“That was $70 of food.” She expelled a frustrated breath.
So I had taken her food, carried it all the way to work in heels, and given it to someone who didn’t want it. Oops.
“I couldn’t even TikTok today.”
Well, that was a bonus. Heaven TikTok’d every morning at sunrise just as I was going to bed. She would stand on the walkway outside my window practically yelling: “Greatest of grand risings! It’s a new day, a new you. Look to the sun and get your glow on.” Yelling “shut up” did nothing. Her spirit was too strong.
“How ’bout I Postmates you some takeout. Pad thai from that placearound the corner?” It was the least I could do.
“I can’t believe we broke up over something that stupid.” She flopped back onto the couch. “Gemma didn’t understand why I order prepackaged meals in the first place. ‘You still have to cook it,’ she always says.”
Even I, a vampire with a string of failed relationships going back three hundred years, knew they didn’t break up over dinner. How many times had I heard Gemma interrupting Heaven’s sunshine-and-roses speeches? “Can you be real for one minute, Heaven? Can you put the phone down?” Then Heaven would say, “We’re good, Gem. Mercury’s in retrograde.”
“Cooking is a sacred routine,” she said to me now. “Cutting the vegetables, boiling the pasta. It makes you slow down and savor the moment.” Dramatically, she added, “Making is everything to me. Making content, making connections, making a difference.”
“Are those…things?”
She looked at me like I was the crazy one, but how could a twenty-six-year-old be a life coach? And how could anyone as positive as her know anything about living?
“I’m sorry about Gemma, but I need to get to bed,” I said, hinting that it might be time for her to move on. Instead, she sank deeper into my slipcovered couch. The Instagram ad had promised the cover would freshen up my sofa, but it just rode up between the cushions like a pair of janky underwear. When I left a review calling it a couch thong, they mailed me a second one for free. It’s still in the box.
“I thought she was the One,” Heaven said.
For three hundred years I’d been listening to people romanticize love. I decided to help her out and drop some wisdom. “Heaven,” I said, “there’s no such thing as the One. Gemma was just the one for now.”
Sure, my undead heart still yearned for romance, for a happily ever after like the ones I saw on TV every night. But I also yearned for cigarettes. Wanting something didn’t make it good for you.
“Tomorrow is Halloween. We were going as Daphne and Velma.”
It seemed like they could have tried harder with that concept, but Ikept my mouth shut.
“LA is such a shit town. People stealing food off doorsteps…,” she said with frustration. “Maybe I should go to Vermont with you.”
Before I could explain that I had no intention of going to Vermont, Heaven started crying in earnest.
I rubbed my temples. She’s the only human alive who knows I’m a vampire and she couldn’t care less, letting me take little sips from her when I’m low on pilfered blood donations from work in exchange for my parking space. I also feed her parakeet when she’s out of town.
What kind of person isthattrusting?
“I really need to go to bed,” I told Heaven. “Don’t you have work?”
“Do you mind if I stay for a while longer?” She tilted her head to expose the column of her throat. Against my will I started to drool. All I wanted to do was be alone and watch a Hallmark movie. But if she was going to be a snack and not talk…
She flashed puppy-dog eyes, practically begging. Every time I drank from Heaven, she slept like the dead. Funshine Bear needed a little of my dead calm.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go home?” I picked up the remote and hitPlayonA Country Christmas.The heroine, a career gal, was canceling her important big-city plans and packing a Louis Vuitton suitcase filled with Hermès and Louboutins for some R & R in rural Connecticut. Silly her. I smiled at the journey I knew was about to come.
My gaze drifted to the envelope containing pictures of the Valentine Bed-and-Breakfast.
“Hey, Siri, how much does it cost to move across country?”
“Cross-country is a sport—”
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Siri, how much does it cost to move to Vermont from LA?”
“Two thousand to eight thousand dollars.”
With a groan, I sank farther into the couch, the slipcover going right up my ass. I didn’t need to look at my bank account balance to know Ididn’t have the money. When Heaven started to say something, I said, “Quiet. I want to watch Jessica get her Christmas miracle.”
