Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(92)

So I said screw it and I put on a sparkled button-down with matching black slacks that I found at a thrift store yesterday. Reminded me of a star-blanketed night sky. I also found a purple galactic-swirled belt, looped that shit through my belt loops, and I look and feel like a million Cobalt diamonds.

In the parlor, I’m surrounded by vintage furniture and lit, waxy candles dripping on a fireplace mantel as I finish telling my Halloween doodle story. Farrow blinks. “Man, that story isn’t funny.”

“You laughed the first time I told it,” I refute.

“I did not.”

I shrug and sip from a champagne flute.

The bartender is concocting Halloween specialty drinks, and I told him to surprise me. He handed me a champagne flute of inky black liquid. Tastes like blueberries and champagne. Since I’m not looking for anything more than a buzz, I’m lucky he didn’t give me anything stronger.

Hopefully not the only luck you’ll have tonight, Paul.

I take another sip.

Farrow eyes my head again.

“What?” I ask. “You don’t recognize an alien when you see one?” Accompanying my black starry night sky and purple belt attire is a headband with two silver bobbling antennas.

Farrow gives me a look. “He’s not an idiot. You dressing up like an alien is going to make him ask questions.”

I shrug. “I’ve got answers.”

“You know I’m all for it.” He bounces Ripley on his legs, his son giggling in a purple dragon costume and looking up affectionately at his papa. Farrow studies me for a second, though. “I just didn’t think you wanted to test him.”

“Maybe I’m getting angrier about it,” I say in thought, staring at my boots. “Maybe it’s becoming harder to tell myself I can’t be with her, I dunno. I’ve never felt like this…” I stop myself short, then look up at him.

He nods, getting it. “You’re not on an island. Whatever happens, he can’t isolate you from me. If he says he can, it’s just bullshit.”

“Is that why you didn’t go after those father-in-law brownie points?” I smirk at his plain black outfit, topped with a Ravenclaw scarf from his mother-in-law. And he can’t say he doesn’t own a superhero costume that’d appease Loren Hale. A Winter Soldier costume is hanging up in his closet.

Farrow tilts his head, considering. “I’m in protest.”

I grin and make a heart with my hands. “I heart you too, man.” I tease him enough that he rolls his eyes.

Especially as Oscar slips into the parlor and bats his lashes at Farrow. “We love you, we really fucking do.”

“Great, join the line,” Farrow says, nearly smiling.

“Behind me,” I quip.

“And just like that I’m out of the line,” Oscar says.

We all laugh.

Oscar slumps on the loveseat beside me and drops his plastic Thor hammer. “Jack’s getting drinks. I came to see what this is all about.” He motions to us. “And to remind you two that cell service is spotty. We’re all using comms.”

I check the radio on my waistband. On. I fit my earpiece in, no one chatting on comms yet. “You think it’s the ghosts screwing with the cell signal?”

Farrow arches his brows. “I thought you said this place isn’t haunted.”

“Didn’t think it was,” I tell him. “But I don’t fuck with ghosts in PA.”

“One thing me and Donnelly agree on,” Oscar says.

Farrow looks at us like we’re both on something strange. “Here in reality, it’s most likely because we’re in a remote town.”

“But it could be the ghosts,” I say seriously, just fucking around, and Farrow laughs with the shake of his head.

“Uh-oh.” Ripley says to the Thor hammer on the ground. Like it fell. Oscar did drop it. But purposefully.

I stand up. “You want this?” I ask Farrow’s son.

He nods vigorously.

I grab the handle. Pretending it weighs a million pounds, I grimace and struggle to pick the thing up. “Holy…” I try to pry it off the ground and then fall flat on my back.

Ripley giggles, smiling over at his papa again.

“Old Thor, Old Thor,” I call out for help.

“Why the hell am I dubbed Old Thor?” Oscar contests. “My baby bro is the one who copied my costume. I’m Original Thor. He’s Knockoff Thor.”

“Old Thor,” I reach out a hand.

He glares.

Farrow laughs harder.

Quinn is just as pissed Oscar is dressed as Thor. Oscar being disgruntled about the whole thing has been making my night and Farrow’s. We both couldn’t stop laughing earlier.

Ripley suddenly hops off Farrow’s lap. The little purple dragon wobbles over to me, and I back up some and let him curl his tiny hand around the handle.

He can’t pick it up, but he drags the hammer with a delighted laugh. Something rises in my chest, and I’m glad when Maximoff comes into the parlor and Ripley notices him.

“Dada!” Ripley squeals in glee, trying to show him the hammer.

“What do you have there, little guy?” Maximoff picks up his son, the hammer tucked to Ripley’s chest.

Oscar is snapping pics of them on his phone. “Isn’t that the cutest shit you’ve ever seen?”