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tomatoes.”
    “I spit on the supes who’ve let you down,” Tara said, fortunately not suiting action to words. “Listen, Sook, stick with your human buds and leave the others by the side of the road.” She meant it all the way down to her bones.
    “Too late for that,” I said. I smiled, but it didn’t feel as though it fit my face right.
    “Then come shopping. I need some new bras, since I’m Elsie the Cow these days. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”
    Tara, breastfeeding twins, was notably more bosomy. Maybe more than a bit curvier, too. But I was hardly one to point fingers, and I welcomed the change of focus in our conversation. “How are the kids doing?” I said, smiling more genuinely. “I’m gonna have to babysit them some night so you and JB can go to the movies. How long has it been since you went out together?”
    “Since six weeks before I was due,” she said. “Mama du Rone has kept them twice during the day so I could go to the store, but she doesn’t want to keep ’em at night when Papa du Rone is home. If I can pump enough milk to get ahead of the little monsters, JB would take me to the Outback. We could eat steak.” There was an avid look to her mouth. Tara had been craving red meat ever since she’d started nursing. “Besides, since Hooligans closed, JB doesn’t have to work at night anymore.”
    JB had been employed at Hooligans as well as at a health club, where he was a trainer. At Hooligans, he’d been doing the (nearly) full monty on ladies’ night to raise extra money for the twins’ birth. I hadn’t spared a moment to think about the fate of the building and business since the owner, my cousin Claude, had vanished from the human world. That was definitely something to worry about when I ran out of other, more important stuff.
    “Just let me know next time you’re in a steak mood,” I assured Tara, pleased at the prospect of doing her a good turn. “Where were you thinking of shopping today?” Suddenly, I was anxious to get out of the house.
    “Let’s go to Shreveport. I like the maternity and baby shop there, and I want to drop by that consignment shop on Youree, too.”
    “Sure. Let me put on some makeup.” In fifteen minutes I was dressed in clean white shorts and a sky blue T-shirt, my hair in a neat ponytail and my skin thoroughly moisturized. I felt more like myself than I had in several days.
    Tara and I talked all the way over to Shreveport. Mostly about the babies, of course, because what’s more important than babies? But included in the conversation were Tara’s mother-in-law (a great woman); Tara’s shop (not faring too well this summer); Tara’s assistant, McKenna (whom Tara was trying to fix up with a friend of JB’s); and other items of interest in the Taraverse.
    On this very hot summer day in July, it felt comfortingly normal to be having this gossip session while we took a gal-pal road trip.
    Though Tara owned and operated an upscale boutique, it didn’t carry specialty clothes like maternity and new-mom wear. She said, “I want me some breastfeeding bras and a breastfeeding nightgown from Moms ’N More, and at the consignment place I want to pick up a couple of pairs of shorts, since I can’t get my fat baby ass into my pre-baby shorts. You need anything, Sookie?”
    “I do have to get a dress for Jason and Michele’s wedding,” I said.
    “Are you in it? They set a date yet?”
    “I’m the only attendant as of now. They narrowed it to a couple of dates, but they’re waiting to pick one after they hear from Michele’s sister. She’s in the army, and she may or may not be able to get leave on those dates.” I laughed. “I’m sure Michele will ask her, too, but I’m a sure thing.”
    “What color you need to wear?”
    “Any color I like. She says she doesn’t look good in white, and besides, she went that route for her first wedding. Jason’s wearing a tan suit, and Michele’s wearing chocolate brown.