Chapter Text
Stand up and deliver
Your wildest fantasy-(sy-sy)!
Do what the f*ck you want to.
There's no one to appease...
Amy Dallon sat frumpily on my doorstep.
That was never a good sign. "Dallon."
"Hebert."
We stared at each other for a long moment before she broke down in a hearty chuckle. "God, I can't even. Your face!"
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and wiped my face. Again. "How do I look?"
"Like you got bitchslapped by the Kool-Aid Man."
"Fantastic," I muttered. Emma had been riding high since the Mall Incident a couple of weeks ago. Uber and Leet got taken to the cleaners by Mr. Barnes, opting to take a plea deal since they collectively had about two grand, a bunch of ratty clothes, an entire room full of Accord's Focus Formula #186 drink mix, and a stash of random Tinkertech no one wanted to touch for fear of life and limb. Her shoot went as planned and it made her brave enough to step up her game at school.
I knew I should've looked up when I walked into art class. At least it was tempera paint. "Your sister's not here, is she?"
"You're safe," she shrugged. "Victoria got mad at Mom and I told her to take a walk to cool down."
"How long ago was that?"
"Two hours."
"So she's not coming back."
"She will," Amy said. She blew a stray frizzy curl out of her face. "When Mom's good and sauced."
"So now."
"Mom's not that bad."
"Did I stutter?"
"That's not my fault."
"I know, ugh," I said. "Mind letting me through?"
"You're not gonna like what you see in there."
"I've seen more of your mother than anyone other than your Dad should."
Amy shuddered. I wondered if she was remembering the Table Dancing incident. Carol fell through the coffee table and Mom had to fix her up. Well, Mom tried. Turns out it's hard to pull shards of glass out of someone's leg when you can't see straight. After everyone stopped throwing up, Amy showed up, sighed, and promptly handed out healing all around. She'd been a big fan of Mom up to that point and it shattered the illusion of Mom as a fey, upbeat healer doling out blessings wherever she went.
Having someone vomit a whole Lisa Frank pattern on your shirt would do that to someone.
"I doubt it’d surprise me," I said, stepping around the frizzy, freckled girl in a too big jacket over a too small shirt she'd undoubtedly "borrowed" from her sister since she hated to do laundry.
"Fine, I'd better come too."
I walked into the living room to find it surprisingly clean. There were voices: Mom's lilting soprano giggles a contrast with Carol Dallon's husky alto. But they weren't anywhere to be seen. There weren't any beer cans, wine bottles, or other assorted detritus on the floor. Just a single open bottle of Jack Daniels, two shot glasses, and a blonde toddler with a tumbler in her hand—
Wait.
"Is that a baby?!"
"Told ya."
"You didn't specify Oh, by the way, there's an actual child in your living room!"
The baby giggled and raised a half full shot in one chubby hand.
Oh hell no. I raised one glowing hand. "Gimme that!"
The kid stared in confusion as the glass materialized in my fingers. Amy stared at me, mouth agape. "You're a cape?!"
"Don't advertise that, please."
"You used your powers in front of a stranger!"
"Please, I've known you since grade school."
"Not me, you idiot. Her!" She said, pointing at the toddler. The child in question started reaching for the bottle of Jack, which Amy snatched away. "No shots for you, kid. I'll handle all the underage drinking around here."
"No, you won't!" I said. I wriggled my fingers and the bottle vanished from her hands. "No one's getting shots here."
There was a child in my living room.
Something was amiss. “Okay, you seem to know what’s going on. Spill.”
“Gladly,” Amy said. “Mom thought it was a great idea for Vicky to babysit. Said it would teach her some responsibility.”
I stared.
And stared.
The darker freckles on Amy’s left cheek almost made the Big Dipper, if you squinted.
That was probably too much staring. “I’m not going to complain about anything that might teach your sister temperance, but seriously?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” she said, trying and failing to snatch the shot glass out of my hand. “It’s a big client with lots of billable hours. I’m pretty sure she would’ve told me to give this lady a facelift if she thought it’d snag the account.”
“And this toddler is in my living room, why?”
I had a guess, but Amy’s next words confirmed it. “Because Victoria not only didn’t want to be volunteered for it, she didn’t want Mom to party while she sat on the kid.”
The toddler gurgled happily, clinking the two empty glasses together. I stole them out of her grasp and she looked at me indignantly. Well, as indignantly as a three year old could. My hands were getting full, but I managed. “Victoria shouldn’t be sitting on anyone, let alone a kid.”
“She sits on her stupid boyfriend plenty.”
“Ah. He's prepared to die like a man.”
"A very stupid boy, more like," she muttered.
Amy was a bit bitter about it. She and Victoria didn't share a bedroom, but they shared a wall. I'd rather not imagine the things she heard. Especially if Victoria was as careful at home as she was out and about. "So there's a kid in my living room."
"That’s right."
"Hi!" We both looked down to the suddenly verbal child. "I'mma Aster."
"Huh."
"Three year olds can talk, you know," Amy huffed.
"Forgive me. I mostly interact with teenagers."
Bottles clinked in the kitchen, followed by laughter. "Sounds like they're having fun."
"Don't look at me," Amy shrugged. "I'm just here in case they need someone to run to the corner store."
