Chewing on the toothbrush that's still in her mouth, Tiff starts off the nightly round of texts before she forgets. Mr. Beck and Dr. Deseret get messages that are nearly identical: "I'm so sorry for the short notice, but I'm in Canada because the government told me to. (You understand.) I'll make it up to you in whatever way you deem fair." The only messages she sends to Andy are, back-to-back, "Please feed the toothwheat some raw chicken before you go to bed. If you use one of the frozen half-breasts, you won't have to worry about feeding it again in the morning," and, "Good night. Love you." It's easy to reply to Betty; it's really easy to ignore the people she doesn't want to talk to.
The real issue is that she doesn't know what to send to her aunt.
She's an adult. She doesn't have to send anything. She's nineteen-goddamn-years-old and she can go to Canada without explanation if she wants to.
It feels bad not to, though, so she deigns to call instead.
It takes a moment before her aunt picks up; Tiff speaks before Esther can say hello. "You're not home yet, are you?"
"Not yet. Everything okay?"
"Everything is perfectly fine," she lies around the plastic in her mouth. She bites down on the bristles. "I figured you wouldn't be— I'm not going to be home tonight. You can ask why if you want, but you're not going to like the answer."
For a moment, all that there is of Esther is her breathing. She gives a small chuckle. "There isn't much you can do to surprise me these days, Tiff. Out with it."
After a long second of a keening tone from somewhere in the back of her throat, Tiff blurts, "I'm in Canada."
"Why are you in Canada?"
"That's a fantastic question." Tiff grimaces, sets the chewed toothbrush down, and turns out to face the rest of the room. Wiping the cheap mint toothpaste from the corner of her mouth, she gesticulates with the toothbrush and rushes through, "I'm in Canada because the government will clear my golf cart theft charges if I look at a haunted house."
Tiff can probably hear Esther's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline. She certainly hears the incredulous puff of air blasting from her aunt's nose. "Tiffany May, that did surprise me."
"I've still got it, then."
"You were arrested for theft? Of a golf cart? And the government has you looking at a haunted house in Canada?"
"If it makes it any better," (it doesn't), "I'm not the one who stole the golf cart. That was Kepler. I was just... also there— and I got stuck. I didn't injure my wrist, but I just about broke it trying to get it free."
"Well, thank you for not breaking your arm again? I guess?"
She narrows her eyes at the half-unpacked duffel bag on the bed and considers the question of if she wants to get into the whole of it. Even if the Black Robes Division has some way to monitor her calls (which she's pretty sure would be illegal), she's going to explain. "It has something to do with a former ally of Chip Winger's. I'm not that far from the border."
Esther sighs. "Of course it has to do with Chip Winger. It always has to do with him. Even dead, he's a menace."
Tiff puts her toothbrush back in her mouth just to chew on it. "It's a shame he has his fingers in the necromancy pie."
"I'm not going to ask."
"I have it on good authority that it's blueberry-bone and toothwheat crust."
"That makes no sense and I've decided I have no questions on the topic of necromancy pies."
"Good." She winces. "I don't have an answer."
"You also tell Kepler that Aunt Esther is going to have a word or two for him when you two get home. I'm serious."
"Don't ground him."
"I'm going to ground him."
Tiff lowers the phone slightly and looks at Kepler. "You hear that? You're so grounded."
He throws a pillow in rage.
There's no time to focus on that. Her aunt's still talking. "But Canada? You don't even have a passport, Tiff."
"I do now. They gave me one. And some paperwork for... an undisclosed thing. And ten thousand dollars. It would have been stupid not to, right?"
She sputters out a cough, choking slightly. After a moment, she clears her throat and croaks, "Ten thousand? Ten thousand?"
"Yeah, ten thousand. That's too much, right? Ten thousand."
"Okay, well.. that's some serious money. You going to put some of that into savings?"
"I was thinking motorcycle repair," she jokes, even though it's something that only makes sense to her.
"Tiffany May, " Aunt Esther says, with a slight admonishing tone. "We can deal with that when you get back." Another sigh and Tiff can hear her aunt adjust the phone as some sort of fabric is causing a hellacious noise to come from the speaker. "I am going to be worried sick—"
"Please don't worry about me. Please don't worry about me."
"—but I trust you and I love you. Call me as much as you can, you understand?"
She would promise to do that, but she's more confused by the sound. As it tends to, concerned curiosity takes the priority spot. "What's going on, on your end? What's that sound?"
"Oh. I coughed on the phone and wiped it off. Nothing to worry about, dear. Now, please be very careful. And remember to tell Kepler he's got it coming."
"Are you sick?"
Esther is quiet for a moment.
Tiff insists on repetition. "Are you sick?"
A sigh. "Zlob seems to think I'll be okay, but she can't be sure without equipment she doesn't have. Some rogue bacteria from her seemed to leap onto me and..."
Tiff breathes in sharply, but doesn't say anything.
"We'll just have to see. Don't worry about me."
"I'm going to worry."
She laughs a little. Tiff knows it's about hypocrisy. "I'll be fine. Just go be Scooby Doo for the government."
Well, shit. That's something to think about. In all the time Tiff has known her aunt, she's never been grievously sick. Maybe it's some side effect of being incapable of death until her destiny is fulfilled, or some minor boon granted by the universe, or a string of good luck that has now, unfortunately, run out. Whatever it is, Tiff doesn't know. Maybe it's just a fact of reality that people get sick sometimes.
She's intimately familiar with how odd extraterrestrial parasites and diseases can act when introduced to a human host, though. She'll keep it in the back of her mind— less of a thing to study and more of a thing to get rid of and then ask about later.
All she can think to say after a long moment of chewing on her lip is, "Well, at least we know it won't kill you?"
"At least there's that. Just do not worry, Tiff. I promise it'll be fine. Zlob is on the case and you know how one-track mind she can be when a task needs to be done."
She recalls just how Zlob acted when she heard that the washing machine was broken and Tiff couldn't figure out how to fix it. There may have been a moment on the roof that was a turning point between the two of them, but that was the first big moment of bonding— and it took a full two days of tinkering, washing machine manuals, and rubber belts before Zlob was even remotely satisfied.
The taste of blood is a sign that she should stop chewing while she thinks. "See, this is why I need to get my hands on some medical texts that aren't from here, because we have no clue how these things are supposed to react to their normal hosts, let alone human ones, and we have such little information on, like, cross-species pregnancy, like in the case of Jeb Jr., but— I guess that's something for tomorrow, or the next day. Please get better?"
"I will. And you, Tiffany May, be careful. If I have to come up to Canada, I can guarantee you I'm going to cause such a stink. I can't even begin to think how Zlob would react. Now go on. I love you and I expect updates. Texts will suffice, but calls would be nice."
She chuckles, bittersweet. "Love you, too."
"Toodles."
The call ends. In the quiet seconds following, Hoobastank's "Crawling in the Dark" begins to play from an adjacent room. Because that's definitely what people want to fall asleep to.
Tiff rolls her eyes. "Fucking Canadians."