that.
Dinner was as entertaining as I hoped; a delightful event. Even more irreverent than the previous nights had been.
When Roy Hamilton and his wife, Noralee, showed up, it really got loud and merry. For reference, my family doesn’t do much drinking in a public setting, since it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that secrets can be inadvertently shared and spells cast in careless anger. Not to mention, the embarrassment of carrying on conversations in Romanian to the exclusion of our English-speaking guests. So, it was no small thing that Dad had stocked up a portable bar we had brought with us from Chicago.
“I understand you write books about the paranormal,” I heard Mom say to Julien, when the laughter had died down, and it was time to infuse the conversation with a new topic. “Do people actually believe in ghosts, vampires, and the like?”
“Apparently not, if my recent book sales are any indication,” he replied, dryly. The room erupted in laughter. Perfectly played quip with a reaction inspired by distilled spirits. I peered around the corner, watching Grandpa pour more wine for most of them, and freshen Julien’s drink, which looked like vodka and cranberry juice on the rocks. “It’s all fiction that I write, and some creatures of the night don’t exist. Like vampires, obviously. But ghosts… I have seen some of those, now and then.”
“How about witches?” Grandpa asked.
I think it was more the unexpected nature of the question that formed a lump in my throat. No doubt the reaction was the same from the resident witches and other warlock in the dining room. Maybe everyone else felt the slight tension in the air… chalk one up for my grandfather.
“Well… I’ve never met one,” said Julien, chuckling. “Other than my lovely wife, who on occasion can be quite bewitching.”
“Ahhh, that’s so sweet! Count on Julien to say something like that,” said Noralee, and echoed by Jennifer.
“Well, she is beautiful,” added Roy.
Meredith appeared to be blushing, though hard to say for sure from my vantage point.
“Not as bewitching as our hostess,” said Meredith. “Fabulous cordon bleu, Silvia! Are you sure you don’t have roots in either New Orleans, or Paris?”
“I’ve been to both wonderful cities, but not long enough to have established roots,” said Mom.
I was surprised to see my mother blush… and it took me a moment to discern she had picked up on something subtle about Meredith—a kindred ‘gift’ recognition, perhaps? Maybe our neighbor had a little witch in her, though likely a milder intuitive form. But, hell, wasn’t that all it took to get burned at the stake in centuries past?
“Meredith should be the celebrated author,” said Julien. “After all, she taught me most everything I know, and helped me make the change from songwriter to novelist.”
More ‘ahhhs’ swept the table, followed by a hearty laugh from Harrison.
“She certainly could do no worse in the erotica area, my friend,” he teased, his Tennessee country accent thick. “Zombies and bestiality mix horribly—especially when you do it.”
“Tisk, tisk… like you even read that book!” Julien shot back, playfully. “And, if you had, as horrible as it was, something that awful fits the very definition of horror, does it not?”
“ Zombie Nights was truly horrifying,” added Sadee, who sat next to him, and leaned in to give him a shoulder nudge. “But we still love you, and almost everything else you’ve written.”
“Good to know,” added my father, wryly. More chuckles….
“Have you read anything of his?” whispered Alisia from beside me.
“No,” I said. “I only read serious books.”
“You’re so full of shit, Bas—you’ve hardly read anything in the past ten years that isn’t related to gaming!”
The ‘adults’ in the other room suddenly craned their necks to where we were huddled, just out of view. Shit, way to go, sis!
“Well… rest assured,
Dinner was as entertaining as I hoped; a delightful event. Even more irreverent than the previous nights had been.
When Roy Hamilton and his wife, Noralee, showed up, it really got loud and merry. For reference, my family doesn’t do much drinking in a public setting, since it isn’t out of the realm of possibility that secrets can be inadvertently shared and spells cast in careless anger. Not to mention, the embarrassment of carrying on conversations in Romanian to the exclusion of our English-speaking guests. So, it was no small thing that Dad had stocked up a portable bar we had brought with us from Chicago.
“I understand you write books about the paranormal,” I heard Mom say to Julien, when the laughter had died down, and it was time to infuse the conversation with a new topic. “Do people actually believe in ghosts, vampires, and the like?”
“Apparently not, if my recent book sales are any indication,” he replied, dryly. The room erupted in laughter. Perfectly played quip with a reaction inspired by distilled spirits. I peered around the corner, watching Grandpa pour more wine for most of them, and freshen Julien’s drink, which looked like vodka and cranberry juice on the rocks. “It’s all fiction that I write, and some creatures of the night don’t exist. Like vampires, obviously. But ghosts… I have seen some of those, now and then.”
“How about witches?” Grandpa asked.
I think it was more the unexpected nature of the question that formed a lump in my throat. No doubt the reaction was the same from the resident witches and other warlock in the dining room. Maybe everyone else felt the slight tension in the air… chalk one up for my grandfather.
“Well… I’ve never met one,” said Julien, chuckling. “Other than my lovely wife, who on occasion can be quite bewitching.”
“Ahhh, that’s so sweet! Count on Julien to say something like that,” said Noralee, and echoed by Jennifer.
“Well, she is beautiful,” added Roy.
Meredith appeared to be blushing, though hard to say for sure from my vantage point.
“Not as bewitching as our hostess,” said Meredith. “Fabulous cordon bleu, Silvia! Are you sure you don’t have roots in either New Orleans, or Paris?”
“I’ve been to both wonderful cities, but not long enough to have established roots,” said Mom.
I was surprised to see my mother blush… and it took me a moment to discern she had picked up on something subtle about Meredith—a kindred ‘gift’ recognition, perhaps? Maybe our neighbor had a little witch in her, though likely a milder intuitive form. But, hell, wasn’t that all it took to get burned at the stake in centuries past?
“Meredith should be the celebrated author,” said Julien. “After all, she taught me most everything I know, and helped me make the change from songwriter to novelist.”
More ‘ahhhs’ swept the table, followed by a hearty laugh from Harrison.
“She certainly could do no worse in the erotica area, my friend,” he teased, his Tennessee country accent thick. “Zombies and bestiality mix horribly—especially when you do it.”
“Tisk, tisk… like you even read that book!” Julien shot back, playfully. “And, if you had, as horrible as it was, something that awful fits the very definition of horror, does it not?”
“ Zombie Nights was truly horrifying,” added Sadee, who sat next to him, and leaned in to give him a shoulder nudge. “But we still love you, and almost everything else you’ve written.”
“Good to know,” added my father, wryly. More chuckles….
“Have you read anything of his?” whispered Alisia from beside me.
“No,” I said. “I only read serious books.”
“You’re so full of shit, Bas—you’ve hardly read anything in the past ten years that isn’t related to gaming!”
The ‘adults’ in the other room suddenly craned their necks to where we were huddled, just out of view. Shit, way to go, sis!
“Well… rest assured,
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