“That’s because I’m reading. When I’m reading, I’m totally immersed in the world of the book. Doesn’t everyone do that?” I asked, looking from one to the other.
Both of them were shaking their heads.
“How can you not read like that? That would be so totally boring.”
“It’s not just reading,” Gus said. “You do it when you’re writing, when you’re spellcrafting, when you’re in ritual, when you’re painting, when you’re thinking. Everyone does it a little bit, but you take it to an extreme.”
“I’m pretty sure we could have set one of the serving platters on your head, and you’d have no idea,” Forrest said. “Hell, we could have probably lit your shirt on fire, and you’d be clueless.”
“I’m sure she would have figured it out, once third-degree burns set in.”
“Shut up! You guys are totally exaggerating.” I said.
Gus looked at Forrest and raised an eyebrow. “The only time you don’t do it, is when you’re watching TV. And that’s only because you fall asleep during the first commercial break and don’t wake up until the show’s over.”
“I do not! Well, maybe now, but only because I’m pregnant. I’m a woman. We multi-task. I may not look like I’m paying attention, but I totally am. I’m not sleeping. I’m resting my eyes. But I’m listening and following every plot twist.”
“Bullshit,” Forrest snorted.
“I don’t think multi-tasking actually exists,” Gus said. “I think it’s something women invented to give men an inferiority complex. Because I haven’t seen anyone do it well.”
“I can totally multi-task,” I protested.
“Prove it. What were we talking about? You don’t even have to give me an entire sentence. A sentence fragment will do,” Gus said, calling my bluff.
“You are so mean. You were talking about… Grundleshanks’s bones.”
Gus made the sound of a buzzer. “Nope. Sorry. That was two conversations ago. Try again?”
I tried to think back to what they had been saying, but I had been so busy listening to the thoughts inside my head, I hadn’t heard anything going on outside of it.
“Well, I can normally multi-task. I was just… distracted, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh. We were talking about the three strikes law. I think it should be done away with,” Gus said.
“And I think it should be strengthened. Three strikes, automatic execution, go sort things out with your Maker.” Forrest said.
“What about wrongful convictions? Or petty crimes?” Gus asked. “That doesn’t seem fair, to be executed for shoplifting.”
Forrest shrugged. “Collateral damage.” Then he grinned at me—at least, it resembled a grin. Although what it reminded me most of was a wolf about to eat its prey.
“This is why I couldn’t remember the conversation. It was dumb. Besides, I thought Suppers for the Dead were supposed to be silent.”
“Not necessarily,” Gus shrugged.
“We had a moment of silence. That’s enough.” Forrest said.
“So, what do you think?” Gus asked.
I paused. I hadn’t actually given it a lot of thought before.
“A woman who doesn’t have an opinion on everything?” Forrest asked. “Stop my heart.”
“I think… it should be limited to violent crimes only,” I said.
“Fascist,” said Gus.
“Commie pinko liberal,” said Forrest.
“Are you two sure you’re dating?” said I.
“You’re a hoot,” Forrest laughed. “But c’mon, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t like to see all the criminals in the world magickally vanish? A Rapture of evil instead of good. Think of how under-populated this planet would become.”
I shot him a dirty look. “Vanishing isn’t the same as being executed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I not being namby-pamby enough for your delicate Wiccan sensibilities?” Forrest snorted.
“I’m not Wiccan,” I said.
Which was true. While I appreciated Wicca and was grateful it had become a more widely accepted religion, I wasn’t actually Wiccan. And anyone who watched me work, especially when it came to circle and ritual construction, would know that.
While I tried (usually not very successfully, if you asked my Aunt Tillie) to follow the Wiccan ‘Harm None’ rede, Traditional Witchcraft seemed to be closer to what Gus and I practiced. Although neither one of us were big on rules and dogma. Gus once told me we were gnostic, heretical witches, and that seems like an excellent description to me.