"They don't card you?"
"I stole one of Vicky's shirts."
I eyed her. "You're not Victoria's size, either."
"Fine, I forgot to wash," she huffed. "Doesn't matter. They don't look at my face when I buy."
"Wouldn't that make the news?"
"Please, Panacea would never go buy cheap booze," she said, pulling out an ID. "Erica Danner, on the other hand? They'd sell her a rocket launcher if the shirt's tight enough."
"Of course they would. It's Brockton Bay," I muttered.
"Exactly."
"Yup!" Aster chirped and we both turned to stare.
"I'm... gonna go change."
"Not checking on Mom. Or, you know, your Mom?"
A slam rang from the kitchen, ceramic against wood. Carol Dallon's voice chimed over the ruckus. "Chug, chug, chug!"
"Nah, they seem fine."
"Don't take long," Amy said as she plopped onto the couch, frizzy curls bouncing along with the rest of her. "I'm not getting paid to watch the spawn."
"Cute."
I ran upstairs, stripping my paint-stained shirt as I went. My hair would be easy to wash—nothing stuck to it, so all I needed to do was rinse and it'd be fine—but the shirt irked me. It wasn't that I couldn't afford a new shirt. Far from it: Sparky and I exchanged clothes regularly since they liked to present masc most of the time and we hit up thrift shops and Goodwill regularly. Mom was a professor at Brockton U. She even had tenure and her classes were among the most popular at the school. Students fought to get into her Lit courses, sometimes literally.
It wasn't just because she was famous and an open cape (though her idea of what constituted professional attire left little to the imagination and a lot to be desired), but Mom knew her stuff. She could rattle off facts and recitations like no one's business. When she read to the class, she was an uncanny mimic: voices came alive and she'd even use her powers to set the mood. A cool wind against your face. The smell of salty sea air drifting through the class. Party tricks with student volunteers when reading a scene set at a pub. As kids, Emma and I would sit enraptured as she read Hans Christian Anderson to us, back when Emma would sleep over. Mom had them memorized.
The parties she'd throw for her students at the end of every successful semester didn't hurt, I'm sure.
Mom made good money. But she also had a gargantuan tab at the only liquor store in town still willing to sell to her and half the time we subsisted on donations from her "followers". So I shopped cheap and ate cheaper.
Flour was cheap. The tent city had a supply of chickens where we'd get eggs every week. A local Tinker Mom saved last year kept a decent stock of oil she'd filtered and transformed into something humans could eat (Tinker abilities being something that eluded her, aside from being able to break anything they made after spending more than five minutes "playing" with them). A baker near the Boardwalk let me bus tables the summer Emma decided she wanted a new friend and I picked up a lot from what he taught me: ratios and water saturation, fermentation, and a ton of time figuring out how long to let things proof for different flavors and consistencies. I spent hours working out the best ways to make a lot of food very fast because every little bit helped.
I was handy. And patient. It served me well so far. It took a lot to take me by surprise.
Like opening my bedroom door and finding a girl sitting on my bed.
The girl was pretty. Big eyes. Dark skin. High cheekbones and a long neck. Her choice in clothing could've been better, considering the chilly autumn air: A purple tube top and jeans with shredded holes so big she would've been better off wearing a skirt. Her hair was pulled back with a Day-Glo green scrunchie and poofed in back like the tip of a microphone. And she had two of my cookbooks on her lap with my laptop propped up by Mr. Ted off to the side.
She stared.
I stared.
We both screamed.
"Oh yeah, there's another kid up there," Amy's voice echoed up the stairwell. "Ashley or something."
"Aisha!" The girl shrieked.
"Whatever. Have fun."
I cleared my throat, hoping to retain some dignity. "That information would've been useful before I started changing, Amy."
"Not my fault you didn't knock."
"It's my house!"
"Now you can't give me sh*t about locking my door when Victoria's home."
I turned to face the girl—Aisha—on my bed. "So."
"What's up?" She said, giving me the eye. "You gonna put on a shirt?"
"You gonna get your shoes off my bed?"
"You gonna keep screaming like a girl?"
"I've stopped, thank you very much."
"Fine," she said. She kicked her legs off my blankets and stood up. Aisha wasn't very tall, the poof of her hair at the same level of my eyes. "Why do you keep cookbooks in your room?"
"Why are you in my room in the first place?"
"It was that, hang with the baby—"
"I'm told she's a toddler and can speak."
"—or hang with your mama and the lady with a Karen haircut. I made a choice."
"It was a poor choice. Get out so I can change."
"Hey, you barged in on me," Aisha said. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What if I was changing?"
"It's not your room!"
"But what if?"
"Then I'd say oops, pardon me, could you change and get out of my room."
Our eyes met, mine with (hopefully) fierce insistence and hers with a challenge.
We stared.
And stared.
And she still wasn't leaving. I clapped a hand to my forehead.
"Woo! I win!"
"That wasn't a staring contest!" I'd had enough. "Mom! Why's some random kid—"
"I'm fourteen, jackass!"
"—excuse me, RANDOM TEENAGER IN MY ROOM!"
"You're babysitting!"
Wait. "What?"
Mom teetered through the kitchen doorway, a sheepish grin on her face. "I might'a, kinda sorta offered to watch someone at the tent city today?"
