I can tell that he yearns for the quick fix, even if it’s the very thing destroying his dad.
Maximoff sleeps in his carrier on the couch, and I set down an old New Mutants comic and rise from the blue sofa. Careful not to wake him.
“When did they say they’d call?” I ask Lo, resting my butt on his desk.
“Hm?” His brows knot as he stares at the indie comic. He’s been on the same page for ten minutes. Lo is a slow reader but not that slow.
“The hospital,” I clarify, nudging his arm with my finger. “When are they supposed to call?” He was tested this morning. To see if he’d be eligible for the liver donation. The surgery frightens me, but I’d support Lo no matter what. His emotional distress would be harder to watch than any recovery from the transplant.
“Today or tomorrow.” He pushes his rolling chair away from the desk and swivels to me. With one hand, he reaches out and clutches my hip. I smile as he guides me to his lap. I find myself straddling him.
A very good position, indeed.
He brushes my hair from my face, his fingers grazing my skin with lightness and care. “I know you’re nervous about it, Lil,” he breathes. “But it’s all going to be okay.”
The office door suddenly swings open, and about the same time I spin around, the wood shuts closed, the person out of sight.
“I’m sorry!” Maya calls through the other side. “I should have knocked…”
Lo laughs, like a real humored one. And he whispers to me, “She’s carrying about ten plastic Thor hammers.”
I smile at that image of my super geeky store manager. She’s also proven her loyalty by not sharing any personal info with the press.
“It’s okay!” I shout back to her.
Lo kisses my cheek before I climb off him. “You’re not red,” he states like a fact.
I look at my arms. No blushing elbows. No rash-like flush. I beam. “My superpowers are—”
“Kicking in?” he finishes for me, his hypnotic amber eyes right on mine. His lips pull upward.
“It’s a lame superpower, isn’t it?” I ask as I head to the door. The ability to avoid roasting from head-to-toe—it’s not very grand or epic but at least it’s something. Right?
“Horrible,” he banters. “You’re better than that, love.”
I smile. “Am I?”
He nods. “Most definitely.”
With this nice confidence boost, I open the door. Maya lingers with a heap of plastic Thor hammers in arm. Her glasses fall to the bridge of her nose and her straight black hair frizzes like lightning struck her. “I’m sorry, Lily,” she apologizes again, her eyes permanently widened in terror.
“We weren’t really doing anything,” I tell her quickly. Heat gathers on my neck, a red heat. Damn. That lasted too short. “Do you need help?” I motion to the merchandise she juggles.
“This? No, no, I have it. It’s just…” She leans in close and whispers, “There’s a girl who keeps asking for Lo. She’s been here the past two weeks, and she says she’ll keep coming back for as long as it takes.”
Jeez. I gently shut the door to Lo’s office, not wanting to disturb him. He’s in a weird place, and I don’t think he should be handling super fans.
“Maybe she’ll be satisfied with just me?”
Maya nods repeatedly.
I leave Moffy with Lo and descend the twisty staircase into the Superheroes & Scones break room. A few employees perk up by my sight. I haven’t been present much since my son was born, and it’s been easier to communicate by email and phone.
Entering the store will be like slipping into a version of outside, a smidgen less boisterous but still chaotic and loud. I like coming here after closing, when everyone is gone. It’s just red vinyl booths and racks of comics. But I take the risk now, and I push through the door.
The store is packed. Every booth occupied by a group of people, some just drinking coffee, others reading too. And people really peruse the shelves, like they’re interested in comics and not just spotting the Calloways.
It makes me smile.
Though the moment I scoot behind the counter, a kitchenette as the backdrop, heads whip in my direction. And the line outside the door suddenly rushes to the store window. People pull out their phones and snap photos. Inside the store too.
I shrink only a little. I’m used to the constant gazes now. Maya trails me, some plastic hammers swinging by their price tags and clanking together. “Where is she?” I ask her.