Page 6 of My Blind Date is a Demon

“Hey, munchkin,” I say. “How was your lesson?”

“Good,” she says. “Can I have one?” she asks Cora, motioning to the candy dish on the counter.

“Sure,” Cora says. “Thanks for asking.”

I run my hand over Bella’s soft dark hair. “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and read while I catch up with Miss Beverly?”

“Okay.” She grabs a book from the kids’ section and sits down on a couch, sucking a sucker.

“Wow,” I stage whisper to Beverly. “What a difference. What did you two talk about?”

“You, mostly,” Beverly says, picking through the candy dish and waving her hand over her shoulder like a fly is bothering her.

“Oh,” I say, my stomach dropping. “Cool. Like, what?”

“I hear you gave another mom what for in the pick-up line.”

I scoff. “It was not the what for. I wish it had been, though.”

“Bella really looks up to you, you know,” Beverly says. Cora gives me a puppy dog look.

“Pfft. I doubt that,” I say. “I’m a wreck. Look at me. Did I even get dressed today? Did I brush my hair? I can’t remember.”

They both look me up and down. “Well, you did go work out…” Cora says, trying to explain away my disheveled appearance.

“About the only thing I accomplished today.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short,” Beverly says. “You are a great mother. Just look at Bella. She’s smart, she’s creative, she’s going to be a great witch.”

I look over at my pretty daughter. My husband’s daughter. The girl with his eyes and hair. Even his nose. I feel my eyes start to water and have to turn away.

“See, that’s the problem,” Beverly says.

“What?” I ask, reaching for a piece of candy from the bowl.

“You never allow yourself to be happy,” she says. “Even when it comes to Bella, you think you aren’t allowed to be happy.”

“How can I be?” I ask, and I know I’m going to break. “I took her father from her.”

“You did not and you know it,” Beverly says. “How many hours have you spent in therapy in the last four years to still be stuck in the same place?”

“I know,” I say. “Logically, I know. But my heart still hurts over it. I can’t…I can’t stop feeling guilty.”

“You have to,” Beverly says. “For Bella, and yourself.”

“How? Can’t you just wave a magic wand and…and magic me to be happy?”

“Magic doesn’t work that way, I’m afraid,” Beverly says. “Believe me, I wish it did. I’d love nothing more than to just poof a depression cure-all into existence.”

“I’m even on an antidepressant,” I say. “I’m still just so miserable.”

“Hey,” Cora says, putting her hand on mine. “Come out with us this weekend. It will help, I’m sure.”

“Or,” Beverly says, “you could try going out-out.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“You know…out…on a date.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

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