Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(25)

“Luna,” Moffy sees me and smiles.

While Eliot and Tom are supernovas, in threat of burning too bright at any moment, any time—my older brother is the eternal star inside my universe.

He is everlasting.

I smile back, just as Thatcher enters the kitchen with a heavy-duty trash bag, and I have trouble spotting Jane behind her towering husband.

“Watch the glass, honey,” he tells her.

I think she’s having difficulty not helping.

“Who broke the vase?” I wonder.

“Farrow,” Moffy says too quickly.

Farrow stares at him with rising brows. “Maybe you shouldn’t try to lie if you’re terrible at it.”

“I’m not lying, man.”

Farrow slings his head to me with casualness. “True story: your brother got a little too excited and smacked Thatcher’s sympathy flowers off the counter, which I tried to catch—”

“I tried to catch them too,” Maximoff tells me like this is an important detail.

Farrow cocks his head at Moffy like he’s a precious bean.

“I believe Farrow,” I say, taking his side. Partially because it riles my brother and pushes him closer to Farrow. He glares at his husband. His husband laughs.

Nerves suddenly swarm me again. Will Farrow be okay with me asking Donnelly on a friendship date? Will my brother?

I have no earthly idea, but I guess there’s only one way to find out.

“Uh-oh,” Ripley says, seeing Orion before I do. My dog attempts to steal a pepperoni off the round breakfast table. Pizza toppings like banana peppers, mushrooms, and cheese are already placed in bowls.

“Orion, bad boy.” I try to catch him, but he bounces out of my hands and eats the pepperoni.

One pepperoni down.

My face heats red, especially as Arkham—Farrow and Moffy’s Newfie—just dutifully lies beside Ripley’s high-chair.

I realize that Orion’s bad manners are a reflection of my parenting skills, and it’s not looking great for me.

Another knock on the failure list.

Jane slips to the left of Thatcher, a hand on her round belly. “Luna—”

“Sorry about the pepperoni,” I cut in before she mentions Orion. He can be rowdier than Ripley and Arkham put together.

Jane waves a hand like it’s nothing. “You can grab a stool and a rolling pin.”

Mounds of dough are already lined along the bar counter of the kitchen island. The Queen of Curiosity will have a little princess soon, and I imagine Jane is going to be an amazing mom.

After taking a seat on a green velvet barstool, I scan the industrial-sized kitchen with brick backsplash and forest-green cupboards. Realizing, quickly, no one else is here or in earshot.

I knew the newlyweds—Sulli, Akara, and Banks—would be missing in action since they’re flying home tomorrow. Sulli texted me.

But no one from SFO is around. My stomach sinks for a second. I wonder if they weren’t invited. Should I have invited Donnelly?

Would he have turned me down?

I try not to appear too bummed. With a heavy heart, I plop my dough on the surface a few times. Thatcher and Farrow are dumping the thorny pink roses instead of saving them.

“Who’s still sending you flowers?” I ask Thatcher, since new bouquets are spread throughout the penthouse nearly every day. Thatcher, being the bodyguard that he is, inspects them for mics and must trash the cards before I ever see them.

“Your grandmother.”

Ew. Grandmother Calloway. I mumble that he should trash them all. If Sulli were here, she would’ve been louder about it.

Jane tries not to look bothered. “She’s trying to be nice.”

Moffy has a skeptical expression. “Her niceties usually always come with a stipulation—like asking you to name your daughter Samantha.”

Jane balks. “That’s not happening. My mom would vomit.”

“I’d vomit.”

“We’d all vomit,” Jane notes like it’s fact.

It’s almost been a month since the Summer Fest shooting. Since Thatcher underwent serious surgery and lost his spleen, but you’d think it’s been years after he was shot. Humans are resilient and can bounce back quickly, but there are some humans who hide.

They can hide their hurt. And I suspect Thatcher Moretti is someone who hides what he doesn’t want everyone to see.

My phone pings, and I tap my phone with floury fingers. New DM notification.

Fanaticon.

Sept 14th





* * *



6:32 p.m.





StaleBread89: saw you follow Star Wars fandom. I’ve been wanting to get into more. You read the novels or just watch the shows/movies?





I peek over at Orion, who’s circling my barstool now. Wanting to tell my puppy the giddy news, StaleBread69 is interested in Star Wars!

Wait…wait…my heart palpitates, realizing that he clicked into my profile. He took greater interest in me to figure out this interest. I should’ve looked to see which fandoms he follows.

I still can.

First, I reply: Love the comics. I can send you a comic guide, but the movies & shows are a must too. I’ll send you a watch list. Just let me know what you’ve seen.