"Moooom."
"It's for a good cause!" She said, blue ponytail bobbling behind her. "Her father's doing some work for us and since I can't pay him, I offered to watch his kid!"
"You offered?"
"Welllll~" At least she had the decency to look abashed. "I forgot Carol was coming over and Vics was gonna watch the baby anyway, so two birds, one stone!"
"Victoria's not here, Mom."
"Right, I'm getting to that," she said, stamping her foot. "After she left, Carol was sad and after a couple of shots, I thought to myself ‘Hey, Taylor's responsible, right?’"
"He's tha bestest!" Carol said unseen in the kitchen. "Cheers!"
"Wait for me, woman!" Mom hissed, then turned back with an angelic smile. "So I figured you could totally take care of them."
"What if I had plans?"
"Sparky's got sparring tonight and Ems isn't streaming"—Now my cheeks were flushed and Amy raised an eyebrow at that—"So your night's free!"
I sighed. Mom was forgetful, but what she did remember, she remembered. "Fine."
"Woo! You're the best!"
"Tha bestest! Now can we drink?" Carol mumbled. "Vicky's not back yet and I don't wanna remember why."
"One condition."
"What?" Mom's head whipped around so fast her hair slapped Amy in the face.
"I need money."
"It's called being responsible, baby."
I nearly said something harsh, but I bit my tongue. Mom never remembered my lectures about being responsible with money when she drank with Carol, anyway. "If you're good at something, never do it for free."
Crocodile tears gathered at the corner of her eyes. "But we don't have money!"
"Mom does," Amy said. She spat a length of blue hair out of her mouth and wiped her face. "It's only fair. Victoria's not around to earn her allowance anyway."
"Fiiiine. Lemme get mah purse." Carol Dallon stumbled into the living room and I walked downstairs to meet her. Well, mostly for that: I wanted to make sure someone would be able to catch her if she fell before paying me. Amy had the size and strength of a girl who considered smothered french fries a well-balanced meal and while Mom was more than strong enough to haul Carol around, she'd end up hitting the floor before Mom realized she should catch her.
The woman didn't look anything like Amy, which I expected since she was adopted. Curvy, if a bit soft in the middle after years of partying with Mom. A strong chin. Nice blue eyes. Victoria got her looks from somewhere, after all. Minus the hideous up-do. "Here you go."
She handed me a wad of bills and I did a double take before counting it. "This is two hundred bucks."
"'S'what Vicky would'a got if she stuck around," Carol frowned. "I wanna go drink some more."
"Have one on me," I said, feeling a bit light-headed. Now I could afford twenty shirts.
"Will do! Yer the bestest!"
"Baaaaayyybeeeee~!" Mom sidled up to me. "You know you should tithe, right?"
And reality smacked me like a ponytail smacking Amy. "I'm watching the kids with this, Mom."
"Fiiiiiine."
Aisha ended up changing in my room.
Money in hand and with two 'spawn' (as Amy liked to say) in tow, I opted to just get out of the house and head to the Boardwalk. It was the easiest way to keep everyone entertained without resorting to having a far too inquisitive girl going through my things and a tiny, handsy human grabbing my stuffed animals and pitching them across the room. Given the chill in the air, I refused to let Aisha out of the house without layers.
"You're not my mama. I like this look!"
Truth be told, so did I. But I wasn't going to tell her that. "And I'm not handing you off to your father with a cold."
I ended up losing another shirt after all. Aisha had tied it off beneath her bust to show marginally less skin than the ratty old tube top, but she wore Sparky's old bomber jacket over it as a concession to the weather. Aster came equipped with a massive bag of specially prepared meals entirely lacking in spice, distilled (only lukewarm) water, and a parka so thick and heavy it made the poor kid look like a cartoon starfish with arms spread wide.
She also had a laminated name card stitched onto her coat. It listed do not give’s on the back fold (no avocados, no cumin or paprika, nothing fried) and on the front in blocky letters it read: Hi! My name is Aster Aryana Anders.
Aisha shook her head when she read it. "Man, her mama ain't even trying to hide that sh*t."
So the toddler was racist.
Well, that wasn't fair. Aster was just Aster. A three year old didn't really care one way or the other so long as someone paid attention. Aisha was surprisingly good with her, cooing and playing with the kid—
"Chocolate!" Aster squealed, pointing at Aisha.
Maybe I spoke too soon.
Aisha's eyes widened before she glanced over her shoulder. "Oh! Candy! Come on, squirt."
"Chocolate!"
"Be careful!" I said, watching as she slung the kid on her hip and ran inside a confectionary. The Boardwalk was full of small Mom & Pop shops and tourist traps, which made it a nice way to kill an evening. Of course, there were also a bunch of hired brutes (not to be confused for Brutes: capes with enhanced strength) around, waiting to boot some homeless person looking for a break. Or anyone who didn't "look" like they should be there. But on a cold autumn night? It was nice, so long as you didn't think about why it looked so nice.
Mom had her share of arguments with the higher-ups when some of the younger tent city folks would come back covered in bruises for having the audacity to look for summer work. No fights broke out, thankfully, just compromise. I'd make sure anyone from the tent city coming out here looked their best with freshly stitched and repaired clothes and the jackboots wouldn't toss them out. Not a perfect solution, but it worked for now.
