A H.E.R.O.S PROJECT 12

25. Soar

I lounge outside Richie's laboratory in Mom's white, red, and yellow rose garden, sweating in my multiple jackets, tanning the only part of me I can, my face. I consider tearing my jacket off, a bead of sweat running down my forehead. It's tempting, the thought repeatedly crossing my mind, and I almost roll my sleeves up. Tristian takes one good look at me, and I tug my sleeve further down, hiding my hand.

Mom walks past me on the grass, drinking her coffee, the smell of caffeine and sugar sweetening the air. I wave at her, smiling, playing, and picking at the grass. She nods at me, winking. That's as much acknowledgment as I'll get. She's talking to an important somebody, excitedly describing the mayor's travel plans this weekend. She, the mayor, and a small campaigning team will visit an influential political figure. The mayor needs to be endorsed if they want a shot at winning the elections.

Peach suit pants and a fitted red collar shirt red as her lips, a polished American flag pendant over her heart—I know Mom will be gone for a long time. A woman on a mission, pursuing her passion, motherhood is on the back burner of her career. I'll see her when I see her. It's as simple as that. Mom's lack of desire to be a mom doesn't bother me that much anymore.

"You kids, be good. I'll be with the mayor and—I don't know when I'll be back home. Then I organized a small press tour," she flails her hand, stopping herself from explaining her plans like I'm either too dumb or young to grasp the weight of her work. "Solomon senior will stop by tomorrow to look after you two." Mom sips her coffee, beeping her luxury car open.

Mom's grin fades, noticing an ice bag on Tristian's hand. Tristian's hand swelled pink and red after punching Wally's female goon in her face. Tris called it a rookie mistake. In the heat of the moment, she mishit her opponent. She scolded herself for being so reckless and punching like an amateur. Her biggest worry was her father, sensei. He trained her better than that, and she said she would think of a lie to explain why her hand swelled.

"Tristian, you can't spend the night and tell your parents I said hi. I'll be at your mother's paint and sip party next Friday, so be a dear and tell her to reserve a spot for me." Mom does a slow look around. Her eyes stick to Dougie. "You stay away from our TV. The last time you came to my house, a day later, I received a notice from the cable provider about illegal movie downloading. They fined me."

Dougie is sitting in the grass with us, twirling a lock of his spikey hair, casually typing on his laptop. He's digging for more top-secret documents on THE H.E.R.O.S PROJECTS. He's busy but never too busy to flirt with my mom. "Will do, Miss Matthews, and by the way, you're looking beautiful today. I don't know if it's your chocolate skin or your body, but you're going to break someone's heart today, starting with mine."

I lunge for Dougie's arm but Tristian blocks my fist. I'm easily pushed back and told to relax. "Stop looking at my mom like that, or I'll snap your laptop in half, Dougie," I growl, folding my arms, mad Tristian's protecting him.

"I'm a man. Where else am I supposed to look? At a flower? A bird? When a beautiful woman walks into my life, I will stare. Especially if she has nice, firm, big—"

I swing at him again, behind Tristian's back. Dougie was going to say breasts. He was going to say he likes my mom's breasts. He even emphasized my mother's breasts with his disgusting grubby hands.

Tristian restrains me in a chokehold, and I squirm in her arm, trying to claw my way to Dougie. He won't stop telling me how beautiful my mom's body is. He honestly admits, "I can't help it," further complimenting my mother's tiny waist, straight back, and long legs and her ebony skin.

Mom sways between us and her car, ultimately deciding to go to work. She mumbles, walking away, "They need new friends," resuming her phone conversation. Her heels click as she leaves. Twice she pivots and turns around to gape at us fighting in the grass.