Page 5 of Reading Between the Lines
“Just trust me when I say it tookallmy mana to convince the man to come out and play. If you scare him off at this point, nothing short of a threat from Thor’s magical hammer will convince him to come back to my side of the line. Even then, I wouldn’t bet on winning him over twice. The odds are not in my favor.”
“Sweetie, I love you, but I don’t know what mana is, and is Thor the big, green, muscly superhero from the comics?”
I groaned. “No. That’s the Hulk.”
“Which one’s Thor? Is he the one in that new movie with the yellow leotard? He’s very handsome.”
“That’s Wolverine, and I concur. Hugh Jackman, despite his advanced age, is a dreamboat.”
“Watch your mouth. He’s not old. He’s refined.”
“Sex on a stick.” I licked my lips salaciously.
“The other man in the movie, the one in the red, he’s gay, right?”
“I believe Deadpool is considered pansexual, but can we back up? The conversation has derailed. If you want the deets on the Marvel universe, ask Heath. We were talking about Diem.”
“Heath doesn’t watch those ridiculous shows.”
“He does.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then,” I propped my hands on my hips, “how do you know about the new Deadpool movie?”
“I saw a commercial.”
Raising my voice, I called into the other room. “Hey, Heath? Did you see the new Deadpool movie?”
“Heck yeah. It was fantastic.”
“Did Mom watch it with you?”
“Nah, she fell asleep.”
Mom playfully sneered and whispered, “So much fighting.”
To Heath, I said, “Mom needs a lesson on the difference between Thor, Hulk, and all things Marvel.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I stared at Mom, who shrugged. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t remember anymore.”
My stepfather laughed from the living room. “Your mother hates those shows. Too much violence.”
Mom looked for all the world like she’d won the lottery. “See? What did I say? So, you’ll bring Diem next time?”
“Maybe. Don’t mark your calendar or anything. Let me talk to him. If he comes, we need serious boundaries. He’s not touchy-feely like you and me.” I sealed the ziplock bag with my stash of biscuits and stacked it on top of the soup container.
“There’s leftover lasagna from the other night. I made too much. Do you want that too?”
“Is that even a question?”
Mom rolled her eyes and went to the fridge as my phone rang. Diem’s name appeared on the screen—which was odd, considering he knew I was at my mom’s for dinner. He didn’t usually interrupt.
“Hello, boyfriend.”
A short pause ensued. Diem never seemed to know how to respond to blunt statements that announced our relationship status. It had been a staggering six weeks since we started dating, but every reminder required a level of processing before he could move on. Even then, he rarely acknowledged theboyfriendtitle or recognized us as a couple. Scary words for poor Diem.
