"Oh, we're fine, honey. We miss you is all. But your father's still not happy about you living in that place, off campus, with those older kids -- "
Of all the things for Mom to remember, she had to remember that. And of course Claire couldn't tell her why she was living off campus with eighteen-year-olds, especially when two of them were boys. Mom hadn't gotten around to mentioning the boys yet, but it was just a matter of time.
"Mom, I told you how mean the girls were to me in the dorm. It's better here, really. They're my friends. And really, they're great. "
Mom didn't sound too convinced. "You're being careful, though. About those boys. "
Well, that hadn't taken long. "Yes, I'm being careful about the boys. " She was even being careful about Shane, though that was mostly because Shane never forgot that Claire was not-quite-seventeen, and he was not-quite-nineteen. Not a huge age difference, but legally? Huger than huge, if her parents got upset about it. Which they definitely would. "Everybody here says hello, by the way. Ah, Michael's waving. "
Michael Glass, the second boy in the house, had settled down at the kitchen table and was reading a newspaper, looked up and gave her a wide-eyed no-you-don't shake of his head. He'd had a bad enough time of it with her parents the last time, and now ... Well, things were even worse, if that was possible. At least when he'd met them, Michael had been half-normal: fully human by night, an incorporeal ghost by day, and trapped in the house twenty-four/seven.
For Morganville, that was half-normal.
In order to help get Shane out of trouble, Michael had made a terrible choice -- he'd gained his freedom from the house, and gotten physical form all the time, but now he was a vampire. Claire couldn't tell if it bothered him. It had to, right? But he seemed so ... Normal.
Maybe a little too normal.
Claire listened to her mother's voice, and then held out the phone to Michael. "She wants to talk to you, " she said.
"No! I'm not here!" He stage-whispered and made waving-off motions. Claire wiggled the phone insistently.
"You're the responsible one, " she reminded him. "Just try not to talk about the - " She mimed fangs in the neck.
Michael shot her a dirty look, took the phone, and turned on the charm. He had a lot of it, Claire knew; it wasn't just parents who liked him, it was ... Well, everybody. Michael was smart, cute, hot, talented, respectful ... Nothing not to love, except the whole undead aspect. He assured her mother that everything was fine, that Claire was behaving herself -- his eyeroll made Claire snort cola up her nose --and that he was watching out for Mrs. Danvers's little girl. That last part was true, at least. Michael was taking his self-appointed older brother duties way too seriously. He hardly let Claire out of his sight, except when privacy was required or Claire slipped off to class without an escort -- which was as often as possible.
"Yes ma'am, " Michael said. He was starting to look a little strained. "No ma'am. I won't let her do that. Yes. Yes. "
Claire had pity on him, and reclaimed the phone. "Mom, we've got to go. I love you both. "