Even still, I liked it out here. It was a little rundown, just like the rest of town. But at night, strings of bulbs would glow just overhead and cast a lovely warm light over everything. There were only a few places in town with a cozy vibe and this was one of them.
Even the hulking enforcers lurking at every corner couldn't spoil that.
"Hey, hands off!"
Aisha's voice rang loud and clear over the din and I took off towards the confectionary. Two of the boardwalk's resident goons had her by the arms and she squirmed in their grasp. "Lemme go, asshole!"
"She's got a mouth on her."
"No sh*t. Alright, jig's up. Don't think we saw you running around with a kid that ain't yours?"
Goon #1, lankier than his companion, nodded. "I dunno, she looks the type."
"You motherfu—"
"Yeah, the type to cause trouble." Goon #2 said. He was squat with no neck and a bald head. A fire hydrant dressed in all black like his taller buddy.
And I'd had enough. "What's the problem, fellas?"
The two morons turned my way and gave me a once over. "Just taking out some trash. Go have a good time, kid. Somewhere else."
They weren't drunk and their clothes, cliche as they looked, were nice and clean. Freshly pressed even. They were professional headknockers, so a change of tactics was in order. "She's with me, actually."
"What, she puttin' out for you or something?"
My palms itched and the hair on the back of my neck prickled. "Excuse you?"
Aisha took the opportunity to wriggle free from Goon #1's hands and immediately clung to my arm. "Baby, where you been?" She preened, all smiles and ingénue eye-flutters. "I've been all over and these nice men were just telling me to find you. I mean, I was about to call your mama and ask her to vouch for me."
"This twink important or something?" Goon #2 muttered, stomping over to us. "Please, he's not—"
"Hey," Goon #1 said, squinting. "You look familiar."
I looked up to meet his eyes. "Do I?"
Goon #2 reached out and, as one, Aisha and I took a small step backwards. His face went red and he raised a hand before his buddy grabbed it and yanked him backwards. "Hey, what gives?"
"Ohsh*tthatsAquaskid!"
"WHAT?"
"Look at his hair!"
Goon #2 squinted before he scoffed. "That's nothing. Half of the homeless trash in town has blue hair."
I wasn't going to wait for the two of them to decide one way or the other. I leaned in and whispered in Aisha's ear. "I'm about to do something really stupid. Hold tight."
Sophia had a neat trick with her power: shifting into shadowy sand to become light as air and pass through walls. I couldn't do that, not by a long shot. But a bit of practice did give me something I could use.
While the beefy bruisers argued, the two of us went black before fading out of sight. She gasped, but slapped a hand to her mouth while I took the opportunity to drag her away, back towards the pier. Sweat dotted my brow: I hadn't held the power that long before. The last time I’d tried it with someone else, it was with Sparky and it failed the moment we tried to pass through the canvas wall into their room.
It wasn't phasing, but we could lurk unseen.
Once we got to the pier, I released and slumped against a lamp post. Aisha bounced on her toes. "Okay, that was f*cking badass."
I couldn't help it, I smiled. "Glad to help. Where's Aster?"
She paused mid-bounce. "I thought you had her."
"You took her to the candy store."
"We got some chocolate and then those knucklef*ckers grabbed me and..." She trailed off, dark skin taking a violet tinge. "Oh, f*ck."
“You’re not wrong,” I muttered, testing the waters by standing without support. My head felt like it was filled with cotton, but at least the world stopped spinning.
“f*ck!” Aisha screamed. Several heads turned and she flipped them off before stepping closer. “Now what? This joint’s full of people.”
My power to steal wouldn’t work unless I could see where Aster was. Unfortunately, Aisha had a point: the kid was hip-height and the crowd was stupidly dense. I’d already lost Aisha once and putting the fear of Mom into the boardwalk goons was an accident. I didn’t think that trick would work a second time.
I needed someone who could move unseen. A shadow…
Oh goddamnit.
Aisha must’ve seen the look on my face. “What? You’ve got some other trick to find her?
“I…” I had to keep my teeth from grinding over the words. “I might know someone. Who can help. Maybe.”
“Then call them!”
“I’d rather not.”
The girl grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me around. “Look, we’ve got two choices here. Either we split up and get f*ck all done or she falls off the boardwalk or something. So do what you’ve gotta do.”
Awesome. The life of an actual child hung on the good will of the person I liked the least. “Fine.”
I pulled out my RoundPhone and scrolled through the contacts. It was like an old habit, less than two strokes and I tucked the thing between my ear and chin while I looked around.
A shrill hiss pierced through the crowd noise. “Why. Are you. Calling me?”
“Hey, Emma. You busy?”
“Do I sound busy to you?!”
“You could just answer the question.”
“No!”
“Emma, seriously?”
All I heard was breathing.
“Are we really playing this game?”
Something shifted on the line, like skin against the speaker, and the breathing got louder.
“Did you put me on speakerphone just to breathe like a creeper?”
The breathing startled for half a second before it picked up. It sounded like she had run a marathon. Or run downstairs for Cheetos. Either or.
f*ck it. "Fine. Is Sophia there?”
