a file. “Not that sort of gift. I hired a private investigator in the Cayman Islands to track down Tiffany with a -y.”
“Oh,” I said, sincerely surprised.
“Now that you froze her account, she’s probably having less fun.”
I flipped through the file. Tiffany with a -yappeared to be living the good life off of ill-gotten gains.
“Thank you, Vlad. This was so thoughtful.” I clutched the file and beamed at him. He saw the real me, the quirky vampire obsessed with my false identity the way some humans are with their ancestors. This was better than 23andMe.
“Maybe we should go to Grand Cayman for our honeymoon, close out that account,” he said. “I would say that we could deal with Tiffany, but it seems she’s already getting herself in trouble. As far as the system is concerned, you’re Tiffany.”
Oh, the irony.
“When are you guys getting married?” Heaven asked.
I shrugged. “We’re not in a rush, right?” We had eternity.
“Have you even told anyone?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Just you. Who else should we tell?” Vlad had already moved on from this topic and had picked up a copy of theEconomist.
Engagement announcements were traditional.Tiffany Amanda Blair and Jeff Powers, both of Valentine, are delighted to announce their engagement to be married.Even those two assholes had an announcement.
“Why do we need to tell anyone?” He looked up briefly from his reading, some article about the rules of war. “Our love is our business.”
