The Wolf King’s Possession

5.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if Thomas was compensating for many somethings. He had a handsome face from a distance, but the closer he got, the more I realized it was just his bone structure. The skin over his cheeks was pulled so taut, it was kind of scary. When he took off his overcoat and looked around Nana’s house, he was all sharp angles and scowls.

“This is where you grew up, then?” Thomas asked my mother. Disapproval must’ve been one of the six languages he spoke.

“It was much nicer when I was a child,” Mom assured him, putting on an affected hoity-toity accent that she hadn’t come by honestly. “Mother’s become a bit of a hoarder in her old age.”

“Mother? Is that what you’re calling me now?” Nana cackled, beaming with pride at all the kitschy knick-knacks that lined every shelf of her home. “Oh, yes. I’m just a kooky old lady, aren’t I? You wanna see where I hoard my rifle collection, Tommy? You and I could go hunting later.”

“You hunt?” Thomas almost sounded impressed. “How delightful. Pheasants or foxes?”

“Rats, mostly.” Nana’s brown eyes glimmered mischievously. “Well, come on in. Dinner’s on the table. You can leave your shoes by the door.”

Dinner was an expertly cooked prime rib served with mashed sweet potatoes, roasted vegetables, and crab cakes. The fresh sourdough on the table was my contribution to the spread, using Nana’s favorite recipe. For dessert, we had pecan pie waiting in the fridge.

The food was delicious, but I could feel Mom’s eyes on me with every bite. She watched my fork move with a laser focus, gaze flicking between the morsels on the tines and my waistline like a predator tracking prey until finally, she broke down.

“Are you sure you should be eating that?”

Nana’s knife dragged over her China plate with a screeching sound.

“Well, she’s not gonna pin it to her blouse and call it a corsage.” Nana didn’t look up. After a beat, she continued cutting into her prime rib. “We didn’t cook dinner to look at it. Eat and be grateful for the bounty before us, I say.”

“Some of us could do with a little more gratefulness, now that you mention it.” Mom’s eyes narrowed at Nana. She placed her napkin down daintily and drew her shoulders back like she was c*****g a gun, then wrinkled her nose as she set her sights on me again. “Others are looking a little too grateful. You know, Felicity, in Europe, leaving a few bites on your plate is considered the mark of a true lady.”

“Funny.” Nana snapped her head up with a wild, defiant look in her eyes. Her fork and knife clattered to the table as she deliberately dropped them on either side of her plate. “Here in Massachusetts, the mark of a lady is knowing when to keep her eyes on her own plate.”

Mom shook her head, slow and disbelieving. “Are you seriously telling me how to raise my daughter?”

“Oh, she’s already been raised. By me.” Nana nodded at my plate. “Eat up.”

Mom bared her teeth. “Felicity, don’t you dare.”

My fork wavered in my hand, suspended between my mouth in my plate. I should have felt hurt, I supposed. Or angry.

I shrugged and took the bite. Their bickering only made me feel tired.

As soon as my fork touched my lips, World War III broke out over the table. Mom and Nana shoved their chairs back, shouting at each other with unbridled vitriol.

“Pushy old biddy!”

“Stingy control freak!”

Thomas made a point of becoming deeply interested in his crab cakes, but I only sighed, put my fork down, and tugged my sweater over my stomach. Mom just couldn’t help herself. I’d accepted that long ago. She was fixated on appearances in the same way preteen boys were obsessed with fart jokes. Nana couldn’t stand it, but in my experience, it was easier to just ignore her and move on.

“Where did you two meet?” I asked Thomas, raising my voice so the question could be heard. I needed to break up the bickering between Mom and Nana before one of them said something they’d regret.

Thomas opened his mouth to answer, but Mom perked up immediately at the chance to talk about herself. She beat him to the punch by a mile.

“Oh, we met in Bar-the-lona,” she gushed, lowering herself back into her chair. “We were both staying at the Mandarin Oriental, and one day, he walked in on me in the steam room…”

While Mom rambled on, Nana began clearing the table. I pushed my chair back, ready to help her, but Nana gave me a firm shake of her head.

Someone had to sit and listen to Mom’s stories. Thomas was already on his phone, and I had more patience for the sound of my mother’s voice than Nana did.

“—and he nearly proposed right there on the spot! Although, of course, he didn’t actually go through with it. I’m still waiting on that front, aren’t I?” Mom took Thomas’s hand. Begrudgingly, he set his phone aside. “But enough about us. Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it, hon?”

“It was a week ago.” You missed it, I wanted to add but didn’t. My birthday had never ranked highly on her social calendar, and I was old enough now that it didn’t bother me so much. Nana had baked me a cake, and Xander had planned a surprise party at the Wily Elephant, our favorite bar in town. That was more than enough.

“How silly of me. It must’ve slipped my mind.” Mom fanned herself and laughed. “You’re nearly thirty by now, aren’t you?”

“Thirty-two, actually.”

“Oh, bless your heart! You’re just growing up so fast!”

“She sure is,” Nana agreed in a low grumble as she returned with a tray bearing cups, a teapot, and fixings for tea. “Every year, she gets a whole year older.”

“Well, she’s certainly not getting any younger.” Mom pursed her lips into a thin pink line and sighed. “You really need to start thinking about your future, Felicity.”

“I am, actually.” I took my napkin from my lap and sat up a little straighter. I didn’t love talking about myself, but the chance to mention something positive about my life was suddenly overwhelming. “There’s this house I’ve been looking at⁠—”

“You don’t need a house, silly girl. You need a man.” Mom squeezed Thomas’s hand. “Don’t you want to be happy like Thomas and me?”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Actually, I have a friend you might like, Felicity. He’s recently divorced and very successful. You should see his portfolio.”

“Is he an artist or a photographer?” I asked politely. When I glanced at Nana, storm clouds were brewing in her eyes.