“I just happen to think that most people, at heart, are good. So, I fundamentally disagree with your premise.” I said. “And I don’t appreciate patronizing ass-hats like you taking pot shots at Wiccans.”
“Awww,” Forrest said, making a face. “That’s so cute. You’re getting that mother bear instinct down pat.”
He patted my hand and I quickly moved it off the table, glaring at him.
“Lay off her,” Gus said.
“I’m just yanking her chain,” Forrest said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s fun.”
“For you,” I snorted.
“Oh, come on now, don’t tell me you can’t deal with a little friendly joshing. Time to put big girl panties on, sweetheart.”
I frowned and helped myself to more spinach and cheese triangles.
“Why aren’t you eating any lamb? Have a problem with slaughterhouses?” Forrest chuckled.
“What business is it of yours?”
“Guess I’m a traditional type of guy.” Forrest smiled. “It’s not a meal if you’re not chasing bloody meat around on your plate.”
I made a face.
Gus kicked me under the table, earning low growls from Aramis and Apollo. “Mara’s stomach can’t deal with red meat. Although she’s okay with fish and eggs. Seems our baby is leaning towards Pescetarianism.”
Forrest coughed on his drink. “Our baby? I thought you two weren’t involved?”
He seemed flustered for the first time since I had met him and it may be bad of me, but the sight brought joy to my heart.
“Of course, we’re involved,” I said, savoring the moment. “We live together.”
“We’re just not involved sexually,” Gus clarified.
“But Gus is the honorary daddy, so he’s very involved.”
“Oh,” Forrest said, nodding. “I take it the real dad is a deadbeat?”
“No.” I suddenly felt defensive of Paul. “He’s just… confused.”
“It takes a village,” Gus said.
“Not for most people,” Forrest replied. “There’s a lot of single parents in the world.”
And pretty much, that’s how the rest of dinner went. Forrest yanking my chain, Gus (sometimes) rising to my defense, and me really wanting to slap Forrest but making do, instead, with quietly dropping a few table scraps to the dogs. Gus caught me a few times and frowned, but they didn’t get scraps often, so I figured this was a special treat for them.
During dessert, (galaktoburiko, a Greek honey-soaked custard with phyllo, which the baby seemed to enjoy as well), after repeated nudges from Gus, I forced myself to try and make small talk with Forrest. I got to hear all about his perfect life, his perfect upbringing, and his unabashed view of himself as a male Adonis.
At least, Forrest and Gus had that supreme type of self-confidence in common. The difference was, it didn’t annoy me when Gus said over-the-top stuff. I was used to him proclaiming he was the frosting on the cake of life. But wow, did I have a hard time tolerating it from an ass-hat like Forrest.
And it didn’t help that Gus couldn’t say anything without Forrest either correcting him or one-upping him or laughing at him indulgently, like Gus was a precocious child or a favorite pet.
Normally, that type of behavior would drive both of us crazy. But Gus was so stupidly besotted with the guy, he couldn’t see past his own penis. And if I said anything, Forrest turned it around on me, so it looked like he was the reas
onable, magnanimous, witty dinner companion, and I was the stick-in-the-mud, irrational grump.
By the time dinner was winding to a close, I was ready to beat Forrest to death with the gnawed-on remains of the roasted leg bone.
Chapter 24
Once we were done, Forrest folded his hands, like he was going to lead us in a closing prayer, so I hurriedly jumped in instead.
Sure, Forrest could be charming—when he wanted to be—but he was a jackass. And even when he was on his best behavior, there was something about him that made my skin prickle. For him to lead any kind of prayer felt like blasphemy.
“Dear Goddesses and Gods, thank you for having granted us this bountiful feast. May all which sustains us, whether it’s food or friendship or love, have your blessings upon it.” I said.
Then Gus took over and released the spirits (which still hadn’t shown up). I looked over at Forrest and I could have sworn he was grinning to himself like he knew what had really been—or not been—going on at that dinner, and he wasn’t about to clue Gus in.
