"I like it," I said.
"We'll stay open all night," he continued. "Feed the nightclub crowd on weekends. We'll need a liquor license, and—"
He kept going, spinning out plans, and I happily basked in the knowledge that I had chosen my minion well.
In the end, Mom was right. She'd been right the whole time, every single phone call she made to me when I was on the road, asking me when I was going to come home, making all those pleas. She knew, and I should have known, that I'd come back eventually.
For Mom's birthday, we had a big party at their house. The spirit of celebration was headier than usual. After facing the possibility that one of these birthdays we wouldn't have her anymore, we were determined to make a production of it Cheryl had decorated the living room with streamers and balloons—which the kids couldn't keep their hands off. Then Jeffy started crying when Nicky popped one in his face, and well…Cheryl stuffed all the balloons in a closet after that, and Dad distracted the kids with wrapping paper and boxes, the best toys ever. I'd brought a huge ice cream cake. The whole family was there, relatives I hadn't seen in years stopped by, and with all the cake, snacks, and sodas, the whole place smelled like too much sugar.
The medical gurus decided Mom's cancer was Stage II. The prognosis was still good, as she kept saying. She was recovering from her second chemotherapy treatment. We'd tried to schedule the party so she'd be mostly over the effects, and the plan seemed to have worked. She was up, well, and smiling. She still had her hair, but not her appetite. We'd filled the house with her favorite foods, and she couldn't eat any of it. But she didn't complain. She was determined to put on a good show for our guests.
I felt a shadow over her, from what Arturo had said at the hospital. That she was still sick, the cancer was still there, waiting to strike. I thought about telling her, with the idea that she could do something about it, we could attack it, really stop it. But I didn't tell her. No matter what we did, we couldn't know if the cancer was all gone. And Arturo could have been lying about it. All we could do was wait, which we'd have had to do anyway.
Cheryl and I were friends again. Not that we'd ever stopped being friends. But we were sisters, and sometimes that was different. We could take each other for granted.
We sat on the sofa together, kvetching.
"It was cool having a DJ for a sister," Cheryl said, pouting a little. "I miss you just playing music all the time. You used to dig up the best stuff."
"Like you ever listened," I said. "I always did graveyards."
"What do you think I listened to when I was up with the babies at midnight?"
She had a point. I let the warm glow of the compliment settle over me. My sister, my big sister, listened to my shift. "I used to think you had the best stuff. I think you're the one who got me started on the whole music thing."
She narrowed her gaze. "Did you ever give me back that Smiths tape?"
"Oh no, we are not starting that again—"
Mom, as usual, intervened. "What about you, Ben—what kind of music do you listen to?"
"He doesn't like music," I said, glaring.
Ben occupied a nearby armchair, nibbling at a piece of cake and trying to be unobtrusive. He looked at me, feigning shock and hurt. At least I thought he was feigning.
"I never said that," he said. "I grew up watching MTV just like everyone else."
Cheryl said, "And he's old enough to remember when MTV played music."
I rolled my eyes. "Ah yes, the battle cry of Generation X." Now I had them both glaring at me. I gave up. I stood and headed toward the kitchen. "Anyone else want a soda?"
Mom watched all this, beaming, queen of all she surveyed. I stopped to hug her as I passed her chair. She was still sore, but her returning hug was strong. She'd make it, I knew she would, no matter what Arturo had said.
When I closed the fridge, I looked up to find that Ben had followed me into the kitchen.
"Can I talk to you a minute?" he said.
"What is it?" Something serious, I thought. Had to be. He had this look on his face, this too-somber and intent expression, like he was getting ready to do something difficult. To defend a client he knew was guilty. To break up with a girlfriend.
We stood for a moment, regarding each other, leaning side by side against the counter. My arms were crossed, his hands were shoved in his pockets. He was working up to saying something, and I wished he would just come out with it. I was starting to get nervous.
"Can I ask you a question?" he said.
"I think I already said yes, didn't I?"
He pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out to me. It was cupping a box. One of those little black velvet boxes from jewelry stores. I stopped breathing. Honest to God, I stopped breathing.
"I thought since we seem to have gotten the wolf side all straightened out, if maybe you'd want to make it official on the human side." He opened the box, which was good, since all I could do was stare at it, completely dumbstruck. Sure enough, there it was. A diamond ring.
I looked at him. "You—you're joking."
"Oh, come on, even I'm not that big of a jerk. No, I'm not joking. Kitty—marry me."
And I still couldn't breathe. My eyes were stinging. I knew what to say. A shrill, obnoxious voice inside me—the DJ voice, I'd always thought of it—was screaming, Say yes, you idiot! Yes!
This was the most surreal thing that had ever happened to me. Then I realized—it was also one of the coolest things that had ever happened to me. I was about to burst, and that was why I couldn't speak.
But something was wrong. I swallowed, thinking there must be some kind of mistake. "It's silver."
"Ah, no. White gold. I thought it'd be funny." He shrugged and gave me the most sheepish, adorable grin I'd ever seen.
And it was funny, and I laughed, and threw myself at him, clinging to him, and he held me tight enough to break ribs, and I said it, "Yes, yes, yes."
"What the hell's going on in here?"
Ben and I pulled apart. My sister stood in the doorway. I was surprised to notice I didn't feel at all like she'd caught me at something, like I usually did. No, I felt very, very smug.
Cheryl continued giving us her demanding big sister glare. Ben regarded her a moment. Then, with an obvious and dramatic flourish, he took the ring from the box, held it up to show her, lifted my left hand, and slipped on the ring. He looked back at her with a smug glare. I was grinning like an idiot.
She shrieked loud enough to crack glass. Ben cringed.
"Oh my God!" Then she ran to the next room and shrieked again. "Oh my God! Guess what guess what guess what—"
At least she'd left Ben and me alone again. I pressed myself close to him and nestled happily in his arms. He held me like he wasn't going to let go anytime soon, which was just fine.
I felt him breathe out a long sigh. I could almost guess what he was thinking: That's going to be my sister-in-law? He said, "You have too much family, you know that?"
"Impossible," I said. "You can never have too much family."
About the Author
Carrie Vaughn had a happy and relatively uneventful childhood, which means she had to turn to science fiction and fantasy for material to write about. An Air Force brat, she grew up all over the U.S. and managed to put down roots in Colorado, though she still has ambitions of being a world traveler. Learn more about Carrie's novels, short stories, her dog Lily, and her fascination with costumes and stick figure cartoons at www.carrievaughn.com.