6
Be very careful approaching children’s social events. They will be fraught with dangers, including birthday candles, unsecured silverware, and clowns.
—My Mommy Has Fangs: A Guide to Post-Vampiric Parenting
I dumped yet another bag of gummy feet into a camouflage paper bowl and wondered how I’d gotten myself into throwing a Bigfoot-themed sleepover for a cabal of first-graders.
Danny was officially turning six, and it was his dearest wish to have a big-boy sleepover. We’d spent months discussing the best snacks to serve and the best games to play. He and Kerrianne spent most of the week creating an elaborate pillow fort in his new bedroom to house this sugar-fueled spectacular. He’d been pushing for it since he was four, but overnighting with a group of grumpy toddlers was a bit beyond even my mothering skill level, so I’d been able to put him off. But this was the year. We’d agreed that when he hit first grade, when it was almost guaranteed that his friends were potty-trained and could feed themselves, I would be willing to host them. Danny resented the “almost” guaranteed, but we shook on it and everything.
At least I was a nocturnal creature now and had a ninety percent chance of outlasting them, sleep-wise. But I’d woken up with a weird heavy feeling in my stomach that evening, a feeling of impending dread that had nothing to do with not picking up the cookie cake on time or the fact that I could only find one age-appropriate Sasquatch-related movie for the kids to watch. It turned out there were a lot of super-creepy, violent movies made about Sasquatch. Harry and the Hendersons was the least emotionally scarring option.
I couldn’t put my finger on why I was so unsettled. I tried to invite Les and Marge for cake and ice cream, at least, hoping to bridge the gap a bit with a magnanimous, slightly underhanded gesture. But they hadn’t returned my numerous calls. My conscience was clear, at least.
I may have overprepared a little bit, abusing my renewed Pinterest account to find Bigfoot-themed printables and games. I’d arranged for a moonlit Sasquatch hunt in the backyard, leading to a big footprint near the tree line that the boys were going to fill with plaster. I’d thought about ending it with a Bigfoot-shaped piñata, but I wasn’t comfortable with the idea that if you loved something you should hunt it down and beat it with a stick until delicious surprises fall out.
We’d followed the school’s unwritten party policy of inviting every boy in Danny’s class. The administration would not tolerate a child doling out party invites like a tiny Perez Hilton. The problem was that I didn’t know how many kids to expect. None of the mothers had RSVP’d. This was not unusual. In the Hollow, an RSVP phone contact was just the number a mother called to inform the hostess how many of the guest’s uninvited siblings would also be attending.
So why did I have this weird “Carrie before the prom” feeling pressing on my chest?
An hour after the party was expected to start, I got my answer. Not one single kid had arrived. Not one.
Danny was collapsed on the couch, his jeans and flannel shirt rumpled from his rolling around on the cushions, waiting for his friends to arrive. His little Outback hat had been thrown to the ground, forgotten. He’d started out so excited, bouncing on the balls of his feet while he waited at the front door for cars to roll down the driveway, and then slowly wilting into the pile of disappointment lolling on the couch.
It took iron control over every single muscle fiber in my face to keep a calm, cheerful expression for Danny’s sake. I couldn’t believe this was a coincidence. In all of the birthday parties Danny had attended, I’d never seen this happen. At least two or three kids showed up for every party, even in the homes where it was rumored that a meth lab was operating. I could not believe that this was not somehow connected to the fact that I was a vampire now. Danny was being shunned because of me.
“You put directions to your new address in the envelope, didn’t you?” Kerrianne whispered, refreshing the ice in the cooler full of sodas. “Maybe they don’t realize you moved.”
“I printed the directions in red, in all caps,” I whispered. “I can’t believe this! I can’t believe the other parents would pull this. I’ve seen their kids through accelerated reader testing and field trips to the freaking petting zoo and the Christmas programs—oh, my God, how many times can I loan out my dead husband’s bathrobe as a shepherd’s costume—but now, I’m trying to throw my son a freaking birthday party and they can’t be bothered to show up?”
Behind me, I heard a quick intake of breath and realized I wasn’t being nearly as quiet as I thought I was. Sure, the gasp I heard, but I didn’t pick up on his little feet shuffling across the carpet? Stupid inconsistent vampire senses.