Her last name was…Kerrigan, right? Like the figure skater?
A search forEmily Kerriganbrought up quite a few people. There were even more Emilys than Tiffanys. A pro golfer, a gazillion moms, and several high school students. When I narrowed the search to her hometown, I gasped in horror.
Emily Kerrigan (1955–2017), a beloved mother, grandmother, and wife, leaves behind her husband of thirty-three years…
One of her wedding photos was included, confirming that this really was my Emily.
I slumped in my seat. Emily had lived a whole life and died. Meanwhile, I was wearing the same outfit as the last time I saw her. My vision blurred over the names of all of her children and grandkids.
Maybe I did need to make friends. I ran through the list of people who I’d met in Valentine. That firefighter, Dylan, had said something about a holiday decorating committee. I sent him a text.
Me:when’s the thing with jessica?
Dylan:hey, good timing.
Dylan:meeting at the tav right now.
I sent back a thumbs-up emoji and drove the hearse approximately half a block to get a prime spot in front of the tavern. I was about to get my holiday cheer on.
Back at the tavern, I hesitated outside the door. Light and music spilled out onto the street as if the business was overflowing with joy and merriment. What kind of vampire volunteers for a holiday decorating committee?
Me, apparently. If I wanted my happily ever after, I needed to get happy first, and that meant making friends. I didn’t need a thirtysomething human who was suspiciously available for work on a Friday night to give me friend-making lessons. I could do this.
I pushed my way into the den of merriment. The tavern was much the same as earlier, just a slight shift in the crowd, fewer babies and more old men. The real Tiffany would recognize the women on this committee. One booth for four was crowded with six people animatedly talking over one another—
Wait, did I just hear my name?
Nope. Nope. Nope. I started to back out of the tavern as all the reasons not to socialize came back to me. Even if I wasn’t draining humans, everything about me was wrong. I had the wrong schedule, the wrong diet, and if I was being honest, the wrong personality. Sure, I could talk with other people on the fringes, people who had missed social norms by a mile, but the women at the tavern, drinking mulled wine, all wrapped in cable-knit sweaters and the privilege of belonging—I couldn’t blend inwith them. One night of yearbook research wouldn’t save me.
“Tiffany, is that you?” A voice cut through the revelry. A woman with a tight ponytail and a sunny smile pushed through the crowd.
“Jessica?” I hazarded.
“Tiffany!” The woman squealed and hugged me tightly. “It’s been forever!” With a familiarity that took me aback, she grasped my arm and led me across the dining area like we were in an Austen novel taking a turn about the room. Our destination: a bunch of women in their late twenties, looking cozy in overstuffed chairs.
“Tiffany?” A redhead said my name as a question.
I smiled and waved, unsure of who any of them were. Damn. I should have made flash cards from the yearbook.
“You remember Stephanie, class of 2012?” Jessica said, pointing at an Asian woman.
Stephanie waved.
“And Claire. You might remember her from—” Jessica crinkled her nose adorably and turned to the redhead. “I don’t know. Were you both on basketball?”
“Nope,” I said. “I only did cheerleading and theater.” I knew that much from the yearbook.
“We weren’t in the same classes or anything, but we crossed paths a few times.” Claire gave me an intense look. “You look different. Good different. Your skin—” She shook her head. “It’s porcelain.”
I preened. Having no blood will do that for you.
“And do you have pores?” Jessica said, leaning over the table.
“Korean skincare,” I said. “It’s basically stopped the aging process.”
“That’ll do it,” Stephanie said.
“I need to know all your holy grail products yesterday,” Claire said with sudden interest. “I turned thirty and these eye bags appeared out of nowhere.”
