Stowaway

Chapter Two: Old Friends

"Every time!" Annabelle shouted as I waited for her to arrive, reclining at the top of the enormous pine tree with a long strand of grass protruding from my mouth. Of course I had remained close the entire race home, watching over her, but she didn't need to know how badly I could potentially make her lose. This was demeaning enough for my tastes.

When we approached the front of the modest suburban home, Michael shot to the door. Ignoring his daughter completely for once as he appeared before me demanding an explanation, looking prematurely smug. Annabelle rolled her eyes and left to hide herself in her room, unwilling to watch his histrionics despite her amused smile.

"So what's Auntie's verdict?" He demanded.

I smirked at my opportunity to destroy his fatherly hopes and dreams. "Bad news, Mikey. He's a nice kid. Humble, polite, and very good to your daughter. I think she should be allowed to keep seeing him."

Frustration and disbelief clouded his features as an abrupt shout of "Ha!" was heard coming from the hallway.

Lily approached us with a triumphant grin and a giggle. "I told you honey! Our daughter's a smart girl, she'd never be with someone unworthy of her."

"Nobody's worthy of her." Michael mumbled, folding his arms and sulking as Lily wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed an elated kiss to his cheek. Unperturbed, she danced away to attend to the kitchen chores, as it was her turn in the cycle that week, while he sat himself down at the table in the adjacent dining room. Wordlessly, I went to the fridge to grab a pair of beers before I placed one in front of his seat and what would become mine, using coasters and all under Lily's watchful eyes.

I gave him a moment to process the monumental and heart-wrenching transition of his treasured daughter from girl to young woman, opening each bottle with a satisfying hiss before I leaned back in the chair beside him. My wayward fingers busied themselves, following the rivers of condensation racing down the side of the bottle until his hand finally moved to lift his own, taking a long swallow as his expression slowly transitioned from overwhelmed to acquiescent.

Part of me wasn't sure where to begin, but something told me I was the only one who could remotely understand the gravity of his current loss. So I started with what I knew weighed on my mind at the thought of her growing up.

"Gods do you remember when we were her age?" I sighed, for the first time unable to believe how quickly the years had passed.

"To be honest, I try not to." Mike replied with a grimace, taking a moderate swig of his beer before placing it down with a careful thud. He knew the consequences of marring his wife's favorite mahogany table or glass set all too well. Damage control was always a problem for our kind. Even after he had been made a vampire for five years, I could have made a mountain of the glasses he had unintentionally shattered his sixth year.

I grinned, remembering his shenanigans and relative abundance of stumbling through life. "Because you were hopeless?"

"No, because everything was so uncertain back then." He revealed, kneading his fingers into his eyes as his features creased in a way that had only been possible after he had met his wife and had his children. Suddenly the faded, raised skin on his arms stood out more starkly than it ever had before.

There was a long pause, as if he were searching for the right words before he explained further, shaking his head slowly with no shortage of astonishment.

"Sometimes I wonder how I survived. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I'm alone again, that all of this was an elaborate dream and everything will vanish as if it never happened. As if I'd never met you or Lily or Annabelle or Jack or..." His voice grew steadily quieter and more hoarse until it dropped out altogether, as if continuing that line of thought would be the end of him.