“Umm… no,” she whispered, trying unsuccessfully to bite back her laughter.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I said politely.
Standing up, I walked to the far side of the garden and set the forest surrounding Nirvana ablaze. It was the least I could do to thank my mother for lying to me.
“Better now?” she asked as she wiggled her nose and created a rainstorm to put out the fire.
“Much,” I replied. “Why would you tell me that if it wasn’t true?”
“I was joking,” Mother Nature said, still trying not to giggle. “You were being such a dick that day, I decided to pay you back. April 1st is April Fool’s Day. I thought you would know I was pulling your leg, darling.”
“Clearly, I didn’t,” I ground out through clenched teeth, trying to figure out how I could salvage the debacle with the least amount of humiliation. I’d blackmailed Astrid into planning my party. I was certain the word was out now. It would severely damage my rep to call off a party… plus, I’d be getting gifts. “Do you even remember which month I was born in?”
“At the beginning of time, we didn’t use the same calendar we use now,” she pointed out. “That’s why I’m unsure of the exact date of your or God’s birthdays.
It was a slight relief that she didn’t know my brother’s birthday either.
“So then, it could very well be April 1st?” I pressed.
My mother scrunched her nose as she considered my inquiry. “I suppose it could be,” she said. “But wouldn’t you want to pick a date not synonymous with practical jokes?”
“It’s already a holiday of sorts. Correct?”
“Yes,” she said with a grin. “Where exactly are you going with this?”
“I’ll simply steal it for myself,” I explained, warming to the idea. I owned so many media outlets, newspapers and ad agencies I could make it work.
“Darling!” Mother Nature trilled. “What a wonderful idea. It’s already on people’s radars. I think it’s a brilliant plan.”
That gave me pause. If my mother thought it was brilliant, it probably wasn’t. Most of the plans my mother hatched ended in a natural disaster. However, saving face was of utmost importance.
Shit.
“Just to be clear,” I said, wanting to get the Hell out of my mother’s neck of the Universe. “You did not write the letter telling me the birth will go unrecognized, you want to end me, and that Elle won’t get any cake?”
“Absolutely not,” my mother said, tremendously offended. “I don’t have to write letters to be threatening. I simply have to show up. And as for cake, you’re welcome to take some of the cake I made back to Elle.”
“Definitely not,” I said, standing to take my leave. “I value my balls.”
“As you should. They’re very nice balls,” my mother said.
“Let’s not talk about my balls, mother.”
“You brought them up. I just complimented them,” she shot back as if that was a reasonable response. “You should let me see the letter, Lucifer.” She took a sip of her tea and promptly spit it out. “You tend not to see the fine print. Your ego is too large.”
“I inherited it from you,” I said.
“Touché,” she said with a smile. “Be that as it may, you should let me read the letter.”
“It’s been read by others who have come to the same conclusion,” I told her.
“Who?”
“Lizard and a Dragon named Murry.”
“Dragons still exist?” she questioned. “I thought they were extinct.”
“I believed them to be myth,” I said. “However, there is an illiterate badass with a mullet called Murry and his mother, Mammy.”
Mother Nature gasped and clasped her hands to her chest. “Did you say Mammy?”
“I did,” I replied, giving her an odd look.
“Tiny little thing? Likes to trim nether regions? One of the most dangerous Immortal assassins alive?”
“Yes. Yes. And absolutely not. Mammy comes up to my hip and uses a cane to walk for the love of everything ridiculous,” I snapped. “If she’s an assassin, I’m a saint.”
“Then you should probably call your brother and prepare for beatification of your sainthood, darling,” my mother said with a giggle. “Mammy’s a killer. Where is she, by the way?”
“Tennessee,” I said, unable to take in all the bizarre information that had been thrown at me today. Between the odd female ritual of celebrating each other’s lady times to the alarming news that Mammy was a killer who made beans-n-franks, I was pretty much done. “She wants to come to Hell and open a Ball Shop.”