Chapter 4 #2
Then we worked our way across the exhibit hall.
At the LEGO booth, we built a spaceship for the imaginary hero of Galaxy Rider to travel the universe in.
Xander paid for a picture in a Star Trek: The Original Series chair, claiming his parents would disown him if he passed up such a rare opportunity.
My mom’s favorite author, R. A. Loone, was signing copies of her newest release—the first in a paranormal romance series about a crimefighting succubus—so I tracked down the Acker Publishing booth and picked up a paperback.
Finally, we ended at the Xbox station where we played a new first-person shooter game called The Dread Hunt.
After I won twice in a row, Xander pulled off the provided headphones and set down his controller. “I yield.”
“Aw, come on,” I complained, peeling back my own headphones. “Best three out of five?” I puckered my bottom lip in a pout, not ready to give up our spot at the console. We’d waited in line for a solid thirty minutes to play.
“How about some fresh air instead?” he suggested.
“Fresh air?” I scoffed and crossed my arms. “Sounds like an excuse to me. Is someone afraid of getting his ass handed to him?”
A microscopic smirk appeared on Xander’s face. “On the contrary, I’m not afraid to admit I’m terrible at video games. Doesn’t matter how many times we play—you’ll beat me every time.”
I glanced over my shoulder, toward the line of con goers eager for a chance to experience the bloodthirsty world of The Dread Hunt. “Fine, fine,” I said, relinquishing my controller. “I suppose some fresh air would be nice.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes and a taxi ride later, we strolled through the entrance to Central Park off Columbus Circle.
Two main footpaths veered in opposite directions, and Xander made an executive decision, pointing toward the path with a better canopy.
It was too early in October to witness a full autumn foliage, but some of the trees’ leaves were breaking rank with summer and transitioning into a crisp fall yellow.
“So was Comic Con exactly how you remembered?” I asked as we pushed past a blockade of men soliciting tourists for cycle rickshaw rides.
A few people—tourists judging by the camera clutched in one woman’s hands and the fanny pack clipped around her husband’s waist—glanced in our direction when they noticed Xander’s makeup, but we ignored them.
He tilted his head, considering. “Yes and no. It’s bigger now, more mainstream, but at the same time, I feel like I stepped straight into my childhood. It’s amazing how certain details can take you back.”
“Like what?”
“Artist Alley for one, and all the badges and lanyards,” he replied as we fell into step behind a man walking his golden retriever.
“But what really got me was the cosplay. I still remember the first time I saw someone dressed up as Princess Zelda. She was my first crush. My dad had an old Nintendo I played all the time as a kid. There were a bunch of games, but my favorite was The Adventure of Link. When I was ten, we went to Emerald City Comic Con in Seattle for my mom’s birthday, and there was a girl in a Zelda costume.
As soon as I saw her, I told my parents I was going to marry her. ”
“Any marriageable princesses in the crowd today?” I asked, nudging him in the side.
Xander coughed and cleared his throat. “Might have seen a few,” he mumbled.
I threw back my head and laughed. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”
“I had a killer time. Although this wasn’t exactly how I expected my day to go.”
“Is that a good thing or bad?”
“Good, definitely good.” He glanced over his shoulder as a woman holding a bunch of balloons jostled by him, two kids in tow.
“Don’t get me wrong, I was super bummed about the panel, but exploring the exhibit hall more than made up for it.
Never would have done that if you didn’t push me, so thanks. ”
The joy in his voice made my chest feel light. “Don’t mention it,” I told him. “Besides, if you think about it, this was all your doing.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, you introduced me to Melody, who gave me a prosthetics lesson, which resulted in your current disguise,” I explained. “And without that, there’s no way you could have walked the convention floor.”
“So I should be thanking myself?”
“Yup. I suggest sending a thank-you card. It’s the polite thing to do.”
Xander grinned. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get right on that.”
As we ambled deeper into the park, continuing our conversation about the convention, the soundtrack of our surroundings played in the background: chatter and laughter from passersby, birds chirping in the trees, the hum of traffic in the distance.
Eventually, we reached a large stretch of exposed bedrock overlooking a playground.
There were people everywhere: children swarming the swings and slides, parents watching from wooden benches, and groups of friends lounging in the afternoon sun.
