Page 16 of Such Sharp Teeth

“I hate it,” I say. “Hate it.”

Ash opens the door.

“Hello, hello! Come in,” she says.

Luca, wearing a pair of Batman underwear, bursts between her legs with a throaty bellow.

Scarlett takes my hand and squeezes it.

“Luca,” Ash says. “Can we please say hello to Aunt Scarlett and Aunt Rory?”

He continues to yell, like he’s sustaining a note. Kid’s got the lungs of an opera singer. Baby Bocelli.

Ash sighs, shrugs, then scoops him up under the armpits and drags him back into the house.

I step through the door, pulling a reluctant Scarlett behind me.

There are plastic bins overflowing with Halloween decorations in the foyer.

“Do you have enough decorations, Ash? Lawn’s looking a little sparse.”

“Those are my indoor decorations,” she says, not understanding.

She’s distracted by the wriggling toddler in her arms. She sets him down on the couch and hands him an iPad. Luca gives a triumphant, hiccupy giggle as his little finger begins to tap away at the screen. Ash shuffles into the kitchen. By the time Scarlett and I make it to the table, she’s already set out a spread. Scones and bagels and cream cheese and lox and mixed fruit. Sausage and bacon and some kind of hash brown bake with a crust of bubbling brown cheese on top. There are carafes of orange juice and cranberry juice and iced tea.

“I can make some coffee,” she says, reading my mind. “I’ve also got lunch stuff. I could make sandwiches, or salads, if you prefer.”

“I don’t prefer salad, no,” Scarlett says, helping herself to a scone.

“Coffee would be great, thanks,” I say, reaching for some bacon.

Half of it is crisp and the other is fatty and limp. I shove it into my mouth. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten.

“You look great, Rory,” Ash says, pressing a series of buttons on her fancy coffee machine. It looks like it belongs in a lab, not a kitchen.

“Thanks,” I say.

I suspect she’s lying, but I haven’t looked in a mirror today, so maybe? But if I look anything like how I feel, she could put me out on the lawn, and I’d fit right in. Passersby would shudder at the sight of me, without the slightest clue that I’m actually human and not a Halloween decoration.

A belligerent pain claws at the seam of my side. It’s so explicit, the feeling of it under my skin, the strain of it against my bandages. It’s an alive thing, this pain. A hurt with arms and legs, hands and feet. A hungry, anxious mouth.

I’m sitting here all casual as repulsive silver goo spills from me. Maybe I am a Halloween decoration.

“Oat milk?” Ash asks. “I’ve also got pumpkin spice creamer.”

“I’ll take the pumpkin spice,” I say. “Not above it.”

“Are you feeling all right?” she asks, setting the coffee down in front of me. It’s in a giant white mug shaped like a ghost. It’s got two black eyes and a gaping black mouth painted on it.

“Boo,” I tell it, before taking a sip.

“I mean, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says, sitting next to me.

“Rory is going to date Ian Pedretti,” Scarlett says, forking a strawberry.

She thinks she’s saving me, but honestly, right now I’d rather talk about my ooze than Ian. It’s becoming too big a deal and it’s making me itchy and anxious, making me not want to see him again to spite the pressure.

“Really?” Ash asks, clapping.