Thankfully, impossibly, Loren doesn't seem to notice the gross, messy way that almost everyone—except for Rob, because Rob is awesome—is devouring their food. Or, you know, maybe she's just too polite to reveal that she notices it.
She tries the duck herself, chewing thoughtfully on the little forkful of meat she put in her mouth, and then she glances up to the head of the table, eyes bright and wide.
“Sophia, this is so good! Did you make it yourself?”
Sophia smiles. She loves having her food complimented. “I'm so pleased that you like it.” And then, steamrolling right into a change of subject before Loren can say anything else, she narrows her eyes. “Becca didn't tell me anything about you, I'm afraid. For all I knew, you were a vegetarian.”
Jimmy glances up with a wide smile, shoveling another handful of duck into his mouth. “Vegetarians are my favorite food group!” he says around the duck.
Everyone except Rob, Loren and me starts to laugh—way more uproariously than that joke deserved. Loren glances sidelong at me, looking confused, and I shake my head a little, massaging my temples as I take a deep breath.
“Did you hear about that new vampire movie coming out?” pipes up Jimmy then.
Oh, God, no. No.
See, most people don't want politics discussed at family gatherings.
For werewolves? It's vampires. Vampires, and our extreme opinions of them. Kind of similar to politics, but even more divisive, if you'd believe it.
I don't know how the feud started, but vampires and werewolves have been at one another's throats for centuries. No one knows how it started, and some more enlightened vampires and werewolves realize that this ridiculous, seemingly baseless, conflict should cease to exist.
But then there are those among us, like my uncle Kyle, who think vampires are evil and should all die. For...no particular reason. Mostly just because he hates them. He calls them “blood suckers” in a derogatory tone of voice—because Kyle is prolific but unoriginal when it comes to slurs.
“Damn blood suckers,” he says, tossing one of the duck bones he was gnawing back onto his plate. He picks up his cloth napkin and rubs his greasy fingers on it. “Why in the world do they get more screen time than us?”
Loren glances up, her brow furrowed, and because the table isn't quite as wide as a Downton Abbey table, I manage to kick my uncle's shin lightly.
He glances at me in surprise, but then I immediately start talking. And because I'm panicked, this is the only thing I can think of to talk about: “Spring is coming, huh?” I say brightly, banging an open hand down onto the table. “My goodness, March goes in like a lion and out like a lamb—am I right?”
Inwardly banging my head on a concrete wall in mortification, I'm also relieved that Kyle takes the bait.
“Eh, it's going to be a cold spring, you mark my words,” he says, shaking his head. “Have you been smelling the wind? There's frost in it. I can feel it in my paws most mornings.”
Oh, my God. My mother was supposed to tell them. She was supposed to tell them to be on their best behavior, and they must realize that there's a human in their midst...
But then, Kyle's never really been the most observant of wolves.
“Paws?” asks Loren, setting her fork down.
Kyle blinks and stares at Loren, as if he completely forgot she was in the room. “Um,” he says, glancing at me with wide eyes. I glare at him. “No. Not paws,” he says, and I can practically see the wheels, very slowly, turning in his brain. “Um. My nose.”
“Oh,” says Loren, and now I can see her struggling with the fact that “paws” and “nose” don't rhyme in the slightest and there is no way that he could have been trying to say “nose.” But she drops it.
And I sag back against my chair.
I can survive this. I can survive this, I tell myself over and over again. If I think it enough times, it might become the truth.
Since the only bits of duck still left on the table are bones (and a few of my relatives, like Kyle, are chewing on those), the next course is brought out. Only Loren and I still have food on our plates as Rod comes around, depositing the next course in front of us.
I groan inwardly. This is what my mother has always, ironically, called her special salad recipe, but it's not that. There isn't a vegetable in sight, actually, as I gaze down at my bowl in front of me, filled to the brim with shredded turkey, chicken, pork, and beef crumbles, topped with a savory sauce and bacon bits.
