Matt

It was a few days since Evelyn had come over. Even though I wanted to try putting Erica’s advice into practice, I decided to give myself some time to cool off before I tried reaching out. When I did, through the medium of Chelsea, Evelyn agreed eagerly, and the day was set.

I’d taken to calling her Evelyn, like everyone else. “Dad” just didn’t feel right any more, but there was no way in hell I was gonna call her mom. Evelyn seemed right, at least until I came up with something better.

Our supervision had decreased significantly over the last few days. A few of those walking moss things were still posted up outside, Chelsea still needed to let them know when she was leaving, and I was still mostly confined to this house, but at least we’d moved past the live-in babysitter phase. Erica and Willow were nice enough, but I liked my privacy. I still didn’t fully trust Aoife, despite reassurances from Erica, Willow, and Chel that she was only capable of eliciting fear. I hadn’t realized Cyrus had done anything at all until we’d been away from him for weeks. If Aoife was capable of similar subtlety, I couldn’t be sure.

Having said that, I can’t say I hated it here. The food was fresh and sweet and delicious, with fresh grown fruits and veggies every day, the people (the ones that I’d been able to meet, at least) were genuinely respectful and understanding, and after weeks spent wandering an apocalyptic forest, even something simple like a decent bed seemed like heaven.

I’d have to leave eventually, I understood that. I’d been told what the goblins said, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them. That they were willing to let me go free at all after what I did was only further proof of how severely I’d been lied to. Even still. Even knowing that I couldn’t stay, I relished in the small comforts I’d been missing since all this began. The sheer peace and mundanity of it all allowed me to escape from the pain and the memories, if only for a moment.

Now, I was making an omelet. I didn’t have cheese, and I was saving the meat I had for supper, but I had eggs and veggies and a working gas stove and I was making a goddamn omelet in the post-apocalypse. When it was done, I’d brew myself a fresh cup of coffee, sit down on the sofa, and talk to the parent I’d wanted so desperately to kill a week ago.

Evelyn hadn’t arrived yet, but that was understandable. She was never a morning person, and I can’t imagine becoming a vampire helped. As long as she showed up, that was fine by me. I just needed to work through my feelings and build some new memories, and since I knew what was coming this time, I felt like I had a much better handle on my emotions. I didn’t want this to end in another one sided screaming match.

As I was pressing the plunger down on the french press Willow had graciously taught me how to use, there was a knock at the door. I quickly grabbed a mug, filling it with fresh coffee and pouring in a few drops of the sweet, sugary syrup provided by the garden. There was no milk, but I could go without. Coffee in hand, I hurried to the door and swung it open.

“Good morning, Matt.” It was Evelyn, of course. She had a warm look in her eyes, but there was a hint of wariness as well. After what happened the last time she came over, I suppose I couldn’t blame her. In spite of myself, a shot of adrenaline spiked through me at the sight of her, and I fought tooth and nail to keep it from showing on my face. It was obvious anyways, if only from the shaking of my hand, and the coffee now dangerously close to spilling.

“H-hey, Evelyn. I uh… I made omelets, if you’re hungry.” I felt unimaginably awkward, and every instinct in my body was screaming and thrashing and telling me to run or to fight or to yell or do something other than make small talk! I did my best to grab that instinct and beat it into the dirt.

“I appreciate that, Kiddo, but I can’t eat normal food anymore. It makes me sick.” She smiled apologetically. “Don’t worry though, I brought my own breakfast.”

She gestured to a small flask hanging from her belt, filled (presumably) with blood, before nodding her head towards the living room behind me. Ah. Right. We were in the doorway. With a deep breath, I turned my back on her and walked over to my favorite chair. It was old and overly padded, and some part of me liked the way I sank into the cushions. My plate already sat on the armrest where I'd left it earlier. I was vaguely aware of Evelyn sitting on a chair across from me, but I fixed my attention on my food. I was hoping that exposure, having her in the room while I did something simple, like eating breakfast, would help me move past the instinctive fear her presence seemed to cause. She seemed to catch on to what I was doing, and so made little effort to engage in conversation. At least not at first. Instead, she leisurely nursed on her flask and settled into her seat.

Of course, there was a downside to focusing so hard on my food. Without any distractions, it was gone before I knew it, and once it was gone, there was nothing to distract me from her. I took another deep, calming breath. Chelsea and I had been working on techniques to handle anxiety, and I was trying my best to employ them now. Eventually, I worked up the courage to meet her eyes.

“So uh… what’s it like, anyway? Drinking blood, that is.” I had to start somewhere.

Evelyn took a long draw from her flask as she considered my question.

“I guess it depends on who you’re drinking from. At least, as far as flavor is concerned.” She seemed much more relaxed now, the tension she’d shown in the doorway had all but vanished. “It’s usually fairly sweet, always delicious, and when the person has magic, the flavor reflects that. Aoife’s like a cool mint, Willow is a bit more… earthy, and Cass has a very rich, almost creamy flavor. It also gets me drunk or high or whatever you want to call it whenever I’ve had too much of it.”

She looked really relaxed right now.

“Are you..?”

She burst out laughing.

“No! Goddess no! Could you imagine?” She giggled some more. “There’s enough in this flask to get me buzzed at most, that’s it. I’m trying to reconnect, and I can’t do that high. I just- I missed this, y’know? Little, simple things like having breakfast together. I missed that.”

“I get it.” I wasn’t lying. I was shaky and stressed and feeling generally very uncomfortable about this whole situation, but I did miss this. I missed her. It was so much easier when I convinced myself that she was a monster, that she’d replaced Dad, and that she was irredeemable, but she was here now, and she was the same person she’d always been, and she was my mother. “I missed this too.”