* * *
Shortly afterwards, Forrest got a text message and made an excuse about why he had to immediately leave—something about cats, a crazed breeder and his stepsister. He went ahead of us to the house, to change into his street clothes, leaving Gus and me to bring everything back ourselves.
Since it was so late, Gus was all for leaving it and putting things away tomorrow, but I was worried the food would attract raccoons and bears and who all knew what else was living in the woods of Northern Wisconsin.
Having the Dobes race around us, trying to get at the plate for the dead, made things even more challenging. I took them back to the house and locked them in the run.
Forrest must have been the fastest clothes-changer in history, because his outfit was draped over a kitchen chair, and when I checked the front, his car was nowhere to be seen.
Walking through the house again, I could hear Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels singing Devil With A Blue Dress On. I thought about going upstairs and checking on the clock radio again, but I wasn’t sure what else I could do with it. It was completely unplugged. Stupid electronics. I made a mental note to tell Gus about the song though, since he had blue in his outfit. He’d definitely get a kick out of it.
* * *
I trekked back to the cemetery, where Gus was setting the plate for the dead out on one of the graves. Since it was just a plate, rather than the entire buffet, I swallowed my worries about visiting critters and tried to think of them as messengers of the Underworld, ferrying food to the dead, rather than rampaging and possibly rabid raccoons.
It took a bunch of trips to get everything back to the house. Trying to move it all with nothing but the moon and the flashlight app on our phones to light the way, made things extra difficult. No wonder Gus had spent all day getting everything down to the cemetery, when he was doing it on his own. Thankfully, the table—which was the last thing we were moving—was collapsible and more awkward than heavy.
Once we got everything back to where it belonged—all the leftovers put away, the dishes stacked in the dishwasher and the pans soaking in the sink—I went upstairs, changed out of my suit, into pajamas and took a last look at my face before I removed the false hair.
Huh. So that was what my brother—whoever he was—might look like. I took a photo on my smart phone and saved it. Maybe I could upload it to Google and do an image search. I thought about telling Gus about this previously unknown member of my family tree, but he’d have a ton of questions and I had no answers—not yet, at least. Although, I was planning to rectify that, as soon as I could. I decided to keep it to myself for now and tell Gus later.
When I was done, I helped Gus out of his fancy get-up and into shorts and a tank top. It took me a few tries to get all of the make-up off of him though. I swear, he had shellacked it onto his face.
Once I got him looking like his normal self again, we let the dogs in and Gus made us two mugs of hot cocoa, spicing his up with Kahlua and Baileys, and mine with extra whipped cream.
Real whipped cream, that he whipped himself. Mainly because he had thrown my canned whip cream out, grumbling about how all the canned whip creams have either high fructose corn syrup or carrageenan, and how carrageenan was stripped out with industrial solvents and why did anyone think that would qualify as an organic ingredient.
Then we curled up on the couch and with the puppies snoozing by the fireplace, we talked about boyfriends.
* * *
I wanted to learn more about Forrest, but Gus had Paul on his mind.
“I don’t know what you see in him. He’s an ass.”
“Funny, I was just thinking the exact same thing about Forrest.”
“The difference is,” Gus explained, “Forrest is an ass to you, not me. Paul is an ass across the board.”
“He’s just overwhelmed. He’s gone through a lot since he’s met me. Even though I didn’t mean to, I’ve put him through a supernatural wringer.”
“Oh, please. He’s a typical straight man.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“He’s got no fashion sense and no sense of how to treat a woman. He’s stupidly obstinate and scared of responsibility. He wants everything his own way and he wants it now.”
“I don’t think you can blame that on gender or sexual orientation,” I said, thinking of how stubborn Gus could be when he wanted something.
He set his mug on the coffee table with a bang. “I can if I want. I’m entitled to my opinions.”
