My Big Fat Demon Slayer Wedding by Angie Fox Page B

reciting the letter when he answered the phone.”
    Yes. “I can’t believe you told him that.”
    I glanced at Dimitri, who was calmly taking the bacon off the stove, as if I wasn’t about to sink into the floor.
    My mom didn’t even notice. “Only it was the boy’s dad who answered, and you confessed your love to Mr. Peterman instead.”
    Yes, yes. I knew. I was there.
    “He handed the phone to Matt,” I said, more to Dimitri than to her. It still stung to think about it.
    “But you’d already hung up and ran.” She turned to Dimitri, who thank heaven, wasn’t enjoying the story either. “She’s always been a little emotional,” my mom said, by way of warning.
    “I think it’s sweet,” he told her. “As long as you’re not still dating him.” He leveled his gaze at me.
    “Ha. No,” I said, amazed at his ability to deflect my mother. Maybe I could take lessons.
    And for her information, I wasn’t emotional. I was controlled. Ice. I’d relentlessly fixed that part of myself, to the point where I’d almost lost Dimitri, and the biker witches. Even now, I found it hard to open up.
    As I was figuring out how to say that, Dimitri walked over and gave me a hug. He pressed a kiss against the top of my head, then against my ear. “I don’t care if you have a sordid past. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
    I snickered against his chest, needing him like my next breath.
    Hillary cleared her throat, but before she could say anything, Ant Eater’s rusty voice called out. “Hey, eggs first. Then you can get all smoochy.”
    A bunch of the hung over witches filed into the kitchen. “You’re alive,” I said.  
    Barely.  
    They were wearing the same tea party clothes they’d had on yesterday. Only now, their ribbons were gone, their buns were flopping to the side and their lipstick—while never quite classy—had smeared. They looked like retired hookers.
    Dimitri leaned close. “By the way, you’re going to have to tell me what happened here.”
    As if I could explain it.
    My mom straightened as best she could. Still, I noticed she’d propped one hand on the counter, like she needed it to hold her up. “We went a little overboard with the tea party yesterday. I know I stayed up too late.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I can’t do this like I could in the 70’s.”
    “My eyelashes hurt,” Grandma said. She rested her elbows on the table and her head in her hands.  
    Bob pulled up, with Pirate riding on his lap. As soon my dog saw there was no food on the table, he jumped down and dashed for the stove, as if we’d somehow run out of breakfast before he could beg for it.
    Ant Eater collapsed into a chair, eyes bloodshot, her chin pointed down.  
    “Nice look,” Grandma said.
    The scribbled-on biker witch glanced at Frieda, who had rested her head on the rough wood table. “I got her beat.”
    Yes, well, I wasn’t the one who’d told them to drink so much tea.
    Luckily for them, breakfast was ready. It looked amazing. Dimitri had made his special scrambled eggs, with tomatoes and onions and cheese. There was thick sliced bacon and toast.  
    He served while mom and I handed out the plates. Every once in awhile, he tossed a bacon sliver down to Pirate, who ate it like he’d never see food again.
    When everyone had been served, we each took a plate and joined the witches at the table. Dimitri sat next to me, and my mom, directly across.
    I watched as Ant Eater dug a small pouch out of her sock. I mean, who wears socks and motorcycle boots with a dress? She tipped some grayish powder into her drink glass and passed it on to Grandma.
    Hillary touched a perfectly manicured hand to her forehead. “I think I’m coming down with the flu.”
    Somebody was going to have to explain to her about the tea.  
    Or not.  
    I glanced around the table to the biker witches, who seemed busy looking at everything but me.  
    “Creely?” I prodded. She was the one who started