Smolder (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter, #29)(115)

Nicky took a Kleenex out of his pocket and started wiping at his mouth to get off the go-faster stripe. “Let’s not confuse your family.”

“They know I’m poly,” I said.

“Knowing it and being able to deal with it aren’t the same thing,” he said.

He had a point, so I let him wipe my lipstick away and reassure me my lipstick still looked perfect. Another big group of people started down the hallway’s slight curve toward the TSA check desk. I caught a glimpse of very blond hair again, but this time when the crowd parted it was my dad.

He hadn’t seen me yet. His face was neutral just walking. He was five-eight, still trim, and looked, well . . . like my father. He was wearing khaki slacks with a blue polo shirt, and some sort of jacket unzipped. Even his wardrobe was the same. He looked like he always did, always had; part of me was relieved and part of me resented it. I don’t know why that last part. We hadn’t seen each other in eight years. He turned his head to speak with someone and I caught a flash of pink. The crowd thinned as people passed us with their bags. My stepmother, Judith, was with him, tall, slender, smiling. It wasn’t unexpected. I’d known she’d be here, but my stomach knotted anyway. What I could see of her bright blond hair was fastened back with a bright pink scarf or headband. The hair was smooth and styled and perfect. Her makeup would be the same. She was wearing a pink designer sweatshirt, I couldn’t see what else, and then I realized she had a pink shadow with her. It was Andria in a matching outfit, with her own straight blond hair tied back with a pink band. They’d done matching outfits a lot when we were younger. Mother-daughter outfits in pastels, which I looked terrible in but made both of them look great. I’d protested the outfits until Judith stopped including me in the mix; I was about eleven. I hadn’t wanted to be excluded since Judith was now the only chance for a mother that I had, I just hadn’t wanted to wear pink.

Nicky moved me behind him automatically as some other passengers almost bumped me. It hadn’t been on purpose, but he was officially my bodyguard, so I let him do his job. The hate groups had gotten worse as the wedding got closer; they didn’t want us to have a happily-ever-after ending, monogamous or otherwise.

My father’s face lit up when he saw me; he looked genuinely happy to see me, which was great, because that hadn’t been a given. It made me smile back and wave. He waved and then they were there with us. He hugged me with enthusiasm, and I did the same, and then his hand found the gun at my belt, and he tensed, unsure where to put his hands, so he pulled away awkwardly. He hadn’t been a fan of his little girl working with the police, let alone becoming one, too dangerous.

Judith hugged me next, and it had enthusiasm to it, too, which caught me completely off guard since she stopped hugging me about the time I turned twelve. She kept her arms around my shoulders so there were no gun issues. “Anita, it’s so good to see you again. You look great!”

Andria said, “Seriously perfect outfit.” She didn’t seem upset that I was better dressed than she was, which spoiled it for me a little. I’d wanted to be the best-dressed for once, but I’d wanted her to feel bad about it even more. Yes, it was petty, but at least I acknowledged my motives instead of hiding from them now.

“Thanks, you both look cute and comfy for the plane.”

They put their arms around each other, heads together like they were posing for a camera. “It’s been so long since we did mother-daughter outfits I couldn’t resist,” Judith said. They then both showed their white athletic shoes with bright white and pink sparkles on them like they’d been bedazzled, but I knew they’d come that way. I also knew they’d paid around three to four hundred dollars for each pair. I’d seen them at one of the stores where I’d done emergency shopping for my outfit. I’d paid that much for shoes, or Jean-Claude had paid that much for shoes he wanted to see me in, but nothing quite like these.

Dad held his hand out to Nicky and said, “Are you Micah or Nathaniel?” Neither of them look anything like Nicky, which meant my dad hadn’t even bothered to google me.

“Fredrick,” Judith said, “Micah Callahan is on the news all the time and he looks nothing like this gentleman.” She offered her hand. After the slightest hesitation Nicky took the offered hand. Her hand was big enough to match his, and she’d always given firm handshakes.

“Then this must be Nathaniel Graison?” my father said, smiling and looking relieved like he was getting his feet under him in the conversation.

Judith and Andria laughed together. It was a very we’ve-got-a-secret-you-don’t-know laugh. It was usually a laugh that women make when they’ve just said something dirty about a man in the room but they don’t want to tell him, but somehow they want people to know they’re bad girls. I’d never liked that attitude of “safe” naughtiness that so many American women seemed to adopt. I started adding the American when too many women I knew who weren’t raised here pointed out that it wasn’t the same in every country. Either way, I didn’t like the laugh or the attitude that went with it, but maybe I’d spent too many years being on the outside of their girl secrets and I was projecting? I’d keep that as a backup thought. I’d try to be fair.

“Fredrick, darling.” She said his name a lot like that, first name and darling as if that was his real last name. Sometimes it was an endearment that I’d hoped to feel for someone myself someday, but sometimes it was that sly, condescending tone that seemed to say Poor men, they just don’t understand.