I notice Loren turn slightly green at the sight of the mound of (barely cooked) meat, but because she's a brave woman, she actually picks up her fork and takes a small bite.
My mother leans forward in her seat now, narrowing her eyes and setting Loren in her sights. Okay, here it comes: twenty questions.
“So, Loren,” my mother says smoothly, “tell me about yourself.”
Loren seems all too glad to put her fork down beside her bowl. She swallows, then takes a sip of water, smiling at my mother. “Oh, well, I moved here from Colorado a while ago,” she says, leaning forward on her elbows, “and I've been working in a bookstore ever since.”
“A bookstore?” If my mother were saying the word vampire, she wouldn't have been able to sound more disgusted, as if she just swallowed a gulp of sour milk. “Is that it, then? Your end goal?”
“Mom—” I growl to her.
“No,” Loren says, smiling at me now as she reaches down and squeezes my hand. “It's all right. I...I've always wanted to write, honestly, and I'm working on a novel. It's still in its early stages, but—”
My mother's scowling face has transformed, now wearing the jubilant grin of a kid at Christmas. “Ah, a novelist!” she practically chirps. “How ambitious!” She turns a steely gaze on me. “You know, my daughter could learn a few things from you. She's stuck in that Sportsmania place—”
“Sports Mountain,” I correct her for only the millionth time.
“—and claims she's content. Can you believe that?” She snorts; then her tone becomes wheedling. “Maybe you could convince her to strive for something, to aim higher.” My mother's eyes are glittering as she pins Loren down in a stare.
Ma is Alpha because she's powerful, and that's something a werewolf can pick up on in a second, but even an average human (and Loren is most certainly not an average human) would notice her strength right now. My mother is leaning forward just a little in her seat—hardly anything to notice, but visible if you know what to look for—and her eyes are flashing with a spark of power.
“Are you the persuasive type, Loren?” my mother asks, her voice low and cool but commanding.
“Oh, I don't know...” says Loren, shifting uncomfortable in her seat, but my mother talks over her.
“I think you are,” Ma says smoothly, and then she waves her hand in Loren's direction. “Look at you, so cute and sweet.” She folds her hands in her lap, her eyes still glittering as she smiles wanly. “Just like Snow White. You could charm little wild animals, couldn't you?” My mother leans forward more, dropping her voice. “Hell, you could probably charm a werewolf.”
For a solid second, everyone pauses in what they're doing. All eyes are on Loren and me as I sit there, in denial that my mother really just said that. She couldn't possibly have said that. She doesn't make mistakes, and I'm sure she remembered exactly what she'd promised me...
So did Ma just use the word werewolf...on purpose?
“Mother,” I hiss, stricken, but everyone around us just laughs or coughs into their hands. I glance at Rob, who's staring at me with wide eyes. He shrugs, just a little, one brow up. Play it cool, he's telling me. Water off a duck's back.
My mother shrugs, rolling her shoulders elegantly. “What? She's pretty. That's all I'm saying. And smart. You need someone smart in your life, Becca.”
And that's when the night really begins to unravel. Because my mother stares right past me, and at Rob.
“That cousin of yours...” she hisses.
Aunt Sonia, who sa
t down next to Rob, visibly stiffens. I can feel her anger almost instantly. There's a palpable electricity in the air, but it isn't only coming from her.
Because I'm pissed, too.
This was supposed to be a nice (ha! As nice as it could be, under the circumstances) dinner party. I brought Rob not to show my mother up but because it was time to end the stupid banishment.
Something needed to change.
“Don't start,” I tell my mother, and I'm surprised to hear my voice come out in a more forceful growl than I'd intended.
The room quiets, and the atmosphere shifts. Everyone is perking up their ears, paying attention to the dynamic between my mother and me. Aunt Sonia is pissed, yes, but when I stare at my mother, there's something about the way she lifts her lip, something about the way she leans forward. Like she's challenging me, egging me on to become angrier.
