By H. L. Davis
What’s a vampire to do when he falls head-over-heels for a girl from a garlic farm?
Brace himself to attend a home-cooked Italian dinner at her family’s, of course.
“We’ve got five minutes. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Vlad?” Sarah’s fingers tap the steering wheel in time with the car’s left blinker. “We can go grab steaks instead.” She shoots me a grin, showing off the dimple on her right cheek. “Rare.”
Monsters, I love this woman. I’m still amazed she didn’t even flinch at the news that I’m a vampire. But then, what did I expect from someone who grew up during the Twilight era?
“I’ll be fine.” I plaster a smile to mask my own uncertainty. “If I go much longer without meeting your folks, they’ll think I’m not serious about you. About us.”
No sooner do the words leave my mouth than a whiff of garlic slaps me in the face. I clear my throat in an attempt to stifle its sudden tickle, rolling up the passenger window as casually as possible. “Besides, there’ll be a small crowd, right? With all the aunts and uncles and cousins? Maybe we can duck out early.”
She smirks and tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “You don’t know my family. Decide, Vlad. It’s now or never.”
I catch hold of her hand and entwine her warm fingers in my icy ones, giving them the gentlest squeeze. Sarah has already told me she loves me. Surely I can survive one garlic-filled evening for her.
***
“Vlad!” A short, frizzy-haired version of Sarah with fine lines around her eyes welcomes us at the front door. Her smile falters as she takes in the sight of me. “My goodness! Are you all right?”
I don’t tell her the paleness is normal, but I do feel the need to explain the tears streaming down my cheeks. “Oh, it’s nothing, Mrs. Wallace. Just a little choked up is all. Your farm…” I gesture to the neighboring fields and swallow another wave of nausea. “It’s so… idyllic.”
She pats my arm kindly. “Aw, well, we sure do love it. It’s been in the family for generations. I must say, Sarah never mentioned you’re the sentimental sort. Come on in!”
Mrs. Wallace pulls me inside by my black woolen sleeve and guides me toward what I can only assume is the kitchen. Even without hearing the cacophony of voices and clanking of utensils, the ever-growing pungency of cooking garlic as we approach turns my stomach sour. I desperately look back for Sarah, but Mrs. Wallace hurries me through the swinging doors of doom.
“Look, all! It’s Sarah’s boyfriend, Vlad.”
Besides the giant lasagna bubbling on the island, all other activity in the kitchen halts. Over a dozen people of every age and size stare at me. Holding my breath, I timidly lift a hand in greeting.
They pounce.
“Welcome to the farm!”
“We’re glad to have you, son.”
“It’s July! Aren’t you dying in that sweater?”
“Vlad—strange name. Where ya from, Romania?”
It’s all I can do to nod, hug, and fist bump the myriad of family members surrounding me in the crowded, toasty kitchen. I chuckle nervously, my temples pounding, and my throat begins to constrict in the garlic-saturated air. Sarah hurries toward me and takes my arm.
“Now fam, give Vlad some space.” She carefully guides me to a nearby guest room, worry clouding her green eyes.
“Vlad, seriously. We can go.”
“No, Sarah, I can do this.” I grab a bag of potpourri from the end table, breathing in its clean floral scent like a dehydrated man gulping water. “I just… I need a few minutes.”
Sarah sighs but squeezes my hand. “Take all the time you need.” After kissing my cheek, she rejoins the others.
As I continue to inhale lavender, my super-hearing detects the scraping of chairs on the dining room floor. Then low voices ask Sarah what’s wrong with me.
“Hasn’t the guy ever been in public before?”
“Yeah, why’s he hiding like a scared bat?”
Humiliation freezes the already chilled blood in my veins. How can I show them that Sarah means the world to me? That she is the sunlight that broke through my life of shadows?
Glancing toward the open closet, I spy clothespins clipped to one of the wire hangers.
It might be embarrassing… but Sarah is more than worth it.
***
Conversation fades as I enter the dining room, the eyebrows of Sarah’s family members rising or wrinkling at the sight of the clothespin clipped to my nose. I spot Sarah, her lips quirked in amusement, and instead of claiming the empty chair beside her, I rest my palms on her shoulders and speak in a nasally voice.
“I would like to apologize for dot being completely oddest with you all wed I arrived. I must confess that—” I hesitate—“that is to say, I have sord of ad allergy to garlic.”
Whispers flit about the room. I adjust the tipping clothespin and continue. “The smell alone makes me pretty queasy. I should’ve said subthing before now. But I didn’t want you to think I don’t value the incredible work you do here. The farm that your fambly treasures.” I look at Sarah’s upturned face, and my fears melt. “The place where the wooban I love grew up.”
Sarah’s eyes sparkle as she rests a hand over mine. Mrs. Wallace appears beside me, dabbing her eyes with a napkin before squeezing my thin frame.
“Why, Vlad, that was just the sweetest thing! Of course, we understand.” She gives my chest a motherly pat and grins. “How about some salad? It’s garlic-free, if you choose the right dressing! Then we have cheesecake for dessert.”
My eyes water from more than a pinched nose. “Salad and cheesecake would be perfect.”
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