Nightmare (24 page)

The diner reeks of fried food and coffee and humans.

“Two?” The hostess at the counter asks us, holding up two fingers.

“Yes,” I say. She writes something down and hands us a number written on a wooden disk. There are several other people waiting for tables, most of them elderly couples, but there are a few families with children. Ava smiles at a little girl who hides her face in her mother's leg, but peeks back at Ava, who blows up her cheeks. The little girl giggles and hides her face again. I have never seen Ava with children.

The family's number is called, and Ava waves to the little girl who skips off to their table.

“She is so cute.” A little twinge of longing permeates her voice. So small she is not aware of it. But I hear it.

“You would make a good mother.” She stares at me. I know that look. I have said something she did not expect. This happens less often to me, but it does every now and then.

Her cheeks bloom with red. “I'm a little young to be thinking about that anyway.” She pulls a thread off my shirt and won't look any higher than my chest. 

Not too young to think about throwing away her mortality.

A few minutes later the waitress calls our number. We're seated in the last booth at the end of the diner. It's coated in a thin glaze of grease from hundreds of french fries. Ava slides in one side and I go on the other. The menus wait for us, and I feel as if I should pick mine up, to keep up appearances.

Ava laughs as I pretend to study the menu. “Don't bother, I've got the whole thing memorized.”

“But this is a human date. We should act like we haven't been here.” There are a lot of things on this menu I had never eaten when I was human. What are sweet potato fries?

“Oh, right.” She picks up her menu and pretends to peruse it. I want to reach for her hands. Our waitress comes over moments later. She's about seventeen, Ava's age, with dyed red hair and a jewel in her nose.

“How are you doing tonight?” She leans on one hip and tosses her head. 

“Good,” Ava says. 

“Can I start you off with some drinks?” I feel her gaze on me, but it skitters away just as fast. Her heart rate increases, and she starts to let off a scent I've smelled millions of times. Fear. 

“Water,” I say.

“I'll have a Sprite.”

“Do you need some more time with the menu, or are you ready to order?”

“I'll have a piece of the lemon meringue pie.” The waitress writes it down, leaning as far away from me as possible.

“And for you?” She turns to me, her pen poised. She can sense my otherness, and can't meet my eyes, keeping her gaze firmly on the yellow notepad.

“I am fine, thank you.” She nods and scurries away, glad to be away from my presence.

“You could have ordered something,” Ava says, stacking the menus the waitress forgot on the end of the table. “That would have been the human thing to do.”

“I did not want to waste anything.”

“I guess not. You look kind of overdressed for this place.” Her eyes linger on my chest. They have been doing that a lot since I bought the new clothes.

“I dressed for you, not the location.”

“Also my dad,” she points out. An elderly couple walks by us, taking the booth behind us. He has bad lungs. She has a healing bone in her hip. Still, they wear smiles on their faces. I can almost smell the love of nearly fifty years they've shared together. I tune out their conversation and focus on Ava.

“Also for him.” I wish I could have washed the clothes before I wore them. They still linger with the scent of the thrift store and their last owner. Ava does not seem to notice or care.

“You look good,” she says, putting her hands on the table.

“How are you?”

“I'm good. It's okay. I thought it was going to be really bad, but there's so much else. It's like there is so much of it that I can't focus on one, so it just doesn't bother me. Does that make sense?” It did. I had been through it millions of times before. More than I could ever count or remember. That was the biggest challenge being a noctalis. Resisting the urge for blood and finding something to fill your eternity.

“Yes.” I touch her knee under the table. “What other human things should we do?” I ask. She will have to take the lead for tonight.

“Well, we should gaze into each other's eyes and argue about how awesome the other one is.”

“Do you want to do that?” It doesn't sound like something Ava would participate in. 

She smiles. “The gazing maybe. But I don't like to do that in public. It's too intimate. Also, it looks weird when two people are staring at each other. By the way, you should probably blink every now and then. And try to, you know, breathe. Or look like it. I'm used to you being so still, but the waitress is already freaked out by you. No offense.”