“My sister was far too soft on him when he was growing up,” my mother says, her voice as quiet as a whisper, but the raw power behind it making the air crackle and pulse, “and now he's—”
Just as my aunt Sonia stiffens and is about to snarl (I can feel her tension along my side like a storm brewing), a crew of wild-looking little boys barrels into the room, tossing something squawking between them.
In the confusion, the tension dissipates, replaced by something else entirely. Because all of those wild-looking little boys are my cousins, and I realize, with a sinking sensation, that the thing they're tossing back and forth is one of the chickens my mother keeps in the coop out back, beside Angela's pen.
My mother's chickens, since their lives literally depend on it, are very, very fast on their feet, and this chicken is no exception. She's a pretty bird with bright orange plumage along her breast, and a really fluffy head. She's probably one of Ma's expensive hens, the ones she gets for their special eggs (I don't know much about chickens, and when I tried one of the eggs from these rare hens, I really didn't notice a taste difference). As the chicken goes sailing over our head, flapping her poor wings miserably, I try to grab her, but the panicked bird is just a little bit faster than I am.
“Is that...” says Loren, paling, but I'm already on my feet, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
“Guys, take the bird back outside!” I command them, but Victor is already staring at me with puppy-dog eyes, clasping his hands in front of him.
“But Grandma said, if we were good, we would get to play chicken ball in the house!” he whines plaintively.
I'm not having any of it.
Admittedly, I can't be certain, since I did, you know, grow up as a werewolf, but I've never seen a single sitcom episode about normal, all-American families during which the kids play chicken ball at a dinner party.
That explains the horrified expression on Loren's face.
“Victor,” I growl, “outside!”
“Aw, man!” the kid mutters, and I can feel Connor's eyes boring into the back of my skull, but the kids do start to obey me, trying to round up the chicken. Still, the chicken is just too fast and flappy, and when Victor attempts to throw himself on the hen, she escapes, fluttering onto the table.
The chicken squawks as if the hounds of hell are at her tail feathers (that's...not entirely wrong, actually) and scampers across the table, stepping onto everyone's plates and fluttering around the vases full of flowers positioned in the center of the table.
The situation is made worse by the adults standing and swatting at the bird or trying to catch her, too, but this hen is determined to remain free. Uncle Kyle makes a slow grab at her, and the hen overturns a wineglass in her mad rush to evade him—and then she suddenly makes up her mind.
She darts across from Kyle, toward Loren.
And the hen folds her wings and dives into my girlfriend's lap.
I'm fairly certain that everyone, including Loren, thinks the chicken is about to get up and dart away, but much to our surprise...the hen stays in her lap. She actually settles down there, and just as surprised as the rest of us, Loren places her hands around the bird's ample body, her fingers gentle as she holds the trembling bird.
“See?” my mother murmurs indulgently, sitting back in her chair and crossing her legs beneath the table. “What did I tell you? Just like Snow White.”
I glare at Ma as she motions for Rod to come over and start cleaning up the mess on the table. Several of the guests are standing up now, cursing the stains on their clothes and trying to blot out some of them with napkins dipped in water glasses, but I've got to be honest: some of my family are still contentedly chowing down on their meat, chicken footprints notwithstanding.
“Let's...get that hen to safety,” I murmur, standing and taking the chicken gently from Loren's lap. The bird does not want to leave her, her little claws pricking into Loren's skirt, but I finally disentangle them and firmly hold the hen under my arm. “Loren, want to take a walk?” I ask her, jerking my chin toward the door leading out of the dining room.
Loren sets her napkin on the table and stands, nodding firmly. “Yeah,” she murmurs, glancing at the chicken in my arms. “I could use some air...”
I turn to go and clasp a hand over Rob's shoulder, leaning down toward his ear. “You gonna be okay? She was just starting in on you before all this happened—”
“Yeah, don't worry about me,” says Rob with a big grin. “Mama Bear over here has my back.”
Sonia is sitting in her chair, her arms crossed in front of her, a very pissed expression on her face.
