Page 66 of Perfect Imperfections

“Me too.”

He held up the plastic sack in his hands from Charlotte’s favorite restaurant. The one they’d run into each other at a month ago. The familiar writing on it letting her know what was inside even before the delicious aroma of herbs and sauce hit her nose.

“I brought dinner.”

“I brought dessert.” She lifted the pan.

“Yay!” Charlotte squealed. “Spaghetti and meatballs. And brownies. My favorite!”

Sullivan chuckled at his daughter, motioning for Ellie to lead the way inside. They set up dinner on the kitchen table, going around and discussing their respective days. Charlotte was doing better with her bully problems. Since the incident at the penguin pool, she’d become a bit of a school celebrity, as she told it. Her class had a section on animals and apparently the kids had taken to asking Charlotte questions since she seemed to have firsthand knowledge of all animals with her one experience.

“We’re learning about piemates this week and Sarah said if we go see them at the zoo no one could fall in ‘cause there’s glass all around.”

Sullivan paused with a fork full of spaghetti Bolognese halfway to his mouth. “Piemates?”

Ellie chuckled. “I think she means primates. Right, Charlotte?”

“Oh, yeah. Primates. You know, Daddy. Monkeys.”

“Not just monkeys, but apes and lemurs. Even humans are classified as primates.”

Green eyes grew impossibly wide. “So, Uncle Gavin is right? I am a monkey?”

Sullivan let out a heavy sigh. “That ridiculous nickname. I am going to strangle my brother.”

She held in her laughter at the exasperatingly muttered words leaving Sullivan’s clenched jaw.

“You’re not a monkey, sweetie.” She assured Charlotte, patting the child’s hand. “We’re just all classified in the same order.”

“What’s order?”

Oh boy. How did she explain this without getting too technical? She didn’t want to bore an eight-year-old, but she believed in relaying proper information. How the heck did teachers do this? They were completely underpaid, in her opinion.

“Well, order is a term scientists use to classify living things that have things in common.” At Charlotte’s confused expression, she tried again. “Okay, so you know how humans have hands and feet. We have hair and babies, not eggs, so that makes us mammals. Well, monkeys have that too, so they’re also mammals and they look a lot like us.”

“Soooo we’re family?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Cool.” She grinned, mouth covered in red sauce from her dinner. “I can’t wait to tell everyone.”

Ah, so that’s why Charlotte had become the go-to for animal questions. She’d been relaying Ellie’s animal knowledge. At least someone was getting good use out of it. Whenever she talked about animal facts around other people—her family, former dates—their eyes glazed over, and they lost all interest. Who knew all this time all she had to do was impart her education to an elementary student?

“Everyone thinks it’s super cool I know the Zooperhero.”

“The what now?”

Sullivan grinned, taking a bite of his dinner. Had he heard this term before? She didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Zooperhero. It’s what the kids at school call you because you saved my life and you’re a zookeeper, so that makes you a superhero. Zooperhero.”

Moisture gathered in her eyes, making it impossible for her to see. She blinked back the tears. She didn’t want Charlotte to think she was crying out of sadness.

No one had ever thought she could do much of anything. All her life, people had discounted her and her abilities. Even her own family had seen her OCD as a stumbling block in life. Asking her to hide it away or ignore it as if that would solve anything. No one had ever considered her anything close to a hero. Not until one little girl fell into the penguin pool and into her heart.

She glanced over to see Sullivan staring at her, a warm, understanding expression on his face.

“Zooperhero Ellie. You should get that on a T-shirt. It suits you.”

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