“So you’re not even calling for me?!
“She speaks!”
"Why do you need her?"
"I just do," I said. "Is she there?"
"Even if she was here, which she's not," Emma said, "Why would I tell—"
"Will you shut the f*ck up, Ems! I'm trying to watch TV!" Sophia's voice echoed, faint over the line. "I think they shot JR or something."
Emma got quiet and I finally muttered. "Just record the show and put her on. I owe you a point."
"A what?"
"Please."
"Ugh, fine." I heard shuffling over the line followed by a meaty smack and an indignant what the f*ck before Emma said. "It's for you."
"The f*ck is this?"
"What's up, Sophie?"
"Hebert." She growled. Sparky was right: some people would pay good money for that kind of thing. If Emma had a future in customer service, then Sophia had a future in making threats over the phone for money. Or weirdos who wanted someone to bully them. "Why shouldn't I just hang up right now?"
"I need your help," I said. "More specifically, I need Shadow Stalker's help."
The line went quiet. Long enough that I looked at my phone screen to see if we were still connected. When she spoke again, it was grim. "Do you have any f*cking idea how much trouble you'd be in for outing a cape?"
Sophia rarely took that kind of tone. I'd only heard her use it once before, back when some wannabe Nazi on the baseball team called her a name. She kicked that guy in the balls so hard he had to get surgery to retrieve them.
I preferred my ass not-kicked and my bits right where they belonged, so I thought a moment before speaking. "I think you've got the wrong idea."
"Oh really?"
"See, I figured you knew how to get in touch with Shadow Stalker since she was so quick to show up at the mall."
"Go on."
Her voice didn't promise murder anymore, so I just kept talking. "She seemed like she had her sh*t together and all that, plus she saved my ass at the expense of letting everyone see hers—"
"What the f*ck?"
"—and you're too much of a hothead to ever be a superhero, so I figured you'd know how to get ahold of her."
She was silent for a long moment. "And what if I do know Shadow Stalker? What do"—Emma started ranting in the background and Sophia whispered shut up, I'm handling it before coming back to the line—"I said... what do you need her for?"
"I need her to find someone."
"She's not stalking Emma, you perv."
"I don't need to stalk Emma, thank you very much. I already know where she lives."
"Hanging up now."
"Wait!" I said, biting my tongue. "I need her to find a kid."
"...what? You're gonna have to explain that sh*t."
"I lost a baby."
"How the f*ck did you lose a baby?!"
"Look, I'm at the Boardwalk and she's out there somewhere. Can Shadow Stalker help or not?"
Sophia sighed. "Tell me what the brat looks like."
"So she'll--"
"Yes she'll f*ckin' help. Description, now!" She snapped. I imagined her grinding her teeth, so I figured this was a step in the right direction..
"Think of the Gerber baby, but whiter, with a bright pink parka."
Sophia sighed. "Good. This your number?"
"Yeah."
"Expect a text."
It was the longest wait of my life. I'd given Aisha fifteen bucks and told her to go nuts at the arcade, but she came back after ten minutes with a glum expression. "I let some twinky asshole beat me at Guitar Jam and it wasn’t even funny. I can't even play games without thinking about it."
"I'm sorry."
"Nah, I mouthed off," she mumbled. "I told Aster not to trust the cops when I was walking by and that's when they came after me."
"I mean, sage advice and all that," I said, leaning back against the bench. "And I doubt they're even smart enough to pass the exam."
"You've got to take a test to be a cop?" She said. "Damn. I figured you'd just show up at the station all like I take 'roids and love beating junkies, gimme a badge." She slumped down next to me, skin-to-jean, but leaning forward so I couldn't quite see her face. "My big bro wanted to be a cop, you know."
"Oh? What happened to him?"
"Eh, he's got a record. He didn't even want to be a cop because he liked it, he just wanted a steady gig. But, you know"—she turned to me and shrugged—"life and all that sh*t. He tries, though."
"He doesn't live with you and your Dad?"
"Nah, he f*cked off a couple years back after Moms and I had a fight," Aisha's knees bounced and she nibbled her fingernails. "Couldn't blame him. I'da done the same, but I was twelve. Dad ended up taking me, but he's busy. Works two jobs. Brian wants me to move in with him, but he's not even old enough to buy smokes. Ain't no caseworker gonna give him a shot."
Maybe he'll do it," I said. She was still frowning, so I sat up and bumped shoulders with her. "What, you don't want to stay with him?"
"I dunno," Aisha looked up. The sky had gotten dark and the string lights kicked in. Warm yellow specks reflected in her eyes. "He's all protective and sh*t. I like it. Hell, it's what he does. But..."
I stayed quiet. Her fingers tapped against the bench now, an unsteady rhythm compared to the way she rocked in place. "He'd keep me. But he'd keep me, you get it?"
"I don't follow."
"I mean, f*ck... why am I even telling you all this," she said, turning away. "You're Aqua's kid and I'm a f*ckup who lost a whole-ass baby. You don't need to hear my bullsh*t."
I thought about Emma, the way she got nervous because Anne was going off to college, and I did what I did back then. "Eh, I'm good at listening."
"Not like I'm gonna see you again after this."