“Of course you are, honey,” I said, soothingly, patting his arm. “Even when they’re wrong. Heaven forbid, I try to affect them in any way.”
Gus made a face at me. “You know what the problem with you is? You have lousy taste in men.”
I laughed. “And you don’t? Sure, Forrest may be charming and handsome, but he’s a self-centered, self-righteous windbag, with the type of Machiavellian black-and-white view of the world that used to drive you nuts.”
“He just needs more Gus time. Just you wait. Give me a year and he’ll be a changed man.”
“Right. I’ll bet when he finds injured animals on the road, instead of taking them to a vet, he runs them over, to put them out of their misery. And then he puts the car in reverse, and does it again. Just because he enjoys it.”
“Take that back!” Gus howled.
“Will not!”
Gus made a face at me. I made a face at him.
Finally, he smiled and said: “You just don’t want to share me.”
“Damned right, I don’t.” I frowned. “And if I do have to share you, it had better be with someone who is head over heels in love with you. Not some half-assed, hard-nosed, hard work-avoiding, sugar daddy.”
“I feel the same way about you, Miss Thing. I want you to find true love. Not settle for the first guy who unintentionally knocks you up. Biology isn’t everything.”
“I know,” I sighed. “I thought we were heading towards a happily ever after, when everything blew apart. You gotta admit, this is a weird situation. Paul’s trying to step up as much as he can. He just has a lot of… uncertainties. I knew, when I made the decision to keep the baby, I might be raising it on my own.”
“Fuck Paul and his uncertainties. You’ll always have me. I’ll help you raise the baby. DNA doesn’t count for everything. Family is what you make it. And if Paul wants to miss out on a family this amazing, it’s his loss.”
I smiled at him, and wiped away a stray tear. “Paul said he found a place that does non-invasive 3-D ultrasound. So, we’ll be able to see the baby soon.”
Gus perked up. “Can I come? I’d love to see that!”
“You and Paul in the same car for the entire drive to Trinity Harbor? I don’t think so.”
“I’ll only hurt him a little. Break some non-essential bones.”
“Exactly.” I said. “I’ll bring you back a picture.”
“So let’s assume the worst. What if
the kid is born with horns and hooves. What are you gonna do?”
“Raise it, of course. Buy it a cool collection of hats and boots. Although, if it’s up to Paul…” I shuddered to think of what would happen.
Gus frowned. “I’ll break his arm first.”
“That’s gonna be hard to do from the lobby. Unless you want to be in the delivery room?” I asked, hopeful. We hadn’t actually talked about it before, and I suddenly realized how much I wanted Gus to be there with me.
“Are you kidding? Of course I’m gonna be there. I’ll bring hoof polish—and a Taser, just in case that dirt bag looks at the baby cross-eyed.”
I laughed. “Really?”
“Really.” He said, winking at me. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about. After all, that baby is half you. Hell, you’re a witch—it’s probably mostly you. Which means it’s going to be spectacular.”
He got up and took our mugs to the sink.
I sighed and a whole bunch of tension I didn’t even know I was holding onto, rushed out of my body.
“I love you,” I said, walking into the kitchen and hugging him.
“You’d better,” he replied.
We stood there, forehead to forehead, basking in the love and energy that surrounded us like a giant bubble.
Just as Gus was about to say something, his gut made a horrible noise and a wicked stream of burps came out of him, smelling like brimstone and hellfire, breaking the spell.
Chapter 25
Gus looked at me, panicked. “Ugh, ugh, ugh,” he repeated
“What the hell?!” I quickly backed away, turning my head, trying not to breathe. “That’s just nasty.”
Gus made a face. “It’s nastier on my end. How it smells is exactly how it tastes. Don’t light a match. It’s like I’m farting sulphur out of my mouth.”
“Please, stop. My stomach can’t take the visuals.”
“On second thought, maybe we should get the matches. That could be cool.”
Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) Page 10