LITMIR.BIZ

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apology didn’t mollify Jasmine who swung her purse at his head. Luckily for him, it was a tiny bag, hardly bigger than a lunch sack. “You sick piece of shit!” Jasmine rained more blows on poor Harold who cowered behind his arms.

      “It’s okay, Jasmine,” I said. Though it wasn’t okay. I felt sick and dirty. In desperate need to shower off the feeling of those groping hands.

      I would have bolted for the nearest exit except my stepdad walked through the door. Simon Yoshida is the kindest, gentlest, most honest man on the planet. Which is probably why he (a) is terrible at his job as a tax attorney and (b) just the sucker my mother needed to raise her three-year-old daughter. In fact, I blame my mother’s treatment of Simon for the perpetually bewildered expression on his face. As if, after thirty-one years, he still didn’t know what hit him.

      “That man just made a pass at Lilith,” Jasmine said. She swiped her purse at Harold again, but this time he ducked.

      Simon, who was used to his daughter’s theatrics, didn’t take her seriously. “Settle down, Jasmine.” He kissed the top of her head before wrapping me in a hug. I hugged him back tightly, wrinkling his suit. “I’m so sorry to hear about Carrie,” he said. “You must miss her very much.”

      I did, but that wasn’t why I clung to him like a frightened child. The experience with Harold had terrified me. A demon presence now slithered around in my mind; a presence with a strong will that I could barely control.

      When I finally let go of my dad, he brushed my bangs out of my face. “How did Carrie pass away? I only caught part of Jasmine’s message.”

      He was only saying this to be nice. I knew because I’d overheard Jas the night before as she spread the word about my mother’s death. Most people, she texted: L’s mom died. Sux huh? But since our father couldn’t work a microwave much less text, she’d actually talked to him, saying, “Lil’s mom died. But don’t worry, there’s a sale at Macy’s so you can go buy yourself a nice suit for the funeral.”

      “Carrie had a stroke,” I said. “She was at a couples’ retreat with her boyfriend. They were in a hot tub with about ten other people when it happened.”

      My father has a heart bigger than the shoe department at Nordstrom’s, and I know he still cared about my mom, even though she’d ditched him thirty years before. So, to spare him the embarrassment, I left out the part about them all being nude.

      I patted his hand. “At least she went out Carrie-style.”

      My father finished the business of the funeral with his customary efficiency. Harold, still shrinking under Jasmine’s glare, was only too happy to sell me the coffin at cost, pay for the casket spray, and take twenty-five percent off the final bill. He also gave me a calendar with a picture of the funeral home on the front and a series of inspirational messages on the inside. All the while, his embarrassed blush never paled from his cheeks.

      “The nerve of that prick,” Jasmine said when we finally left.

      Knowing my stepsister, her wrath wasn’t entirely due to the funeral director’s behavior. No, she was insulted because, for once, a man preferred me over her.

      Maybe being a succubus wasn’t so bad after all.

      That evening, as I picked through the fridge looking for something to serve for dinner, Tommy knocked on the door. He gave Jasmine a friendly kiss on the cheek and placed a bucket of chicken on the table. “I thought I’d bring dinner since you’re probably too overwhelmed to cook.”

      For a moment, I was too shocked to thank him. Until now, the most generous thing any of Jasmine’s boyfriends had done was to leave the toilet seat down.

      Once again, Tommy gave me a worried frown. “You okay?”

      “Exhausted,” I admitted. “It’s been a really long day.”

      He abruptly hugged me, and I stiffened, preparing for a repeat of Harold and his octopus hands. I needn’t have worried. Tommy’s embrace held nothing but comfort.

      He ate dinner with us, entertaining the girls with stories about his adventures motorcycling across the US. Although he occasionally threw me a worried a glance, he laughed with the girls, patiently answered their questions about his hairlessness (alopecia), and let Ariel touch the studs in his face. Both girls were fascinated by him. So was I. In the old days, his tats, piercings, and dirty nails would have prevented me from hiring him to mow my lawn. Now, he sat at my dinner table. Not only that, I was enjoying his company. I wondered how many other interesting people I’d missed out on simply because they hadn’t met my standards.

      After the girls were in bed and the house grew quiet, I heard Jasmine and Tommy arguing in the kitchen. Jas sounded angry, Tommy resigned. I picked up a newspaper, determined not to eavesdrop, but the thin walls made their conversation impossible to ignore. And with the girls falling asleep upstairs, I couldn’t turn on the TV loud enough to drown out their disagreement.

      “I’m serious. Spend the night,” Jas insisted. “Lil likes you. She won’t mind.”

      I rolled my eyes. My stepsister could have at least asked me first.

      “Like I said, I can’t deal with another night on the couch,” Tommy said. “It’s murder on my back.”

      There was a moment of silence. “I wasn’t talking about the couch,” Jas said. “Come downstairs with me.” Even though I couldn’t see her face, there was no mistaking her offer. She wanted to drag Tommy down to her she-lair in the basement and jump his bones.

      “Jasmine, you know I can’t do that.” Tommy’s voice was gentle.

      “Your vow of celibacy,” Jasmine snapped. “Yes, I know.”

      Vow of celibacy? I lowered the newspaper. Was this guy for real?

      “It’s not forever,” he said. “Only until I complete my pilgrimage. I want my body to be as pure as possible when I visit those holy sites.” His tone begged her to understand. “Stacy and I had planned to do this together, but now that my sister died, I want to make the trip as a homage to her. You can appreciate that, right?”

      “You’ll be gone forever,” Jasmine wailed.

      There was more silence followed by the creak of chairs. “I’ll be away for a year.” When Jas didn’t reply, he said, “Come with me! I’d love to have a friend along.”

      She snorted. “Sleeping on the streets of Calcutta? Climbing up Emmy Sands in Thailand?”

      “That’s Emei Shan in China,” he mildly corrected, “and the monks there are very hospitable.”

      She snorted again.

      “Think of the adventure, Jas! We’ll see as many holy sites as we can. It will be the spiritual journey of a lifetime. I know you’d find it worth the inconvenience.”

      I nearly laughed out loud. If Tommy believed that, then he didn’t know my sister at all.

      Drinking Tea ventured into the living room. I automatically reached down to stroke his head, and he flattened his ears, hissed, and sank his teeth deep into the fleshy part of my hand.

      I screeched like a banshee and swatted at him. He let go and streaked under the easy chair, still yowling. Scared and hurting, I went into the kitchen to wash my wounds.

      Jasmine and Tommy immediately fell silent.

      “Sorry to interrupt, but the cat bit me.” I rinsed my hand under the faucet before examining it. Tea had bitten hard, drawing blood. Although he was not a social cat, he’d never hurt anyone before. Not even Grace who had a tendency to hug him until he looked bug-eyed.

      As I went to the freezer for ice, I noticed someone had hung the funeral home’s calendar under the list of household rules. January’s page showed a snowy mountain range and said: Heaven’s doors are always open to those who knock. I rolled my eyes.

      Tommy

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