“Well, it doesn’t matter if Mr. Wade and I start dating; it will not affect whether you and Harley can play together. And it won’t affect whether Mr. Wade likes you. You’re a great kid, and everybody loves you.”
“Except for Madison,” he said. “She says boys smell.”
“Except for Madison,” I amended as Danny offered me his popcorn again.
“I can’t eat popcorn anymore, baby. I can’t eat any food.”
“Oh, OK,” he said, with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes as he moved the popcorn closer to my face.
“Are you taunting me with popcorn right now?”
“What does ‘taunt’ mean?”
“Waving the popcorn in front of my face because you know I can’t have it.”
“Then, yes, I am taunting you.”
11
It’s important to take time for yourself, develop your own interests as hobbies. One day, your child will grow up, and vampires with empty-nest syndrome tend to be destructive.
—My Mommy Has Fangs: A Guide to Post-Vampiric Parenting
Being taunted with popcorn was not easier when the smell came drifting from dozens of cars. However, I had a very thoughtful escort.
For our drive-in date, Wade had packed blankets for us to set up in the back of his truck, plus a cooler full of drinks, including a wide range of bottled blood. The Possum Point Drive-In had a very liberal policy regarding outside food, because there was no on-site concession stand. The owners had tried to establish a hamburger stand early on. But the facilities were overwhelmed by the local population of possums, which broke into the concession every night and destroyed everything in search of food. After several failed extermination attempts, the owners brought in Popcorn Pete, a retired ice-cream-truck driver who converted a hot dog cart to sell popcorn. Possums were less likely to hit a moving target. And the critters were a little afraid of Popcorn Pete, who was surprisingly mean for someone who chose to make his living selling treats to children.
“You know I only drink one or two bottles a night, right?” I asked, marveling at the number of brands resting on “my side” of the ice chest. Wade was busy plugging in a baby-bottle warmer he’d rewired for his car-charger port. All around us, families and couples were spreading blankets in the backs of truck beds and settling in for an evening of old-school fun. The last orange-pink streaks of the sun had disappeared over the horizon as we were leaving my house, meaning the movie would start in just a few minutes.
“I know you’re not going to drink all of that, but I didn’t know what you’d like,” Wade said.
“That’s adorable,” I told him as I climbed into the truck bed. I was in a buoyant, giddy mood. I’d woken up to a day’s mail that included a very official-looking letter from the local family court. Danny was to meet with Judge Holyfield under the supervision of a state-appointed chaperone in two weeks. The letter, which was addressed to my in-laws and to me, included some very strong language about appropriate adult behavior and following the court’s instructions. Specifically, Judge Holyfield wrote that he “didn’t appreciate certain parties ignoring previous instructions and certainly didn’t appreciate accusations of bias toward either party.” He made it clear that we would discuss that behavior when we next met and that any dramatic shenanigans would not be tolerated in his presence.
While I wasn’t exactly thrilled by the idea of having to take Danny to court, it certainly sounded like the judge was unhappy with Les. And I figured it was unlikely that a judge would assign custody of a child to someone who couldn’t be trusted to behave himself. And even if Les and Marge ended up with scheduled visitation, I would find a way to live with it. I was hopeful. Still somewhat romantically confused but hopeful.
“I’m not adorable,” Wade protested. “I am manly and grizzled and have no emotions. None.”
I rolled my eyes, lifted a bottle of Faux Type O, a sort of “Classic Coke” version of synthetic blood, and handed it to him. He dropped it into the bottle warmer and grabbed a Ziploc bag from his glove compartment. Inside was a bright red bandanna.
“Are you planning to chloroform me? Because this sort of ruins the surprise.”
“Just wear it around your neck, smartass,” he said, tying the bandanna under my chin.
“Again, I appreciate your going outside of the box in terms of first-date gifts, but why?”
Wade nodded at Popcorn Pete, who was rattling his cart along the row of cars, yelling, “Popcorn! Buy it or don’t, I don’t give a damn.”
I watched in horror as dozens of customers lined up, buying their little red-and-white-striped bags of popcorn and spreading through the lot like the spores of a particularly stinky dandelion. That synthetic sour-milk smell seemed to be coming at me from all sides.