I was starting to get that.
In a teasing voice, Jessica said, “Tyrone will be there.”
As a woman who had lived through three hundred years, I might not be bad at trivia. Perhaps it was one of my many skills Vlad had alluded to. Visions of small-town glory danced in my head.
The chalkboard on the sidewalk in front of the tavern advertised a Friendsgiving special for $15.99. Inside, the Christmas music was loud, the drink was flowing, and almost everyone was decked out in holiday regalia.
“Tiffany, you look fab!” The bartender was eyeing my outfit. She had on a huge curly wig, a short red dress, and sky-high heels.
“Gary?”
“Make thatMariah B.Gary. During the holidays, I’m Valentine’s reigning queen of Christmas.”
“Don’t we crown a queen at the SugarBoo?” someone yelled.
Mariah B. Gary waved off the suggestion as preposterous. “Stop being haters. You know those teenagers can’t be queens.”
“You look great,” I said. “You haven’t seen Tyrone, have you?”
Mariah shook her head. “Nope. He better show his butt up, though. This is a tradition.”
There were so many traditions in Valentine. It was almost worse than having a family. Or better?
Mariah turned down the music and called everyone to order. “It’s game time! I know I said it was Friendsgiving, but I don’t have Thanksgivingquestions so we’re starting Christmas early with the rest of the country.”
A couple people booed at the early holiday threat, but Mariah carried on. “Tonight, we have the SugarBoos, the Santas, and the Mostly Jews.”
“We’re the SugarBoos,” Jessica practically yelled to me over the din.
Mariah B. Gary shouted, “First question. Which reindeer is named for thunder?”
People started yelling answers. Between the game, the side conversations, the music and clinking of silverware, it was a cacophony.
I felt eyes on me and looked up to see Dr. Rosetti watching. I didn’t know where to put my hands or what to say. But look at me, sitting in a group at trivia.
“Who was the first president to put a Christmas tree in the White House?”
Focus, Tiffenie!I’d lived through history. I should know this bullshit.
The door swung open and a newcomer spoke. “Franklin Pierce.”
“I thought that was a department store?” I said to no one. No one answered back. All conversation had stopped as everyone gaped at the newcomer. When I looked up, I saw the cause of the commotion: Vlad.
“Hello to Mr. Dead Sexy,” Mariah crooned. “Franklin Pierce is the correct answer, and just so you know, I am single.” She was batting her false eyelashes in Vlad’s direction. Vlad, meanwhile, was stomping snow off his boots.
“Ohmygawd, who is that?” Jessica practically swooned.
Vlad squeezed between me and Jessica at the SugarBoos table without even asking if he was invited, Founding Father style. Jessica exhaled a little too obviously and held a limp hand out for him. “I’m Jessica.”
Mariah B. Gary sashayed toward us with the mic and leaned over the table suggestively. “Who’s the new SugarBoo?”
Vlad offered his hand. “I’m Vlad, Tiffenie’s—”
“Ex,” I filled in loudly. “We broke up three hundred years ago.”
Mariah said, “Mmmm. I bet that’s how it feels. What are you drinking, Vlad? Because it’s on the house.”
Must it always be like this?
