"I don't know," she replied, undaunted. "But think about vampires:
how come some people get bit and die, and other people get bit and turn into vampires themselves?"

"I don't know the answer to that," I exclaimed, exasperated,
"but vampires aren't real!"

He smiled and looked me in the eyes,
and in that moment I didn't like him any more.

He said, "It's pretty simple. There are links missing from the chain.
We don't have John Doe number one, and we don't have Anson Charpont.
All we have is you."

"And how is that a problem?" I asked, my mouth suddenly gone dry.

"I get the picture: The processing center looks at my old world and my new world and asks each one if they want me."

"That's a good way to put it. Then, if you're a no-go in both directions, they give you their whole-new-life bit. It's a package deal: a new name, a Greyhound bus ticket, and the offer of a shitty job that you'd never take. They walk you to the door, tell you the world is your oyster, and give you a great big swat on the butt, 'cause it's your birthday."

The barista called to me from inside the sidewalk window, asking whether I liked the scone.

"I think it's more of a concept piece than a breakfast item," I replied.

Kitty huffed, a little impatiently, and explained, "Claus has this silly joke about a clone factory..."

"—in Omaha," Claus threw in.

"Why Omaha?" Dad asked.
 

I took a big step back, away from her, and tried to be ready.
If this was going to be a physical fight, I was going to give it everything I had.
I figured Amber and I were about on par. If she started something,
I sure as hell intended to give her as bad as I got.

No map ever drawn, on earth, on sea, or in outer space,
has ever presented a cartographer as daunting a challenge
as the seating chart for a wedding reception.

Which reminds me: I had a third reason for feeling nervous. My dad was coming up for a visit.
Vivianne had planned for it, though I didn't expect it to happen so quickly after Nessa's wedding.

"The more you clean," Melissa told me, "the more you'll see that needs cleaning."

"It's a weird twist on Sisyphus," I commented.

"If you say so," she responded.

In the car ride over, Max asked, "So when are you moving in?"

I turned to look at him. "Moving in? Just like that? You want me to move in?"

A thought came, unbidden. It popped into my head, all by itself. The thought said,
Max has kissed me twice — admittedly, only on the cheek —
but I've never kissed him once.
Right then, exactly then, before another thought could run in screaming DON'T DO IT, I kissed him.

"Amber is a wonderful person. I've never seen her angry or mean or unkind.
I sometimes wonder whether she even has negative emotions."

On hearing that, my eyebrows went up as high as they could possibly go.

"I'm serious," Kitty said.

"You know, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Is that true?" I asked. "I've heard people say that, but is it really true?"

"I don't know," Melissa confessed, "but I do know that men are happier after they eat. If we feed him every night, he's going to associate that happy feeling with you. And that's a good thing."

Kitty gave a impatient little huff. "Look — it's not like I spy — that's not what it's like."

"So, what's it like, then?"

"Amber is concerned about Max. She really cares about him and wants to know what's going on in his life. She wants what's best for him."

I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud.

Soon I was back to the old me, clothes and all.

"How do you feel?" Viv asked.

"Prosaic," I replied.

"Awww," she cooed with an encouraging smile. "That feeling will fade. Don't worry. Come, let me give you a hug."

As we walked, Viv kept looking at my face. At last she asked, "You look anxious.
Are you? Are you worried about something?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I'm worried that I could get stuck like this."

Kitty's face went white. Pieces of memories, images, puzzle pieces shifted and moved and recombined in her head.
Things were falling into place; her picture of how things were, began to line up in a different way.
 

"Have you seen The Green Room?" Max demanded.

"No, I don't think so," I said. "It doesn't sound familiar.
Is it that classic porn movie? I don't think I've watched any porn."

"No! What the hell! No! It isn't porn! It's another damn French film!""
 

Max's mom fell silent, and fixed her eyes on him for a bit.
He noticed her stare, and said, "What? Did I do something?"

"I don't know," she replied. "But if you did,
I don't know why you didn't tell your own mother."

 
"I don't understand you any more!"

"What is there to understand?"

"What is there to understand!? I'll tell you: I don't understand why you were so... so... enthusiastic about being a girl in the play. And not just any girl, but the romantic lead!"

"Hero's not a girl!" I scoffed. "Are you crazy? 'Hero' isn't a girl's name. If she was a girl, she'd be Heroine. Common sense, come on."