Page 54 of Such Sharp Teeth

“It’s a beautiful experience,” Mom says. “You’ll see. Someday.”

I scoff again. “Sure.”

Despite my best attempt to resist the thought, Ian is there. Does he want kids? Is there a life possible with him, a future?

I doubt it. Because I’m a fucking werewolf.

“Can I have my own cigarette?” I ask.

She offers me the pack, then reaches over and tucks some stray hair behind my ear. “My girl.”

“Proud of me?” I ask sarcastically as I light my cigarette.

“So proud. My smart Ivy League girl. My big-city girl. It’s so good to see you. I miss you, you know? I miss you all the time. Every second of every day.”

“Every second?”

“Yes,” she says. “We never get to spend time together like this. I’ve been really looking forward to this week. And I’m grateful that you came here to be with your sister when she needed you.”

Another flash of memory, this time of shoving a wiggling rat into my gullet.

I close my eyes and rub my temples.

The moon appears, a bright perfect circle in the dark behind my eyelids.

I shudder.

“You okay, baby? You want to go lie down?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Once I finish this cigarette.”

—

I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling.

I was attacked. I was bitten by a werewolf. Now I’m a werewolf. Now, according to lore, once a month, every full moon, I will transform into a monster. It will hurt. Every time, it will hurt. And while I’m this monster, under the influence of the moon, I will have no control over what I do. I will lose myself.

And the next day, I will wake up and have to go on. I’ll have to accept the suffering. The regular, involuntary surrender of my body. I have no other choice than to deal with it. What can I do?

There’s no telling anyone. No sharing this burden. It’s mine. It’s my body.

I clutch the pillow and cry.

—

I come down around dinnertime, after about an hour of listening to Mom’s and Scarlett’s laughter and the clanks of cookery echoing through the house.

They look chummy as usual. Mom drinks a glass of red wine, Scarlett drinks a Diet Dr Pepper through a curly straw, and they huddle over a magazine. It’s a scene I’m familiar with. The two of them, thick as thieves, not caring about the things I care about.

“Hello, sleepyhead,” Mom says, spotting me in the dark of the living room. “You want a glass of wine?”

My head is still misery, and I know I can’t get buzzed from it, but I say yes anyway.

Scarlett refuses to meet my eye, and it doesn’t take long to figure out why.

“Your sister tells me you have a boyfriend,” Mom says, pouring my glass to the brim. “I always liked Ian. Good manners. Calm. He had positive energy. Lovely light blue aura. You know, I ran into him last time I was here. I told you, they never stay that skinny. I like a man like that. Burly. Like a big bear.”

I put my head down on the counter, feel its coolness against my forehead.