"Hey, you never know. If he does a good job, Mom might have your Dad come back and do some other work," I frowned a moment, thinking of what Mom told me. "What's he doing over there, anyway?"
"His day job is for some printmaker thing. He makes big signs and flags for companies. Your mama wanted a logo with her face on it."
Of course she did. "Then if she likes it, she'll definitely want him to make more."
My phone buzzed and I whipped it out. It was from an unfamiliar number, but I had a good idea who it was. The text read: found her. she's safe. get your ass to better burger. patio side.
Aisha peered over my shoulder. "That the help?"
"Looks like it."
"How'd she even know what baby to look for?"
"There are only so many Gerber baby lookalikes on Earth. Let's find this kid and go home."
Aisha and I wove through the crowds, hands clasped, slowly winding around to the far side of the pier. Better Burger, despite the name, was one of the pricier restaurants on the strip: they made half-pound meat monstrosities in a different way than Fugly Bob's, the meat from semi-local bovine that were read lullabies before bed and massaged with beer. Deep fried foie gras slices, cheeses imported from overseas (no mean feat, considering the hit shipping took due to Leviathan prowling the oceans), duck fat french fries. An artery-clogging nightmare wrapped in bougie tastes.
I would've eaten there every day if it didn't cost the down payment on a house for a single meal. Even then, I read their menu religiously because it gave me better ideas for food at home.
The patio was mostly empty when we arrived. Thankfully, there was no snooty Maitre D out to shoo away the rabble outside — they saved that for the indoor service. We hopped the short fence and walked up to the only occupied table.
There was a familiar girl sitting there: pale, chubby, with long brown hair combed down and pinned in place with sky blue clips. I couldn’t place her name, but she sat behind me in Glady's World Issues class and the way she simpered into his good graces drove me up the wall. There were two other teens sitting with her: a girl with a mass of brown curls who looked like she wanted to be anywhere but there and another toad from World Issues, some blonde kid who’d kept trying and failing to hit on Sparky and kept f*cking up their name. And in-between the two of them was Aster. There was a tiny plate of french fries in front of her and she was scarfing them down like she'd never seen food before.
So much for her slightly racist mother's instructions. To be fair, I doubted she was actually allergic to fried foods, considering she'd packed organic chicken nuggets with the flavor of congealed sadness into her lunch box.
Aster was the first to spot us. "Choco-lady! Tay-tay!"
"Yes, I'm Taylor."
The mass of curls on legs and blondie looked up, but Aisha beat me to the punch. "Why the f*ck do you have our kid?!"
Curls was first to bounce. "Okay, I'm out. Thanks for the, uh, meal, I guess."
She didn't even bother to go through the restaurant, instead just turning around, hopping the fence, and bolting as fast her skinny legs would take her. Blondie squinted at me before going pale. "Uh, hi, Taylor."
"Hi," I said, leaning forward. "What's up?"
He looked between me, the baby, and the chubby girl before coming to a decision. "Yeah, er, thanks, Madison. I'll see you around. DragonBux me?"
"Greg, wait!" Madison said, reaching out. He nimbly dodged her hand and disappeared into the restaurant. "We ordered dessert and everything!"
The girl deflated, turning a baleful eye to Aster. "You'll be my friend, won't you?"
"Yup!" Aster grinned.
“No she f*cking won’t,” Aisha said, plopping down next to the toddler. “She’s not your kid.”
“Well, she’s not yours either,” Madison sniffed. “Obviously.”
“How do you know? She could be.”
Madison’s cheeks pinked and she waved her hands. “She looks nothing like you!”
“We’ve got the same cheeks.”
“No you don’t!”
“Ladies, enough!” I appreciated the effort, but Aisha was going to give this poor girl a stroke. Or attract the wrong kind of attention and I wasn’t sure if I could hide all three of us if it came down to that. “Madison, right?”
She nodded. That was a good sign.
“This isn’t your kid,” I said. Aisha grinned and opened her mouth, but I held up a hand. “She’s not our kid either, but we’re responsible for her. We need to take her back.”
“But I found her fair and square.”
“That’s not how adoption works!” Aisha moaned. “Believe me, I should know.”
“But she’s so nice! And not judge-y.” Madison pouted. “She’s a good listener.”
"Get a cat," Aisha muttered.
"Case in point."
"Look, Madison," The girl startled when I used her name. "I appreciate you making sure nothing happened to Aster, but you can't just keep her."
"She's already got a mama," Aisha said. "Having two might be fun, but I don't think hers would go for it. Just saying."
An understatement if there ever was. I pressed on. "So can we call it square?"
Madison's lip trembled and I honestly thought she might cry, but instead she stood up. The girl was short. Shorter than Aisha, and her round face and chubby cheeks made her look even younger. She walked around to Aster and held out a hand, which the toddler took gleefully. "We've only known each other for a short time, but you've changed my life for the better. Go out into the world and make a difference."
"Yup!" Aster chirped.
Aisha gathered Aster in her arms, the kid babbling Choco-lady all the while, and I walked up to Madison. "Hey."
"What?"
"Thanks."
"I mean, I'm still young, right?" She said tearfully. "We're sophom*ores. Two and a half years to go!"
"Er, yes?"
She turned to me, smiling. "Maybe we can hang out?"
