The Last Superhero (15 page)

I swear he looks like an
eleven-year-old with a new toy.

Then we arrive at the
bookstore and I mentally duck.

“
Steven!”

Run my hand through my jaw
and down my neck as she embraces him in a too-effusive hug.

“
Juliana.
How good to see you! How are you today?”

Did she just squirm?

“
Much
better now that you're here.” She holds onto his arms. “We're
going to have a great time.”

Daphne's making a sign for
the door, writing that we're closing early and adding some swirly
lines to it while I make my way around the place to see if
everything's in order.

Mom takes the moment to
seize Steven and start showing him her 'Books You Have To Read
Because I Say So' list. Not that he sees anything wrong with it. On
the contrary, she's got him smiling and chuckling and smiling some
more.

“
You
look better,” Daphne says, handing me the marker she used to
make the sign.

“
I
feel better.” I stow the thing in a drawer under the counter.

“
He's
cute when he smiles.”

I sneer. “He is.”

“
Don't
go sneering at me; it was always you the one with the crush on older
men.”

The little swine! “I
don't think it's you whom I should see as a threat.”

Steven's let out a rumble of
laughter that echoes through the place. Mom's giggling next to him,
almost out of breath.

Daphne and I panic for a
moment as Mom recollects herself and I hear that faint wheezing sound
I've come to know so well.

Dammit.

Steven's laughter is cut
short by realization, but Mom's quick to steer the moment in her
direction and, with it, his attention.

“
Give
me some tape,” Daph says and I pass her the dispenser, watch
her make her way to the door and tape the thing against the glass.

“
Off
we go now!” Mom announces and the place is shut and we follow
her like schoolchildren on a trip around the city.

Only I'm not skipping or
kicking cans, but my arm is on Steven's and Mom's got Daphne on a
hold worthy of a Mexican luchador.

I'm brought back to the
ground by the feel of Steven entwining his fingers with mine while
his free hand pulls my chin to face him.

“
You
okay?” The pad of his thumb brushes over my lower lip.

“
I
am.” How can I not when he's looking at me like that?

Or when he kisses my temple
before we're about to cross the street?

And Simon sees us from his
spot next to the restaurant door and smiles.

Hellos exchanged, a hostess
hauls us away and we end up in one of those tables with the hibachi
and the chef doing tricks with the food.

I don't like people playing
with my food.

Much less having a stranger
watching me while I eat.

But Mom insists.

Steven pulls out a chair for
me and I see what he did there, pulling the thing to him before
actually grabbing it.

He sits to my left, Mom to
my right followed by Daphne, and Simon takes the corner so he can
face at least our profiles.

It starts with wine.

Wine's not her thing and I
don't know why.

It doesn't even matter how
hard I try.

Keeping in mind that she's
not all right.

But she insists and we
yield.

Last thing I want to do is
start a fight.

Ugh.

Steven's arm on the back of
my chair is a relief as Mom goes on about her trip to Spain to Daphne
and Simon.

And I keep hearing that
sound that comes out of her throat, holding the ankle of the last
syllable of every word, every sentence.

It sends shivers down my
spine and soon enough Steven catches onto it and his arm is
transferred to my shoulder and it's like gravity's keeping me in
place when he whispers a “Relax” into my ear.

“
These
three, Steven,” Mom leans closer to us two, one hand touching
me, the other set on the bar reaching towards Daphne and Simon,
“they're all my children. I gave birth to this one, but these
other two are as close to me as if I had given birth to them too.”

“
That
is a wonderful thing to say.”

“
You
already saw and tried,” wiggle of her eyebrows, roll of my eyes
under closed lids, “Simon's restaurant. Now you have to read
Daphne's books.”

Steven's eyes wander towards
the young woman sinking in her chair, utterly embarrassed.

“
What
are they about?”

“
More
wine?” Daph interrupts, passing me the bottle. Interrupting
with the intention of disrupting. Steven's dried his glass so I serve
him another, refill mine and chug it down quick.

“
Vampires
and werewolves!” Mom exclaims.

Daphne yelps.

Simon chuckles.

I interject, “Paranormal
with a bit of romance, some thriller, crime...”

She's extremely shy,
especially when it comes to her writing.

“
And
erotica, of course,” Mom adds and Daphne's wine is spilled over
whatever the chef was flambéing on the grill.

“
They
are wonderful pieces of contemporary literature and she publishes
them herself.”

Steven opens his eyes wide
in amazement while the object of the conversation keeps repeating her
apologies to the chefs and Simon wipes up the mess.

“
Vampires?
Werewolves?” Steven's questions hold no edge.

