Page 66 of Fangs with Benefits

Dad: Might give you good feedback.

Molly: hmmm bring my unpublished, unedited, unbound manuscript for local book club?? Brilliant idea if you want Caleb to be an only child because I would literally pass away on sight

Caleb: Who are you calling dramatic?

Caleb: Mom, I for one think it’s a great idea

Molly: mom don’t listen to him, he just wants cheap babysitting

Caleb: I will not confirm nor deny my motives

Caleb: But would be nice to see the prodigal daughter return for a holiday for once…

Molly: as I said, dramatic ass

Caleb: What’s the refund period again on that flight??

Molly: Mom avert your eyes

Molly:

Chapter 23

Elijah

It’s been two weeks of evenings with Molly–finishing work and going somewhere, both of us in our work clothes, or meeting up a few hours later. I think I love New York City, or at least the version of New York City that Molly lives in. Jellie left after a few days, rushing back to her secret research with a few new ancient texts collected from a witch in the city. While it was lovely to spend time with her, I was anxious to get back to spending time with Molly.

We’ve gone to the cinema to see three movies, two of which she called classics–really old–though I’d been alive for 329 years when they came out. I’ve learned that she eats buttery popcorn and little coloured candies called Mike and Ikes, even though she says too many of them hurt her teeth. She rests her head on my shoulder when she gets tired and it’s nearly impossible to focus when I feel her warm skin through my shirt, and then afterwards when we make out, she reminds me between kisses and wandering hands that we are just friends.

‘Of course,’ I always agree, pulling her closer.

I’ve also learned that while Mr Pibb isn’t her favourite cola, she gets it every time she goes to the theatre, because ‘it just tastes better there–it’s an unknowable science’.

I learn that along with literature, she loves art, and on a cloudy Saturday she takes me to the Met where we walk around quietly, arms brushing against each other every so often. I see a piece by the young artist I loved two centuries ago and she holds my hand while I stare at it for too long, remembering for the first time in years the look of concentration while he worked, the way he slept with paint under his nails and smeared on his chin, his limbs sprawled across mine, and how he woke with unkempt hair he’d let me brush.

I tell Molly of these memories while she eats a steaming bowl of ramen, and she threads her ankles between mine under the table.

Molly never stresses about me not eating in her favourite restaurants, easily telling the staff that I’m allergic to everything or on a weird fasting diet. I love watching her–I love the way she tells stories with her hands gesturing wildly while she speaks, love how she exclaims about her food and effusively thanks employees wherever we go.

All our outings feel like I’m getting away with something, like at any moment my brother might appear and ridicule me for growing too attached to another human. I can’t bring myself to fear this when Molly dozes off with her head on my shoulder on the train and I am full of such warmth it makes me feel almost living.

Sitting with Molly in the cafeteria on Monday, I peel three Cuties for her while she eats a sandwich she packed.

‘So how does one become a vampire anyway?’ she asks casually. We’re tucked in a shady corner while most others enjoying their lunches bask in the lovely sunny day shining through the tall windows. Molly doesn’t seem to mind.

‘It’s simple, or it should be,’ I tell her. ‘A human must die after drinking a vampire’s blood. If all goes to plan, they wake up undead a short time later.’

‘That’s it? How much blood? Like a lot of it?’

‘Not sure there’s a required measure.’ I tilt my head, remembering in gruesome detail the first and last time I tried to turn someone. ‘Vampire blood can heal almost any wound, so in general, vampires are very protective of it.’ This is a secret I would be punished for telling, but I think I would tell Molly any single thing she asked.

‘Neat trick,’ she says, then crunches on a crisp. She layers them in her sandwiches, one for every bite.

‘If you create a vampire, you’re responsible for them for the rest of your immortal life, so it’s not a decision made lightly,’ I explain.

‘Big commitment,’ she agrees, chewing on her lower lip for a moment before taking another bite. ‘You said it should be easy. Is it not always?’

I rub the back of my neck, the familiar grief and guilt warring for dominance in my chest. It’s been so long that so many of my memories of Ada have faded–I cannot recall her voice, her laugh, even the details of her face are soft around the edges. The guilt wins over the grief most days.