I studied the girl. She was well-dressed and her clothes were brand name. Her hair clips gleamed under the warm lights. Maybe her smile was a little too eager and she had a bit of a manic tone, but honestly?
I've dealt with worse. "Sure. I'll shoot you a text."
"Maybe we can work on our World Issues projects together!"
"Sounds good."
"We could grab lunch! I'll pay you!"
I stopped and looked at the half-empty plates on the table. The fanciest burger joint in town and she paid for Curls and Blondie to eat dinner with her.
I could really use the money.
But earnest as Madison was, it would feel like kicking a puppy. "No, you don't have to pay for me."
She stopped mid-sentence, eyes going wide. "You can do that?!"
Aisha must've read my mind, because she groaned and smacked her own forehead.
"This was fun."
"I agree, minus the whole baby thing," I said.
"Yeah, let's not do that again."
Aisha and I were sitting on the stoop, Aster babbled happily between us and munched on a small bar of chocolate. Carol was gone, thankfully. Amy shot me a text as thanks for taking the kid off her hands, since it made smoothing things over between her and Victoria easier.
I was just glad I didn't have to deal with Victoria at all. Bless Amy, but I had no idea how she could live in the same house as that blonde bundle of neuroses shaped like a basketball player. "I'd rather not."
"Alright, kiddo," Aisha said, ruffling Aster's hair. "Where's your mama at?"
As if by magic or poor fortune, a white SUV pulled up to the curb. I wasn't certain what to expect of Aster's mother, but I imagined a tall, strapping Viking of a woman with long blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a distaste for The Poors.
Naturally, who stepped out of the car was a short, mousey woman with brown hair cut in a severe bob, plain features, and an upturned nose. She wasn't bad looking, not really, but her genetics were in a losing battle with whomever Aster's father happened to be.
"You must be Taylor." She glanced at me, the house, and then Aisha and her face soured. I managed to get the 'distaste' part of the equation right.
I had a response on the tip of my tongue, but when I looked into this woman’s brown eyes, something felt… different. Carol Dallon could be cold at times, especially when she wasn’t sloshed. It made her a decent lawyer since her personality and her life as an open superhero who could literally cut your assets in half tended to make court cases go smoothly.
Not her. Aster must’ve robbed all the joy and friendliness in the family, because this woman was cold the way ice was cold. No warmth whatsoever. I stood and extended a hand. “Taylor Hebert, ma’am.”
She eyed my hand for a moment before taking it. The woman had a firm grip. “Kayden Russell. I understand you were the one watching Aster tonight?”
“That’s right.”
“Good, good. My preference would’ve been Victoria, but I’m glad Carol was good enough to find”—she looked at Aisha the way a baker would eye a crust of moldy bread—“a suitable replacement.”
I didn't need to see Aisha to know she was chomping at the bit to give this lady a piece of her mind, but I dearly hoped she could read the room. Aster giggled, oblivious to all, and I hoisted her up into my arms, care pack in hand. "She was a handful, but we had a good time tonight."
"I'm glad," Kayden's expression softened as she took in Aster's delight. "Did she eat?"
"Every bite." I declined to tell her that the bland excuse for food she’d sent along went straight into the compost heap out back.
"No accidents?"
"I'm surprised you potty trained her so young."
"She's a smart one."
"She really is," I held Aster in my arms and she gave a sleepy yawn. Part of me didn't want to give her back: not in a weird way, but because she was such a sweet, if troublesome, kid. Madison was right about one thing... toddlers don't judge. She adored Aisha. That wouldn't last for too much longer if I handed her back.
But for better or worse, I wasn't this kid's parent. I put Aster in Kayden's waiting arms and watched as she cooed. "Who's my good girl?"
"Aster!"
"That's right!" Kayden looked up and smiled, the first genuinely positive expression she'd had since she arrived. "Thank you so much."
"Do you need me to load up her bag?"
"No need, I've got it," she said, slinging Aster on her hip and grabbing the care pack. "Have a good night."
"You too."
"Say 'bye', Aster."
"Bye, Tay-Tay!" Aster squealed and I gave her a small wave. Then she looked at Aisha and grinned. "Bye, Choco-lady!"
Kayden froze mid-step and she looked back at me, that same cold look back in her eyes. "No one mentioned that you had help tonight."
Something about her tone, her face, that look dug a nail in the primal part of my brain. Fight or flight. I should've assuaged her concerns with an Emma-worthy smile and sent her off with a thank you.
f*ck that.
Sparky had a theory they liked to talk about. "Tee, you know all that turn the other cheek bullsh*t? They go low, we go high? f*ck that. They go low, we go lower. They hit us? Hit them back harder."
"Oh, I had a lot of help tonight," I said with a placid smile. "Aisha's just a gem and cuddled and played with her all evening. We kicked back and watched Roots since I have the whole series on DVD, had some soul food, and I explained why my bestie uses they/them pronouns and why Karen haircuts are ugly as sin."
Kayden's cheeks went an ugly shade of red. "You what?!"
