Amber came back in for seconds and gave him a hug. “Hey, Ubie.” She’d started calling him Ubie because calling her stepdad “Uncle Bob” sounded wrong on all kinds of levels. I agreed wholeheartedly.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, grabbed another chile relleno along with more chips and salsa, and headed back to the family room. Before she got ten feet, she pulled a U-ey and stuck her head through the doorway. “I almost forgot. A blogger who goes by the name of SpectorySam would like an interview with you.”

“With me?” I asked.

“Yeah. About the video. He wants to do a whole feature and is pretty sure he can get it on Huffington Post.”

If I didn’t think Cookie would pass out, I’d have said yes. “That’s okay. Tell him I’m not giving interviews right now and to contact my agent. It’ll make me sound important.”

“Okay,” she said with a giggle as she pranced off.

“That girl should be in show business,” I said to Cookie.

“Oh, hell, no.”

“Not in a child-star capacity. Those poor kids. But more like an extra in a Tide commercial.”

Her brows formed one continuous hard line. I fought the urge to cough and say “unibrow” from behind my fist. It was so juvenile. The real trick was to do that during a sneeze. Sneezes were harder to fake.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. She was lying.

“So, what do you think he’s doing?” I asked.

Uncle Bob looked at his watch. “Damn it.” He took out a five and put it on the table.

Cookie snatched it up and displayed it between her fingers, making it dance and do flips like she’d won the lottery.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“You beat your record by five minutes,” he said.

“I told you.” Cookie squirmed with excitement in her chair.

“What the hell?” I asked, pretending to be offended.

“Last time you didn’t start asking about him, wondering what he was doing, begging for us to go borrow a cup of sugar to check on him, for a whole thirty-five minutes,” he explained.

“You broke your record,” Cookie said, tearing up. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Oh yeah, you guys are a riot. A laugh a minute.” I stabbed my relleno and shoved a huge piece into my mouth right before I said, “No, really, what do you think he’s doing?”

No matter how much I begged, neither of them would go across the hall—it was like ten feet—to check on my beloved. And I refused to sink to stalking, which I could very well have done incorporeally, but I felt like that would be cheating. Also, I was pretty sure he’d know if I were floating around the apartment, following him. Because that’s not creepy at all.

So, I got ready for bed and landed in the arms of Fabio.

He wasn’t nearly as cooperative as I remembered. Last time I slept with him, he curled around me, pushed his folds into my hips, let me ease a hand between his cushions. This time he was cold and hard, and there was a metal rod between the cushions I was trying to anchor myself to. I tossed this way and that, wishing I’d taken Ubie up on more hospitable accommodations. Not that I could’ve slept, anyway.

As I lay there contemplating the case and Emery Adams and the gods of Uzan and Beep and my cantankerous husband, I realized I’d forgotten to tell him I was being followed by three men in a minivan.

Oh, well. They were in a minivan. How dangerous could they be?

12

I love asking kids what they want to be when they grow up.

Mostly ’cause I’m still looking for ideas.

—MEME

I woke up to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon sizzling, but nature was calling. I wandered into the little girls’ room to answer it and brush my teeth. When I walked into the kitchen, Cookie was still in her robe, checking e-mail on her phone.

I smacked my lips and then headed for the Keurig. “I don’t know how this happened, but I think I just ate lotion.”

“My ex is such a douche.”

“How is it I’ve never met him?” I grabbed a coffee cup from the coffee cup cabinet. It was like a magic box full of devices specifically made to hold the blood of my enemy. Or coffee. They were equally capable of both.

“He said no.”

“How dare he,” I said, currently in the role of support personnel.

“I mean, I’m pretty hesitant myself, but he just flat out said no.”

“We could sue,” I offered, stepping into the role of legal advisor. I rested against the counter and took the biggest drink I could manage—of coffee, not the blood of my enemy—without requiring medical attention for third-degree burns in my piehole.