But, still, I don't want it to come down to all-out war in here. “I'll just be a minute,” I tell him, but he shakes his head.
“Don't worry,” he repeats, because he's Rob, one of the best people I've ever met.
“Okay,” I tell him with a small smile, and then I'm ushering Loren out of the dining room, down the hall and out into my mother's beautiful twilit backyard. We make our way toward the chicken coop, but we don't say much of anything until I deposit the hen into the coop itself, making sure that the door is latched securely. I lean against the little building, and then I groan, staring up at the first star that's starting to edge its way past the dark purple clouds overhead.
“I'm so sorry—” I begin, completely unable to look at Loren, but she stops me, placing a gentle hand on my arm.
“Don't worry about it,” she says, leaning against the coop, too, as we look to my mother's backyard, a little bit of fog rolling out from beneath the trees. It's atmospheric and beautiful, and it seems to make Loren happy to watch the fog move across the ground, slow and steady. She laughs a little then, bumping her shoulder against mine. “In retrospect,” she says, casting me a sidelong glance, “this experience been unexpectedly hilarious so far.”
I tap the top of the coop with my fingers. “And kind of humiliating.” I shake my head, feeling my stomach tighten. “I promise—I'm related to everyone in there, but I have nothing in common with them. Or...not much.”
“Come on,” says Loren, reaching out and taking my hand, threading our fingers together. My heart starts to beat a little faster. She leans close, placing her head on my shoulder as she sighs. “They aren't so bad,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. “I think—” she begins.
But she stops talking. We both stop talking.
Because loud and long and clear, and very, very close by...comes a wolf's howl.
I stiffen, my entire body filled with panic as I glance at Loren's face. Her brow is furrowed, and she looks confused. I can identify each of my relatives by his or her howl, just as I can identify them by their voices, and the person who just howled?
Yeah, totally Uncle Kyle. I guess my light kick under the table wasn't enough to remind him to try and act human for a night. But then, he's uncle Kyle, and Kyle has always, always done what he wants.
I sigh miserably. This night is just unraveling. Maybe there's no way to escape the fact that Loren will find out sooner or later exactly what I am, what my family is. What all of us are.
Werewolves.
Maybe...maybe this is just how it was meant to happen.
But I wanted to be the one to tell her, in those few, scary moments when I considered what it would be like if Loren actually knew. I've only thought about it twice. The first time I considered what it might be like to tell her that I am a werewolf, I became so nervous that I almost hyperventilated. The second time didn't go much better.
Because she might disappear from my life, no longer want any part of me. She might wish, adamantly and wholeheartedly, that she'd never even met me.
And I can't bear that. I can't bear the idea that what I am could be repugnant to her.
Right now, I have no idea how she'd react to the truth. It's a Schrodinger's cat situation. She might react beautifully; she might react terribly. But who knows? I don't want to open the box. I don't want to find out.
Not yet.
Loren watches me, her eyes shining, as the mournful howl dies out into silence. “Did you hear that?” she whispers. Her heart is beating so much faster, and the blood is rushing right beneath her skin, making her cheeks redden. As I look down at her, I realize...she's excited.
I mean, that makes sense. She loves wolves.
“Um,” I say, swallowing. I have no idea how to answer her, so I opt for ridiculousness: “Hear what?” She lifts her brows even higher as I fully commit to my fib. “No,” I say, stretching out the word, “I didn't hear anything. Come on!” I tell her with false brightness, “we should go back in—”
And that's when Uncle Kyle howls again. The howl is loud, much louder now, as if he's getting closer. I lift my nose, but we're downwind from the direction that the howl came from, around the corner of my mother's mansion, and I can't tell if Kyle's actually aiming for us or—
“That!” Loren says, bouncing up and down in place as she grins at me. “It's a wolf! I'm sure of it! At least, I think I am. I mean, I've never heard one in the wild, but...” She blinks at me. “Is there... Is the zoo nearby? With, like, an offshoot branch or something?
“It could be a dog,” I tell her quickly, but she really doesn't look convinced.
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