“None taken.” I never take offense to anything she says. I can see the waitress is hyper aware of me and how different I seem. Ava's father feels it as well, but his wife's approval overwhelms that feeling. Most of the time.

“If we were doing the complete human experience, we'd probably drive your car to a place and park it to make out.” A blush creeps from her neck to her face as she says it.

“Is that what human couples do?” I have seen plenty of teenage couples to know that is what they do. The level of lasciviousness in teenagers today is astonishing.

“Sometimes. Other times they get drunk and stumble around.”

“That I do know about.” I had seen enough of that at the party we attended.

“Yeah, I know.” The waitress interrupts us by bringing back our drinks. She sloshes some of the water when she sets mine down and hastily tries to mop it up.

“I am so sorry.” She says it several times, as if we haven't heard her. I am familiar with human gestures of nerves. Ava has many of them.

“It is fine,” I say, trying a smile. I don't show teeth, I just lift my lips a little. The waitress won't look at me. She apologizes again and goes to take another order.

“That smile wasn't bad. Still needs work. We need to give you a few different smiles for different situations.”

“I still need to laugh.” I hadn't tried yet. My throat didn't seem capable of making the sound. 

“I know. We need to find things that are funny to you. I know you have a sense of humor. I've seen it. Your sarcasm has gotten better.”

“Thank you.” I practice a breath. The air whistles in my lungs. I try just moving my chest in and out. That's better.

“You're welcome.” She reaches out for my hand under the table. I give it to her, squeezing her fingers gently. “I'm happy I'm here with you.” The feeling sloshes through her, like a wave. It is good.

“I'm happy to be here with you.” I blink for her.

“Earth-shatteringly happy?” Her smile appears again. I have seen it many times tonight. I never get tired of seeing it.

“Incandescently, earth-shatteringly happy.”

Her fingers trace circles on the back my hand. “I love that word, incandescent.” 

“I like it very much, too.” I let her voice and the feel of her skin absorb into me, wash the smell of the diner away. 

The pie arrives, with the tower of white meringue several inches atop the yellow lemon gel. Very pleasing to the eye.

“It's almost too pretty to eat,” she sighs, picking up her fork. She's finished her soda and had some of my water so it looks like I drank it. The waitress gave us two forks, so I pick one up.

“What are you doing?”

“Being human.” The plate moves out of the reach of my fork. Her fingers latch onto it as if holding on for dear life.

“Sorry, but your humaness doesn't extend to having my pie.” I pull my fork back. 

“Would you share it with me. If I could have it?”

“I've given you my blood haven't I?” She points her fork at me. As if she's going to stab me with it. I know better than to get between Ava and pie.

“Yes.”

“My blood is almost as valuable as this pie.” She sticks her fork into the very edge of the pie, scooping out a large bite. She brings it to her mouth and rolls her eyes back in ecstasy.

“Is it good?” Nodding, she swallows and takes another bite.

“Heaven. Absolute heaven.” I watch her finish the rest of the slice, even scraping the plate to get the last bit of lemon. She licks her fork and puts it down on the plate next to my unused one. Considering for a moment, she folds up her napkin.

“Come here.” She sits up, leaning over the table. I do the same and she meets my lips. I can taste the pie on her breath. The sharp tang of the lemon with the sweet coolness of the meringue.

“There,” she says when our lips part. “Now you've had a taste.” Her smile is nearly as sweet as the pie.

Ava

It was the human thing to do. And it felt good. Kissing Peter had always felt good, right. But I'm aware that the kiss could have been our last. I pull back as fast as I can an wait for something bad to happen. Seconds pass.

He licks his lips after our kiss. 

“Very good,” he says. Disaster averted, second of the night. It was probably good I didn't tell him how scared I was about going into the diner. But it wasn't bad. The blood kind of mingled with the other smells, creating a delicious aroma that made me want to eat the air.

The kissing was another matter. It was arrogant of me to think that just one kiss could make him instantly fall in love with me. It hadn't happened yet. And if I couldn't kiss him on this one night, then what was the point? Humans didn't have these problems. And tonight, we were human. Tomorrow we would be a girl and an angel vampire. But not tonight.