"I took her into the kitchen and taught her what spices are and where they come from. I would've made Paprikash, but I didn't have enough paprika or sour cream. And to round out the evening, I made flash cards explaining my views on true gender equality," I stepped close, looming over the petite woman. "And when I say true gender equality, I mean equality in a very literal sense. If you dare try to argue with me, I'll make you look like an idiot. If you slap me, I'll slap back because these fists are rated 'E' for Everyone and that’s the kind of man I am. And if you look at my friend like she's trash one more time, I'll steal the eyes right out of your head, you pasty, crunchy bitch."
Kayden's mouth hung open like a fish gasping for water. She glanced behind me at Aisha on the stoop, who gleefully flipped her off.
Aster looked between all of us, a happy smile on her face. "Bitch!"
"You brat," she seethed. For half a second, I swear I saw a mote of light glimmer in her eye. "Don't you ever threaten a mother with her daughter."
One bratty turn deserves another. "Guess what? My Mom's bigger."
She paled for a moment before that haughty look returned to her face. Her voice quaked when she spoke again. "I'll remember this."
"Good for you. Take Vitamin D for that. Castor oil for constipation. It'll help with that stick up your ass."
Kayden had murder in her eyes, but rather than say anything else, she simply turned on her heel and walked away. Aster waved at us through the back seat window as her mother peeled out and the smoke made me cough. "Ugh, good riddance to bad rubbish."
I went back to the stoop and sat down next to Aisha, rubbing my forehead. "I need a drink."
"Pretty sure your mama and her friend drained the county."
"Probably," I said. "Sorry about that."
"Why?" Aisha bumped shoulders with me. "Not gonna lie, I probably would've punched that lady right in the tiddy if you hadn't said anything."
"Nah, that would've just hurt for a minute. I want her to wake up thinking about what she's teaching that kid."
"You ever get kicked in the nuts before? Believe me, she would've remembered me punching her."
"More times than I'm willing to admit, but yeah. I get it."
"Still," she said. "That was awesome. You should do it more often."
"I try to be diplomatic."
"Like with your old boo?"
"My what?"
"Your Ex. Your old piece. Freckles told me you used to hang with that red headed bimbo on YouStream."
"I never dated Emma."
"Then why do you have a pic of the two of you as your laptop background?"
"It's complicated."
"Doesn't seem like it to me," she breezed. "Red decides to f*ck off and do her own thing, so you should f*ck off and do yours. Easy peasy."
"She started it," I grumbled. I'd honestly forgotten about the wallpaper: a pic Anne took of the two of us on a hammock in her backyard. It was a nice memory.
It was the week before she decided to drop me completely.
"So? You've got a brain in your head. And you've got options, you know," Aisha leaned against my shoulder. "Just think about it. Freckles knows her sh*t."
"Amy's good people," I said. "Just high strung."
"Nah, my bro's high strung. I love him, but goddamn, he needs to get laid or he's gonna have a heart attack before he turns 20."
"That bad?"
"Worse. He's 17 going on 35. Likes to play all responsible and sh*t but he's just as clueless as the rest of us," she sighed. "But he's trying."
"Do you want to stay with him?"
She stared up at the stars. "I dunno. I haven't tried to think about it. Not like I'll know anything unless the social worker actually gives him custody."
"Well, just so you know... you've got options too."
"What do you mean?"
"Did Amy tell you about my friend?"
She shook her head, so I went on. "Sparky's... a friend. My best friend. They've been through a lot of sh*t over the years. Some of it's not my story to tell, but when they moved to the tent city, things got a lot better."
"I f*cking hate camping."
"Not that kind of tent," I said. "It's a small community. They"—I stopped and thought about my plans for the weekend—"We look out for each other. Anyone can come and stay, so long as you follow the Golden Rule."
Aisha had a skeptical look in her eye. "And what's that?"
Mom had a whole creed of sayings and koans that spread among her more hardcore 'followers', some weirder than others: Alexandria pads her chest being a doozy. But my main rule, one that she gave her whole support to, was very simple. "Don't be a dick."
"Huh," she said, leaning against me again. "I'll think about it."
The front door burst open and Mom flopped out, landing square between the two of us. "Taaaaaaylorrrrr~!"
"Hi, Mom," I said. "Did you have fun?"
"I always has fun," she said, face flushed and smelling like a brewery. "Where's Ashley?"
"Aisha!"
"Oh, ya," Mom said, rolling over to look up at us. Her eyes glazed as the cold air hit her. "Sheeee's preeetty."
"Damn straight," Aisha said.
"And I gots good ne-new, er, News!" Mom leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "Don't make plaaaaanszez. Tomorr, Tom. Friday! You got a date!"
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Fortunately, Aisha stepped up to the plate. "What?!"
"Yeh, it's a, er... a secret date? You dunno whose gonna be," she murmured, a big smile on her face. "Ya, you'lll like her. She kyoot."
The words finally came to me. "I don't need you to get me a date, Mom."
Aisha muttered something I couldn't quite make out (get off of my game, lady) but Mom wormed her way up to sit. "When Aishley leaves, I tell Taylor, 'kay Danny?"
My blood went cold and my throat dried up, words trying and failing to leave my lips. She hadn't done that in a long time. A very long time.
I felt someone poking me in the shoulder and I blinked. Aisha was staring at me. "You okay, Taylor?"
"Yes," I said. "Yes, I'm Taylor."
