Page 40 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Edgar

“Okay, then.” Edgar knocked softly and whisper-yelled, “Allie?”

The door opened, but it was Poe on the other side, and he was making wild hand motions for Edgar to get the hell out of here.

“What the—”

Poe had a black bandana tied around his face. “Save yourself,” he croaked, then darted back inside.

Edgar followed him inside. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh god, it’s everywhere,” Allie groaned from the bedroom. She appeared in the doorway, holding both hands away from her.

Suddenly the smell hit Edgar, and he stepped backward toward the door. “What on earth…?”

Allie turned tired eyes to Edgar. “Save yourself,” she groaned.

“Too late,” Edgar muttered, pulling his shirt up over his nose. “What are you feeding that kid?”

The smell was bad. Very bad. Edgar was used to cleaning out litter boxes and wiping dingleberries from unfortunate cats’ backsides. But this was a whole other kind of reek.

“Edgar. My child is a demon,” she said. “The family’s range of abilities expandeth.”

“Nameless Bebe shat all over themself in their sleep, then wriggled around in it, and then all over the bed,” Poe explained.

“Poe, do you have any other useful superpowers you wanna share? Like the ability to burn a bed without catching the apartment on fire?”

“Alas, sister, I have not the ability,” he said formally, placing his hand over his heart.

“Er,” Edgar said, backing toward the door. “I seem to have come at a bad time.” For me . “Maybe I’ll just—”

“Edgar Vincent Lovejoy,” Allie said in the tone that had stopped him in his tracks since childhood. “If you take that coffee away from me, I will never forgive you. Put it in the kitchen before you go.”

Edgar was looking at his siblings. Allie, both hands held aloft; Poe, bandana covering his face and his sleeves rolled up to the biceps. They looked like they were battling some radioactive alien species.

He snorted, put the coffee and beignets on the counter, and walked into the bedroom.

The baby lay in their crib, naked, kicking their fat little legs at the ceiling and drooling.

Allie’s bed was, admittedly, a disaster. But Edgar scooped the blanket and top sheet into a garbage bag to take to the laundromat, sniffed the mattress gingerly and, finding no remaining smell, concluded it had been a surface-level explosion.

He put a diaper on the kid and took them and the garbage bag back into the living room. “These need a wash, then you’re good to go. Maybe consider a waterproof pad for your bed if you’re gonna have Smoosh on there,” he suggested. “Coffee?”

Allie—who had cleansed herself of her offspring’s foul offering in the meantime—crossed to him and put her arms around him awkwardly. “Bless you.”

“You know how to change a diaper?” Poe asked.

“I changed your diaper,” Edgar informed him.

Poe took a huge bite of beignet, seemingly in an attempt to stop himself from responding.

“So,” Allie said, helping herself to a coffee. “What brings you here? Other than saving my life.”

“I need your help.”

“Er, much as I deeply want to help you,” Allie began.

“Not yours. Poe’s.”

Poe, who had been concentrating on pastry said, “What now?”

Actually, what he said was, “Whfnm?” because his mouth was full, and he blew powdered sugar when he spoke. But Edgar was pretty sure that was what he meant.

“I want to cook a really nice dinner for Jamie. Can you teach me?”

“How to cook?”

“How to cook something fancy.”

“When’s this dinner happening?”

“Um. Tonight?”

Poe looked to the heavens and pursed his lips. “Yeah, sure, I can teach you how to cook in one day. What could possibly go wrong?”

***

Everything, it turned out.

“Listen,” Poe said three hours later. “Jamie’s rad and I like them a lot. And that is why I simply cannot allow you to feed them anything you cook.”

“I can cook!” Edgar insisted, frankly a bit indignant. He had, after all, lived by and cooked for himself for years. “Just not this kind of stuff.”

“Edible stuff,” Poe said under his breath.

“Maybe you could take them out to dinner?” Allie suggested.

Edgar shook his head. “I want to do it. That’s the whole point. I wanna show them I’m committed and, and—”

“That you’re completely fucking hung up on them?” Allie grinned.

“Well. Yeah. Kinda.”

“Awww, you really love them, huh?” Allie asked, her eyes warm and her smile peaceful.

Edgar choked on the bite of unpronounceable sauce that Poe had just been trying to show him how to make.

