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“Yes, that could happen. Preemies do sometimes. She’s close to six months along, the social worker said. That means she’s technically past the ‘age of viability.’ The point where the baby could survive with help. In many cases. Not all.” Manny’s face is suddenly grave.

“But—But Rhea would be devastated if—” You can’t hurt Mom.

Sometimes, I let myself call them Mom and Dad, as long as it’s not out loud.

“I know she would. But she would be devastated if any child died. She would be more devastated if we didn’t even try, especially since we’ve... Well, officially, we haven’t been waiting long, but—”

“I know.” They waited for over a century to find each other again. Over a century, made up of pieces, but never whole without the other. And now, the two of them fit with an empty space or two in the middle. One for me, somehow. One for a kid. And if there were five kids, ten kids, twenty kids that needed parents over the long, long lives they’ll lead, more spots would just keep opening up.

They’re made of science and sorcery, but their magic is the best kind.

Not all dark and demonic like mine.

“Go get ‘em, man. The shop will be closed tomorrow. It’s not like there will be customers.”

“Ah, about that. We hope to be back in time to catch the end of the Thanksgiving dinner at White Pines, but it really depends on what happens during the meeting. You are going to Thanksgiving dinner, aren’t you?”

I groan. “No!”

“Most of the paranormal community will be there! Come on, it’s—

“It’s like the craziest undead, furry, fangy Brady Bunch holiday special ever.” Did I mention that Pazcuso’s lab god and my “father” programmed my newly zapped brain by making me watch endless hours of classic television reruns and worked me up to things like Breaking Bad and Dexter?

Yeah, well, he did. My brain came pre-programmed with a lot of things that an adult would know, since it was taken from an adult body, but the memory? Nothing. The way things work in society? Fuzzy. I knew things like fire equals hot and the big round ball in the sky is called the sun. Letters and numbers existed, but sometimes jumbled. Movement and talking? Like a stroke victim being rehabilitated—the goods were in there, but you have to dig to find them? Science Dude’s answer? Just keep him in a cell for a month, walking on the treadmill until my legs remember what they’re for, with televisions going nonstop so my rewired brain would pick up knowledge about things like manners, car chases, and serial killers.

Rhea appears in the doorway between the garage and the office, an angel in tight jeans and a fuzzy red Christmas sweater, the white streak in her hair glistening like a river of snow and starlight. “It’s the only family some of us will ever have, Laz. Will you take over the side dish we’re supposed to be bringing? Just show up at one and ask Claire, Georgie, Wes, or Gloria where to set down the casserole dishes.”

“Dishes? Plural?”

“Well, you have to make enough food for fifty or sixty servings, dear. You know how Orcs eat. And when the Angelakis family arrives—not to mention Genesis and Melinda...”

“I get it. Monsters have big appetites.”

“Well, some do. Gloria and Mr. Minegold won’t eat much. Now, I’ve cut the acorn squash into cubes. That’s the hardest part. Just follow the recipe I left on the fridge.”

“What? I have to cook?” No, no, no. I wasn’t programmed or trained or whatever for cooking. I can microwave and order takeout when I want to eat. I don’t really need to.

“You have to stir, toss, and dump onto pans. The oven does the cooking.” Rhea comes over and kisses my cheek, then stands back and looks in my eyes, her thumb and forefinger cradling my chin as she regards me seriously. “If this adoption happens someday... You will babysit, won’t you?”

Me? Responsible for a tiny little thing? Their tiny, precious human, their way-too-easy-to-accidentally-damage thing?

“Of course he will!” Manny puts his arm around his wife’s shoulders, and they look at me with such utter confidence.

Like I’m someone good.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make the stupid squash,” I mutter.

“You’re a sweet soul. My sweet boy,” Rhea whispers, hugging me tight. “You have the key to the house?”

“I do.” “Mom” almost slips out at the end of my sentence. I do, Mom.

“You should be over here by nine. You’re going to need at least thirty minutes to prep everything, then an hour to roast, nice and low and slow so they retain the flavors. That’s if everything is perfect. I’m figuring everything might take you longer since you’re not used to cooking, so this way you’ll have plenty of time.”

“Honey, he’ll figure it out. He’s a smart kid. We have to get going in the next half hour if we want to get to the hotel in Pittsburgh tonight.”

“And we’ll probably be back by three or four tomorrow. It won’t be a long meeting. Everyone has plans,” Rhea says, tossing a scarf around her neck.

“If it’s so short, isn’t this a waste of time? Why don’t you just meet online? Zoom or something?” I suggest.