Page 101 of Secondhand Soul

“Sounds so easy.”

Lazarus smiles. “Piece of cake.”

IT’S NOT CAKE.

Midnight chimes on church clocks, and people start blowing horns and rattling pots and pans outside. The cemetery is silent.

I saw two dark shapes flying overhead earlier. Graham. Genesis. I guess Minegold probably strolled right in. That old vamp is fucking fearless, a war hero and legend. He’s one of Manny and Rhea’s best friends and already earmarked as ‘grandpa’ to Emma.

I guess that means he’s my grandpa, too. That’s so weird. If I think about it, I’ll lose focus.

“Happy New Year,” Victoria whispers, voice caressing my ear in the dark.

“The first of many, okay? Next year, big party.”

“Nope. Next year, we babysit Emma.”

I look out the crack in the door. Nothing yet.

“Hey?”

“What?”

“This is a dumb question, but... You eat. Your heart beats. You do normal bodily functions.”

“Yeah, but I kinda don’t have to if I don’t want to. Except for the heart and lungs operating, I don’t know how that’s happening.”

“Do you... Do you think Manny and Rhea couldn’t have babies because they were made so long ago and the techniques were different?”

I’m surprised she’s asking. “Maybe.”

“Do you ever want kids of your own? Adopt them, like Manny and Rhea?”

Me? A dad?

That idea is horrifically laughable.

“I’m barely able to be a son and big brother. I’m going to suck at being a husband.”

“No, you won’t. And it’s okay.” Victoria’s tone is wistful. “I wouldn’t make a good mom, maybe.”

“That’s utter bullshit. You’d make a great mom. I just thought you didn’t want to be one. After Emily.”

“Talking about rainbows made me think about what they call ‘rainbow babies.’ Babies you have after a loss. They’re a promise, a hope after the worst storms. I just thought about it. I don’t need to be a mom.”

“But you have all the right parts, right? So you could be?” I check. She nods in the dim light. “Then you could be. There’s nothing and no one stopping you.”

“What about you? You’re not stopping me, but I don’t want to be a mom unless you want to be a dad, too.”

These are huge, heavy thoughts.

But they make me feel...oddly happy. “I’m not ready. Not for a long, long time.”

“Oh, God. Me, either. Maybe before I’m thirty?”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-three.”