Page 96 of My Cosplay Escape
I give her some major side-eye. “Book club?”
“Just because we like to talk about books doesn’t mean we only talk about books. Did you make your costume?”
I nod. “I made a suit from the animated series, too, and another I haven’t worn yet. I was paranoid someone would recognize me, so I went for costumes that have a lot of coverage.”
“Why didn’t you want anyone to recognize you?”
I stop cold, realizing that I’d had it wrong this whole time. I wasn’t worried Mom or Brent would find out. “Because I wanted an escape. I wasn’t proud of my life or myself. It was nice to leave that all behind on the nights I cosplayed.”
Mom smooths a lock of hair behind my ear. “And what about now?”
“There’s still stuff I’m working through, but…I’m pretty proud of me.” I laugh through a stray tear. “Costumes and all.”
Mom presses her lips together and pats my cheek dry. “That’s my girl.” She folds me up in a tight hug. “I love you, Saire Bear.”
And she starts to cry. Hard. “It’s okay, Mom.”
Mom blows her nose, reaches for the cooking wine, and pours a glass. “Does it pay well—your costumed escape gig?”
“My cosplay escape?” That has a nice ring to it. “It’s why I’ve been able to take classes while still paying down my student loans.”
“I knew you weren’t studying every Saturday night. I thought it was some boy. Hoping it was that nice Adam who tried so hard to butter me up over my tomatoes.”
“You saw through that?”
Mom looks at me over her glass of juice. “Have I or have I not taught school for twenty-five years?”
I suck in. “So you’re not mad?”
“Should I be? My baby is hustling her way through school. I’m proud.” Mom squeezes my hand. “Just do camp sometimes. Sampling the whole spectrum is not strange. But, Sarah, leather harnesses don’t count.”
“No worries, Mom. She wasn’t even canon.”
“Ripped leather pants. What were they thinking?” she mumbles and sips her wine. “How come I’ve never seen you leave the house all dressed up?”
“I change at the gym. You’re seriously not scandalized by the overtly sexy costumes?”
“Oh, honey. I quit worrying about all that years ago. If Jesus doesn’t care, why should I?” She hiccups and then laughs. “So Tony knows about your cosplay hustle?”
I shake my head. “I slip out the back door.”
“Discreet.”
“And maybe climb over a wall.”
Mom laughs. “Everyone has a past, honey.” She heads out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into the backyard, wineglass in hand.
I follow and am met with the beautiful breeze of a near-perfect San Diego Saturday morning. “You don’t,” I say, collapsing into a patio chair.
Mom is sprawled out on her chaise. “I do. But it is my business. I get to curate what parts of it I share.”
“But everyone knows my past.”
“Oh, honey, you give people more credit than they deserve. What do they know? You got married young, like your mama. You divorced young. You’re going to school at SDSU now and working at the gym.” Mom laughs again, and the breeze knocks out a quiet melody on her wind chimes to match. “In this day and age, people don’t know anything. They hardly have time to keep even their own lives straight.”
I pull out my phone and search #Catstrike #superheroescapes on my IG.
“All lives are curated,” she goes on. “And not just the past. You get to decide who gets to be a part of your present and who stays around for your future.” Mom curls her toes in the sunshine like a cat. “You sticking around for lunch? I’ve got bread baking and fresh lemon curd in the fridge.”