His cheeks grew warm.

Poe circled him, eyes narrowed. “Are you—are you blushing right now?” he asked, incredulous.

He and Allie exchanged aw looks.

“Shut up,” Edgar muttered, as he’d done so many times as a kid.

“He does!” Allie and Poe crowed together.

“Jinx, bitches,” Edgar said. But they didn’t seem to care, too busy grinning like fools.

“Dude, come on,” Allie said. “Our family is straight-up cursed, and it’s a relationship ruiner. Give your poor loveless siblings some hope that things can end happily.”

“Hey, what makes you so sure I’m loveless?” Poe said.

“Your personality,” Edgar said.

Poe sniggered.

“You literally won’t let other people touch you, so.” Allie shrugged. “Must put kind of a damper on things?”

Poe flipped her off, but a shadow bloomed behind his eyes.

Edgar’s phone rang, and he slid it from his pocket with the hand that wasn’t massaging collards with garlic.

“It’s Jamie,” Edgar said. Poe and Allie exchanged kvelling expressions, and Edgar felt his cheeks heat as he answered.

“Hey,” Jamie said. “Okay, super last-minute, I know, but are you free tonight?”

“Ummm. As it happens, I was going to invite you to come over for dinner tonight.”

Poe did a facepalm and mouthed, You didn’t even invite them yet?

Edgar had to admit this was a significant oversight.

“That sounds so lovely, but any chance I could take a rain check? Because remember how it’s the Burlesque Festival this week?”

Edgar cringed, ashamed to realize that he’d forgotten, though Jamie had mentioned it. “Um. I forgot. Sorry.”

“Well, anyway, Helen got tickets to one of the shows tonight from someone who—actually, they were super unclear on how they got them. I think they’re legit though. So I have two tickets—”

Edgar’s heart sank.

“Any chance you wanna venture out and be my date to queer burlesque?”

Crowds, unfamiliar locations, could be ghosts anywhere. Small talk, claustrophobia, being forced to smile, everyone wondering what vibrant, gorgeous Jamie was doing with him.

Allie and Poe were staring at him and making indecipherable gestures.

This was what tonight’s dinner was supposed to be about anyway—showing Jamie that you can be a real boyfriend to them. A real partner.

“Um. Hello? Edgar? You there?”

Jamie’s sweet voice, glorious scent, the firm press of their shoulder to his, the way their lashes swept down, how they rested their fingers against his pulse point.

“Hey, yeah, sorry, I’m here.”

An epic eye roll from Poe.

“Uh, yeah, yes. I’d love to go on a date with you tonight.”

***

Edgar was waiting for Jamie outside the Luna Lounge, feeling less interestingly dressed by the moment as he watched people in amazing and outlandish fashion enter the club.

He’d worn the too-small T-shirt that Jamie had liked so much when he tried it on at Magpie Vintage and was self-consciously tugging the hem down any time a breeze hit the thin strip of bare skin between his shirt and jeans.

That was what you were supposed to do on dates, right? Look nice so your date knew you cared about them and had made an effort?

But when Jamie turned the corner, looking absolutely amazing and flanked by Helen on one side and a tall blond stranger on the other, Edgar found himself tugging his shirt down once more.

“Hey!” Jamie called when they saw him. Their eyes lit up, and they gave that private smile that was only for Edgar. “You look hot.”

They elbowed Helen, who looked him up and down and agreed, one eyebrow raised.

“I say, Edgar,” they said. “How you’ve blossomed since our last burlesque meeting.”

And although that would’ve made him cringe from anyone else, Helen managed to convey nothing but delight with their comment.

“Thanks,” he said, cheeks heating.

“This is my friend Max,” Helen said, gesturing to the stranger. “She/her. Max, this is Edgar, he/him.”

Max swept blond hair over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Edgar. “You don’t want to be here at all. Thank god. I needed someone to snark with, as I also do not want to be here.”

Edgar blinked.

Wait. You’re allowed to come right out and say you don’t want to be someplace that you are, in front of the people who invited you?

“What? Come on,” Helen wheedled. “You wanna be here.”

“No. I want to see the performances. I do not want to be in the place the performances occur.”

“Fair,” Helen said.