“
They're
good, believe me,” I say. “I can say it because I edit
them.”

Throw a lifesaver and it’s
caught. Daphne smiles at me and I smile back at her.

Then Simon strikes up a
conversation about something else, Mom jokes about it, Daphne
comments, I quip, Steven digs into it, Mom asks, Simon answers, I
give details, Daphne brings in references, I concur, Mom concurs,
Steven questions, Simon inquires further, we frown at each other and
laughter is requested. 'Cause a subject isn't good unless everyone
can join and we're all in this pool of giggles and friendly babble.
And Steven's going over his wine and his steak with a vengeance while
I dive into my plate of fish and his cheekbones look all rosy and
sweet and it all starts looking quite better.

Mom's wielding her fork like
it's some weapon and Daphne has to duck from it every now and then,
her face a question: Is she not right? Is she insane? Or is it the
wine that has trapped our brains in a numbing embrace?

“
I
can do that.” Surly words come out of Steven's lips and I turn
his way as one of the chefs amuses a patron by throwing something in
the air. “I can throw stuff in the air.”

“
Are
you drunk?” We've eaten, but his eyes are a bit unfocused. “I
think you've had enough.”

“
I'm
not drunk, just happy,” he says and I'm led to believe both
predicaments are right, his and mine.

Steven excuses himself to go
to the bathroom and when he comes back, tells us we can leave
whenever we feel like it.

He's paid the bill.

Smug bastard.

Simon says, “Then next
one is on me.”

And Daphne gives me a
think-about-what-I-told-you sneer.

But Mom cuts through it all
by asking for a toast.

What the hell, we're already
done.

“
For
this moment to stay with us forever.”

Cryptic.

We down the last of our
glasses and head for the door.

Not before Simon touches my
arm, his eyes on Mom, and tells me to wait for his call.

These two have something
going on and I refuse to stay in the dark about it for long.

15

Steven's all teases and
chuckles when we arrive at his house.

Oh to be drunk and feel
alcohol's imprudent sting.

“
I
love you,” he says once we're standing at his door. “I
love you. I love everything about you.” He's holding me by the
waist and I'm arching my back to be able to see his eyes.

“
Steven?”

He's raining kisses on my
face, my neck, and here I am trying to pull his keys from his pocket
and open the door. He better not collapse before we've made it at
least to the living room.

Try the key and it's not
easy with a man who doesn't realize he's too heavy for you to carry
half his weight over your shoulder.

Is he laughing?!

Ugh.

Okay. Door open. Here kitty,
kitty.

Get in. Kick the door
closed.

Atta boy. Sit on the couch
and pull me to you and before you even notice I'm straddling you...
And you let out a snore!

His head whips back and
forth because he's fighting with all his might to stay up.

“
Get
out,” he cries in a hoarse voice.

“
Let
me help you to your bed.”

“
No,”
he croaks, but he's falling asleep at too fast a pace.

Fuck this shit.

I tug on his jacket and he
lets me slip it off his shoulders. Set it on the coat rack and come
back to him splayed on the sofa. Take off his shoes, unbutton his
shirt so he gets some air. He's covered his eyes with one arm, the
other dangles, almost touching the floor.

Another snore.

Not funny. Not funny at all.

A gust of cold wind caresses
my back and I manage to kick the dangling arm and make him whimper.

“
Stay
up at least until I've made it out of here, dumbass.” Set him
up straight, pull some cushions from the rest of the furniture to put
underneath in case he decides the floor is another acceptable place
to sleep.

Hey there archangel Michael,
care to slay another one for me?

Because if I don't make it
out on time, I know I'll be...

“
DAMN.”

The deafening sound of stone
cracking takes my attention back towards the archangel's statue.

It's breaking, cracking, the
angel is shaking off the layer of rock that covers him.

Fuck fuck fuck.

And the devil is trying to
shrug him off.

Bits of stone still stuck to
his otherwise flawless skin, Michelangelo lifts his sword in the air
and pierces the devil's skull before turning his lovely hazel eyes to
me.

Scorching. Enrapturing.
Penetrating.

He smiles and my knees
buckle at his perfect face, perfect jaw, perfect teeth.

What the hell is this guy
doing to me?

I have to step forward, I
have to get closer, I have to, at least, touch him.

An extended hand, by its own
volition, tries to reach out to him and his satisfied, almost
predatory grin.

Can't help myself.
Magnetism. Animal instinct.

I. Need. To. Touch. Him. But
every step I take keeps me in the same place.

He spreads his wings. So
huge. So big. So magnificent.

A deity.

He shakes off the last of
the stone to reveal himself complete. His armor shining like the sun.