On the nearest patch of grass, a superhero-themed birthday party was in full swing, and I spotted the woman who’d bumped into Xander collecting presents from a mini Superman, Captain America, and Black Panther.
“Not sure why, but I’m pretty sure this is called Umpire Rock,” Xander announced, studying a map he’d pulled up on his phone. “Looks like a cool place to people-watch. Wanna sit down?”
I nodded, and we carefully picked our way across the rock, maneuvering around the other patrons until we found an empty spot. Only then did the name of the outcropping become clear. Through the trees was a scattering of baseball fields, some empty, others in use.
“So,” Xander said as I settled onto the smooth, mica-flecked stone. He plopped down beside me, his shoulder accidentally bumping mine as he sprawled out. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
“Not at all.”
“What’s the deal with you and your sister?”
“What do you mean?” I asked as I traced a striation in the rock, my finger fitting perfectly into the groove.
“You and Violet don’t get along,” he said, but I understood the query behind the statement.
At first, I wasn’t sure how to answer. Violet and I rarely fought, but that was because I never saw her. “I think a better way to describe our relationship is lack thereof,” I replied. “We were super close as kids, but we don’t really know who each other is anymore.”
He scratched at one of the horns attached to his temple, his fingernails coming away with a crust of purple paint. “Because she’s so busy all the time?”
“That’s part of the reason.”
“And the other?”
Sighing, I picked at a hole in my jeans.
“When Violet was offered the role of Lilliana, she accepted in a heartbeat, and I can’t blame her for that.
Becoming an actress was her dream. Problem is that decision affected our entire family.
It’s the reason my parents got divorced, why, even though we live in the same house, I rarely see my dad.
Her choice turned my life upside down.” I stopped and took a deep breath. Could I really say the next part aloud?
But I didn’t have to. Xander said it for me. “Do you resent her for it?”
Absolutely. The response came to me without hesitation, but I knew it was a question better left unanswered. Bitter indignation looked good on no one. Putting on a smile, I gently elbowed Xander. “What is this, an interrogation?”
“Possibly,” he said, and there was that sheepish grin of his again, “but you’re more than welcome to flip the script. I like to consider myself an open book.”
“Okay.” If he thought he was so candid, I wanted to hit him with something too embarrassing to answer. “If I looked through your browser history right now, what’s the most compromising thing I’d find?”
“Whoa, hold on. Maybe not that open,” he protested, but a hint of his smile still lingered. “I was thinking more along the lines of what’s your favorite color, how many siblings do you have, if you were a pro wrestler, what would your entrance music be?”
“Entrance music?”
“Yeah, the song that plays when an athlete enters the ring or walks onto the playing field? Mine would be ‘Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)’ by Big & Rich, because it’s hokey and badass at the same time.
What most people don’t know about me is that I’m a closet country music fan.
Also, who wouldn’t want to save a horse? ”
“I don’t know, maybe a glue factory? And I’m pretty sure one of the characters in Magic Mike strips to that song.”
Xander wiggled his eyebrows at me. “That a favorite movie of yours?”
“No,” I retorted. “It’s my turn to ask the questions, remember?”
“I’m all yours,” he said, waving his hand at me in a take-it-away gesture. “Have at it.”
This time, I decided to start with something easy.
“Country music, huh?” I had to admit, his confession caught me off guard.
The Heartbreakers were a pop rock band that bordered on punk, and the knowledge that one of its members secretly enjoyed songs about pickup trucks, booze, and achy breaky hearts was more than hard to believe.
He nodded. “I was indoctrinated at an early age. My grandpa was a roadie for Randall Russet, the famous bluegrass star, but he loved all types of country—folk, rockabilly, western swing, honky-tonk, you name it. He had this antique Victrola turntable, and whenever we went over to his house, he let me pick a record to put on. I’d sit on the living room floor for hours playing LEGOs and listening to Jimmie Rodgers, Hank Williams, or Patsy Cline.
When he died, he left me all his records. ”
“That’s an amazing memory to have of him,” I said, feeling a tinge of jealousy. Both my grandfathers died before I was born.
“It’s why I love country music so much. Whenever I hear it, even if it’s the cliché, manufactured kind, I feel connected to him, you know? He gave me a piece of himself that’s become a part of me. All I have to do is turn on the radio and he’s there.”