I end up paying the bill because Peter doesn't have any money. It's also not really fair for him to pay when I'm the one who consumed both the Sprite and the pie. I offer, once again, to sell some of his things on eBay. He asks me if it's a human thing. I say yes, although, it would be impossible to tell. I'm sure there are many a noctali selling their priceless antiques online. He reluctantly agrees.

At least that's one thing we've settled. I have hope for other things, too. And more kissing. 

I hold Peter's hand again as we drive to the beach. Part of me wants to go to the cemetery, but that wouldn't have been part of human night. People didn't do things like that unless they were really weird or stoned or something. I was the former.

The town beach doesn't open for a few more weeks, so there are no other cars parked outside the closed gate. Peter lifts me up and over as if I'm nothing more than a bag of feathers.

“That wasn't human, but thanks anyway,” I say as he vaults over the gate himself.

He glances backward. “Should I do it over?” I laugh.

“No, it's fine. I'll overlook it.” I twist my fingers in his, swinging our hands. He resists at first.

“This is human. Go with it.” He does and I have this image of us skipping. It's not a very masculine image, but it's kinda funny.

When we get to the edge of the beach I tell him we have to take our shoes off, even though the sand is cold.

“It's the human thing to do.” We stack our shoes on top of a trash can so we can find them on our way back. The sand worms  its way between my toes in the moonlight. Dried seaweed scrapes against the soles of my feet, but I've walked barefoot on this beach so many times, my feet are no longer sensitive to the rocks and broken shells. Of course none of this bothers Peter. He strides right into the water. I roll my pants up just in case.

“You know there are people who swim in the ocean in the middle of the winter.”

“Isn't that dangerous?” He stands still. The current tugging at him has no chance against an immortal.

“Probably. They do it to raise money for charity. They bring hot tubs and stuff so they can jump right in.” I pull my arms around myself, wishing I'd thought to bring a blanket or extra sweatshirt. Peter throws his jacket at me. I put it on. It's already absorbed some of his smell. Oh, heaven.

“Do you want to do it?” He sounds serious.

I back away from an oncoming wave, barely avoiding getting my feet soaked. “Uh, no. That's a crazy human thing to do.”

“I see.” I wasn't sure he did, but I let it go. “The moonlight is so beautiful on your hair.” And then he says something like that.

“I love you.” The words have a mind of their own. I am powerless to stop them, as if he's cast me under a spell. Most of the time I think he has. I shouldn't have said it.

He looks at me over his shoulder. “I adore you.” 

It was hard for me to imagine he could say all those things he felt and have it not turn into love. Part of me wondered if there was a switch that he shut off. He would walk close to the edge and lean over, but never take that final leap. 

I had this theory that it was a strange form of self-preservation. Except love was this thing that you couldn't plan, couldn't stop. It just happened. So I wasn't absolutely sure. What I was sure about was that I didn't want him to love me until we had broken the bind. It wasn't safe until then.

“I love that you adore me,” I whisper. I felt the need to tell him it was okay if he couldn't love me. Adoring me would have been enough. So would cherishing me. Such a little word, love. Only four letters. When re-arranged could also spell vole. Nothing threatening about voles. There's lots that's threatening about love.

“It is getting late,” Peter says when we've walked the length of the beach twice. I'm cold, but I've got Peter's jacket plus my own, so I'll live.

“I know. You said you'd have me back by 9:00. Nice job with that, by the way. Getting me in early is a good way to earn brownie points with my dad.” I bump him with my shoulder.

“I thought it would stand me in good stead.” We walk with our shoulders touching. I'd like to get closer, but I don't want to be too greedy.

“Well, I'm sure by the time you take me back, Mom will have talked him into being more in love with you than I am.”

“I do not adore your father.” This induces a laugh from me that shatters the calm of the night.

“I should hope not. By the way, that brings up an interesting question I've been thinking about. Are there any gay noctali?” I'd never thought to ask before now.

“When we meet someone we are attracted to, gender is not so important. When you do not have to reproduce, something like that does not matter.” Well, what do you know about that?