We ate up a whole day just stocking the bookshelves with all his comics, organizing them by issue. When he told his father he wanted to start a comics publishing company, he probably expected Jonathan to laugh in his face, tell him to grow up, and find a serious job. But no, his dad signed a check and wanted a formal business plan the next day.
I thumb through one of the manuscripts out of the large pile. Lo has to read original comics (not all good) and choose which ones he wants to publish for Halway Comics. He lets me read them if he’s on the fence, but when I graduate from Princeton, I won’t be helping him with this side of the business.
I focus on the comic in hand. The art is surrealistic with a satirical edge. Some of the people even have dog heads. And some of the humans are drawn with animal feet. Lo can find the meaning behind most comics, but my brain just sees a dog-man with a big butt.
The comics I gravitated towards are more realistic and classical, like ones where the superheroes can spring from the page and fit in our world. Lo will try anything and everything, even panels that contain black dots and no words. I do love sexy superheroes, but those are hard to find in indie comics publishing. The most I’ve seen are sexy-clad characters that look like they’ll murder me in my dreams.
I sift through his pile and find a more realistic comic. Not superheroes, but it’s a noir strip with a detective as the lead. I flip through the pages to look at the pretty art.
Ahhh! I throw the manuscript on the floor and cover my eyes with my hands.
There is nudity in that comic book! And I’ve sworn off porn.
“Everything okay, Lily?” Garth asks.
“Yeah,” I croak. “I’m just gonna…go downstairs.” I bypass the dirty comic book on the ground and slip out of the room. I take the winding staircase down to the main level.
The first floor.
My dream.
I enter the store from the back (Employees Only) entrance and into the dimly lit space. Red linoleum booths hug the walls and windows, plastic wrap covering their cushions. The appliances and furniture are all hidden behind smocks, and I can still smell the fresh coat of warm gray paint on the walls. Red and gray and a bit of blue. I picked the color scheme, even after Lo warned me that the palette fit Captain America. We’ve been anti-Cap since he threw Wolverine out of an airborne plane.
I still love it.
Rows of low shelves create aisles and resemble a video store, but they’re going to be filled with comic books when the shipments arrive. The front area is sectioned with a small kitchenette for pastries and coffee. Not everything is here in the store yet. And it’ll be months before the place is ready to be opened for the public.
Lo pitched Superheroes & Scones to his father as a marketing strategy for Halway Comics. But I know the idea has nothing to do with his company. What he did was buy me something of my own, something I could look forward to after college. He found me happiness, and I think it’s worth more than any silly engagement ring.
A store that sells coffee, scones, and comic books.
It’s perfect.
And for once, we’re doing something good with our inheritance rather than wasting it away. For two people unwilling to let anyone in, sharing this intimate part of our lives—the nostalgic happiness of comics—has to mean something.
While we’re under construction, I can hide out in one of the plastic-wrapped booths with a comic, like my own secret getaway.
Someone knocks on the door, and I jump out of my skin. I can’t see the figure since the glass is shrouded in COMING SOON posters. It doesn’t even say what’s coming, and the building looks equally as closed and deserted with more ads all over the brick. For all anyone knows, this could be a future porn shop. Oh jeez. Now I can’t stop thinking about porn.
The rapping on the glass continues, and I take a tentative step towards the noise. The figure is shadowy and indistinguishable. But the shape looks tall enough to be a guy.
What if it’s the press? Or worse.
A stalker who stalked me here.
The knocking is louder and more persistent. I end up scurrying underneath the nearest booth before my heart abandons my chest. Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe he’ll just go away.
If it’s someone I know, they’d call me, right? I pat my pockets for my phone. Oh no. I left my cell on Lo’s desk, along with Garth. Well Garth is not on Lo’s desk (at least I hope not), but he’s definitely upstairs, consumed with his mini-tablet.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Those knocks sound mean.
I scuttle further underneath the table, curling my knees to my chest. I imagine the glass shattering, the man barging his way through. Should I scream for Garth or just pretend not to be here?
Garth makes the decision for me. His hefty boots pound their way across the store, and the lock clicks, the door jangles, and the stalker is met with my intimidating bodyguard. That should deter him.
“Where’s Lily? I’ve been trying to call her.” The voice is calm, smooth, familiar and so very very unthreatening.
“I’m right here!” I crawl out from under the booth and dust the cobwebs off my kneecaps. Connor raises his eyebrows, as if he knows exactly what I was doing under there.
Garth must be confused because he (truly) says, “What were you doing under there?”
“I thought I saw a…rat,” I say quickly, “so I was inspecting the area to lay some traps later.” Before they can foil my lie, I turn to Connor. “What brings you to S&S?” I really should not try to shorten the name because every time I say it, I immediately think of S&M. My mind has dangerous side roads.
“Lo wants me to look over a contract. He said he left it in his office.” He gazes at me with a little more concern than I appreciate from Connor Cobalt. I like his self-satisfaction much better.
“Okay, I’ll bring you back there.” I add to Garth, “Can you stay here? Watch the door?” I try to smother the worry in my voice, but I fear I’m not doing a good job.
“Of course.”
In Lo’s office, I flick on the lights, and Connor targets the file folder on the desk. I find my dinky flip phone and scroll through all the missed calls from Connor.
“So who did you think I was?” Connor asks as he opens the file and sinks into the leather chair.
“What?”
“This is a new building. I don’t think rats have moved in yet. So obviously you were hiding from whoever you thought was at the door.” He’s too astute for his own good, and I’m sure he already knows the answer to his own question.
I pick up a Black Widow action figure on Lo’s bookshelf. “I wish I was Rose,” I say softly.
“Why is that?” She wouldn’t be so scared.
“She’d handle this better than me. She doesn’t even have a bodyguard.” I want that kind of confidence, but I just don’t think it’s something a twenty-year-old can learn. I’m too late.
“There’s a difference between courage and pride. Believe me, I’d sleep better at night knowing she had a bodyguard.”
“She is alone a lot,” I say. How can she not be brave? She’s willing to face the swarming paparazzi and media-hungry press by herself every day.
“Yes, but that girl would rather carry her own Taser than let someone else defend her, all to prove a point. So when she meets an adversary twice her size and in a much larger quantity, she’s going to realize that some battles are best fought with a sidekick.”
“Oh,” I say, finally understanding, thanks to his superhero analogy. My sister is not a team player. She’d rather do things on her own.
“While my talents are immeasurable, I don’t have the power to save her from halfway across the city,” Connor says. “And our relationship is a bit different from yours.”