Mother's Day Text Exchange (Patreon)

I haven't been able to continue the reread because first I was slammed with my copy edits for A Little Too Familiar (Out next week!) and then I had to box up most of my belongings so we could paint before the builders came in to replace 3/4 of the flooring in our house. And my dog tore her ACL, apparently. So it's been a bit bonkers around these parts. I'm currently in my half-torn up living room. "It will be great when it's done" has become our mantra.

I wanted to thank you all for your patience, and since it's been a minute since I've done one of these, here's a text exchange! This one is featuring Lena, from Head's Will Roll, and that novel I wrote on her a little bit ago that I never got around to naming. (I need to get that beast edited and do something with it.) Grant shows up in that novel as well as the shorts on here following Jonah. (Which were waaaaay back, but I think are still on here?)

Anyway, enjoy!

Mother's Day Text Exchange

Lena: Mechanic got the part in, so I’ll finally get back to the farm tomorrow. Sorry about the delay.

Grant: That’s okay, though you missed Mother’s Day.

Lena: Grant, when your mother is an ancient immortal warrior, you never miss Mother’s Day. You call them early and get them a new weapon.

Lena: Or sometimes you get them a home karaoke machine.

Grant: I know, but you missed the celebration here.

Lena: I’m sorry I missed it, but I did get your grandmother the chef’s knife she’s been coveting along with the promise never to touch it or attempt to cook anything unattended in her kitchen for a calendar year.

Grant: Yeah, thanks, she loves it. Jonah is talking about crafting her a sheath to carry it around, because she keeps holding it and petting the handle.

Grant: The kids got you something, though.

Lena: …?

Lena: Did I miss the part where I birthed something, married someone who had birthed something previously, or adopted something?

Grant: People aren’t somethings.

Lena: Agreed, and yet I’d rather take on a rabid manticore than babysit an infant. I don’t take an interest until they’re two and can start weapons training.

Grant: Yeah, I read your treatise after we were invited to that baby shower.

Lena: It wasn’t that long.

Grant: The part on how much you hate pastels was three hundred words.

Lena: Well, they’re gross and they show every blood drop and grass stain.

Grant: …What exactly do you think babies do that they need the kind of clothing to hides that sort of thing?

Lena: You’ve clearly never been around babies. It’s all bodily fluids everywhere until they’re…well, I guess until forever.

Grant: You’re thinking of the harpy babies, aren’t you?

Lena: Bingo.

Grant: Anyway, the kids, Jonah especially, wanted to get you something.

Lena: …Okay? Also, please tell me he called his actual mother.

Grant: He did.

Grant: He wanted me to show you what he got you. *sends pic*

Lena: It that…

Lena: Is that a bedazzled sleeveless jean jacket?

Grant: It is.

Lena: That says “Echidna” on the back?

Grant: Yup.

Lena: She was the mother of monsters! Sweeeeeeet.

Grant: Too sweet, apparently, because unfortunately, Wuf ate it.

Lena: OH NO.

Grant: All that was left was a few teeny, tiny, plastic jewels.

Lena: *crying emoji*

Grant: Wuf felt bad, so he left you his favorite bone.

Lena: Well, that was nice at least.

Grant: He left it on our bed.

Lena: Okay?

Grant: It was…very fresh. And very slobbery.

Lena: broken gifts, destroyed bed, and bodily fluids I did not want. It’s official. I’m a mother now.

Grant: Then Wuf puked up the vest. Also on the bed.

Lena: …

Grant: I washed the sheets.

Lena: Thank you for your service.

Grant: I also washed the vest! Jonah stitched it back up. It’s good as new, as long as you don’t mind wearing something someone else has horked up.

Lena: Grant, that’s like half my wardrobe.

Grant: True enough. I wanted to give you a head’s up so that you gave the gift the gravity it deserves when they present it to you.

Lena: Will do.

Lena: What did Wuf do with the bone?

Grant: I don’t know.

Lena: We’re going to find it in our laundry pile or buried deep in our closet, aren’t we?

Grant: Absolutely.

Lena: If this is parenting, I don’t want it.

Grant: Too late, mother of monsters. Too late.