Valentine's Day Sucks by Michele Bardsley Page B

GQ. Even if it was clasped in pink-striped Armani.
    “What do you think, Mom? Is he a boxers or briefs kind of guy?”
    My mother stared hard at me. “Are you serious?”
    “Yes,” I deadpanned. “I’m always serious about a dude’s underwear.”
    “Briefs,” she said. “Can we get back to the dead guy on my lawn?”
    “Technically not dead. I can’t believe you shot him,” I said. “He’s not bleeding, but those bullet holes sure ripped the hell out of his jacket.”
    “Because the important thing,” said my mother in a crisp tone, “is whether or not his clothing can be saved.”
    “I’m looking for clues,” I countered. “And hey, I am not the one who put seven bullets into the god of love.”
    “ Shut. Up.”
    I knew that tone. As a mother, I had used that tone.
    I shut up.
    While Patrick investigated the inside of the cabin for any Cupid-esque clues, I returned to studying the hero of Valentine’s Day. Eros was bound up in several yards of green garden netting. On the edges of the netting were pinned six iron stakes that used to be in my mother’s garden. Between those were multi-colored pinwheels. And sitting precariously on his legs was a large ceramic gnome.
    “ Was the gnome necessary?” I asked.
    “ I didn’t know where else to put it,” said Mom. “I’d ripped up half the garden already and the little guy looked out of place.”
    I resisted the urge to point out that a ceramic garden gnome placed on an unconscious man’s legs wasn’t exactly in place. She stared bemusedly off into the distance, and I thought I’d give her some time to gather her thoughts. I had a feeling Mom was close to her breaking point. Honestly, I didn’t want to be the one who broke her. I figured my kids would eventually do that, anyway.
    I looked around. I hadn’t been here in a while. The cabin sat on two acres of wooded land. It was a short walk to the lake shore, and in the summer time, the area was crawling with families, senior citizens, and partying teenagers. In February, however, the place was dead. (Ha, ha.)
    “ Pardon me, ladies, but I appear to be in need of assistance.”
    My mother and I screamed, clutching at each other.
    “ What the fuck!” I yelled.
    “ Jessica!” admonished Mom. “Watch your language.”
    I was a grown woman. A vampire. A freaking immortal. And my mother still berated me when I cussed.
    Sheesh.
    We stepped away from each other, and we looked down at Eros. He was trying to free himself, but not really getting anywhere. He stopped struggling when he realized a cheerily painted ceramic gnome squatted on his legs. He stared at it for a long moment. His blue gaze flicked up at us. I’d say his expression was confused, but since I couldn’t see most of his face … well, I wouldn’t.
    “ Have I been drinking?” Eros inquired. “Because even for me, this is pretty far gone.”
    “ You were trying to shoot my mother with your arrows,” I said. “I already told her she wasn’t getting chocolate tomorrow because she tried to kill you.”
    Mom whacked me on the arm.
    “ Ow,” I said, even though it didn’t hurt.
    “ I don’t leave chocolate,” said Eros, sounding a little offended. “I’m not the Easter bunny.”
    I imagined a Hulk-sized rainbow-colored bunny hopping around town delivering baskets filled with chocolate. Damn. That would be awesome. “Is he real?” I asked hopefully.
    Eros shook his head. Well, he tried to. Mom had wrapped him tighter than a Pharaoh’s mummy. “No,” he said. “There’s no such thing as the Easter bunny.”
    “ Bummer. What about the tooth fairy?”
    “ She’s real, but she stopped the whole money-for-teeth exchange centuries ago.”
    “ Hmm. What about Lucky the Leprechaun?”
    “Who?”
    “She’s talking about that little animated character from the Lucky Charms commercials,” said my mother impatiently. “Why did you try to kill me?”
    “Kill you?” He blinked. “My arrows don’t kill. Speaking of which