The night breeze caressed Edgar’s waist, and instead of pulling his shirt down, he let himself enjoy how nice it felt.

Kinda grim to learn at the age of twenty-five that you value strangers’ opinions of you over your own personal enjoyment of the world.

“Fuck me,” Edgar said under his breath.

“Don’t give me openings like that if we’re gonna be snarking together,” Max said.

“No, I just…” He trailed off, because he’d realized something.

For the first time in years and years, Edgar was more worried about social awkwardness with Jamie’s friends than that he’d see a ghost.

You have a whole new set of terrible anxieties! Oh god. But also, hooray!

“I want to spend time with Jamie and make them happy. I don’t want to be in the place this occurs either,” Edgar said.

Slowly, he raised his eyes to Jamie’s. But they were smiling warmly.

Edgar laughed in relief. Part of him wished Jamie were performing tonight, so he’d get to see them dazzle the crowd, but Jamie didn’t perform during haunting season, so he’d have to wait.

Helen wanted to get a table close to the bar, so they went to claim one.

Jamie took Edgar’s hand. “Thanks for wanting to spend time with me,” they said.

“And make you happy,” Edgar murmured.

Jamie’s hand tightened around his. “You do.” They caught his shoulder and turned him. “You make me really happy.”

Edgar’s chest tightened, and he swallowed hard. “You make me really happy too,” he tried to say, but it didn’t quite come out.

Jamie’s soft smile said they’d gotten the message. They leaned in and pressed a kiss to Edgar’s cheekbone, then another to the corner of his mouth.

“Is there anything I can do to make your experience any less horrible?” Jamie asked.

Edgar dismissed the idea automatically, then stopped himself. Jamie’s question had sounded sincere. And… was there?

He ran through the slide show of dread, looking for improvements that could be made.

“Maybe, um.” He shook his head. “I don’t wanna tell you what to do.”

“Please tell me what would make your time better. I’ll make my own choices.”

“I know you want me to be involved in the conversation. But, uh. When you prompt me, I can feel everyone looking at me, and my brain shuts down. I can’t think of any words, and then I panic.”

“Shit, Edgar, I had no idea.”

“Yeah, I… Sorry?”

They squeezed his shoulder and ran a palm down his back. “No problem. You’ve got it. What else?”

Edgar let out a breath of relief. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

“Okay, well. Pay attention to what you hate and tell me later?”

They kissed him on the lips, and then they walked to the table where Helen and Max sat.

“First round’s on me,” Helen announced and took their orders to the bar.

People snaked around the tables, meeting and greeting, admiring outfits, clinking glasses, and scrolling on phones.

Edgar let his eyes blur slightly so he could scan the crowd for any nonhuman beings.

The multiple disco balls in combination with smoke machines made it difficult, light refracting strangely off particles in the air, shapes flickering to life in one instant only to fade into the background the next.

“Hey!” Jamie cried.

Amelia was walking toward them, brandishing a table lamp with a peacock feather shade. “Look what I just found!” Amelia said.

Amelia, Edgar knew from Jamie’s stories, was constantly picking up things she thought might make good props in the future.

Then she turned to Edgar, and her eyes got wide. She exclaimed, “Ghost!”

Edgar froze, and his heart began to pound. How could he have been so oblivious to the world that one was able to sneak up on him? And—wait, Amelia could see ghosts too?

Then Jamie was squeezing his arm, and his heart rate went back to normal as he realized what Amelia was talking about.

“Wait ’til you see what a great ghost he is in the film,” she told Max and Helen, who was returning with their drinks.

Max lifted one eyebrow conspiratorially, and Helen said, “Huh. I can’t see it, to be honest, but I guess that’s why they call it acting.”

“He was amazing!” Jamie enthused. “He—” But then Jamie cut themself off, seeming to remember Edgar’s earlier request, and just smiled.

Amelia began describing the effects, and the attention shifted from Edgar. His breath came easier.

“Jamie did an amazing job with my makeup,” Edgar said. All eyes turned to him, but he didn’t let panic worm in. “They made my skin look like it was sloughing off.”

Helen waggled their eyebrows. “Awesome.”

And just like that, they were part of the conversation by choice.

When the lights dimmed and the show began, Edgar found that he was having a surprisingly good time, and that was more than he’d ever thought possible.