Affliction (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter) - Laurell K. Hamilton Page 0,43

home! Thank you so much.’

I mumbled, ‘You’re welcome,’ and tried to figure out how soon I could break free of the hug and still be polite. My face was buried in her shoulder because in her heels she was at least five foot nine and I hadn’t had time to go on tiptoe to keep from being smashed in the hug.

Jerry said, ‘Let her breathe, Mom.’

She pulled back, laughing a little, dabbing at her eyes with her well-manicured hands. ‘I’m sorry; I’m a hugger, so just a warning.’

In my head I thought, Too late for the warning, but on the surface I smiled and nodded, because I had nothing useful to say. People took it wrong if you told them not to touch you in situations like this, so I’d learned to smile and keep my mouth shut.

Micah drew Nathaniel forward. ‘Mom, this is Nathaniel Graison.’ He didn’t add my significant other like he had with Cousin Juliet. It was harder sometimes with parents.

His mom looked at Nathaniel, then looked at Micah for a clue as to who he was to him.

Micah took Nathaniel’s hand and my hand, took a deep breath, and said, ‘Nathaniel is our live-in partner.’

A look that I couldn’t interpret crossed her face, and then she hugged Nathaniel as tightly and completely as she had me. He hesitated for a second, then returned the hug, his face a little puzzled, but smiling over her shoulder.

She said, ‘So happy to meet you and Anita both; you have no idea how happy I am to meet my son’s friends.’

Micah and I exchanged a look. I tried to say with my eyes, Well, that went well. I was betting my stepmom wouldn’t do nearly as well with it, but then again, Micah had been convinced his mom wouldn’t do this well with Nathaniel. Maybe our parents were more grown up than we gave them credit for?

Micah’s mom drew back from the hug, and I heard Nathaniel say, ‘I’m glad to meet you, too, really.’ He was smiling, happy and relieved, because none of us had been betting on it going this well.

A tall man came up behind Micah’s mom. He was over six feet by a few inches, completely bald, with what amounted to five o’clock shadow in a thin pale half-circle on his scalp to show that he had started shaving his head after he went bald, rather than as a fashion statement. His eyebrows were thick, nearly black, and arched over dark-rimmed glasses. His eyes were a bright, clear blue. His dark suit, pale blue shirt, and dark tie fit his slender frame well and helped bring out the blue of his eyes and the stark paleness of his skin. The glasses and the baldness distracted me from the rest of his face, so it took a moment to realize he was handsome.

He put his hands on Micah’s mom’s shoulders in a gesture that, though innocent, was totally a couple gesture. I felt, more than saw, Micah tense. ‘So glad you could be here, Mike,’ the tall man said, and held out his hand.

Micah took the hand. ‘I’m glad I could be here, too.’ He turned back to me and said, ‘Anita, Nathaniel, this is Tyson Morgan, my mom’s … husband.’

I had my own stepmom so I knew the awkward moment when you wanted to acknowledge them but not claim them as your parent.

Micah’s stepdad’s hand was big with long, thin fingers to match the rest of his lanky frame. He smiled. ‘Dr Tyson Morgan. I teach at the college with Bea.’

‘Anita Blake, U.S. Marshal.’

His mouth quirked, like a small, lopsided smile, and then he shook his head, more at himself, I think. ‘I guess I’m prouder than I should be of being Dr Morgan, sorry, but please call me Ty.’

‘No need to be sorry, it’s a big accomplishment. Doctor of what, since you teach at the college?’

‘American literature,’ he said.

Micah was searching the other people in the waiting room. ‘Where’s Beth?’

‘She’s at home with the other kids,’ Ty said.

‘Twain has to be what, fourteen now?’ Micah said.

They both nodded. ‘And Hawthorne is twelve,’ Bea said.

I fought to keep my thoughts off my face. Twain and Hawthorne; I realized that the kids were named after Mark Twain and Nathaniel Hawthorne, both American authors, but names like that were usually reserved for cats that lived in the literature building, not for children. Twain was tolerable, but Hawthorne, for a boy? Elementary school must have been brutal.

Bea added, ‘We