“I guess,” he said. He raised his can of soda. “To weird,” he said. “To weird.” We clinked cans and sipped.
“She acts like a parent,” I said. “Yeah, well, she’s known me since I was a baby. And she cares about us.
But she also gets paid to care about us, you know? And if she didn’t... I mean, she’d have to find a different job.”
“Yeah,” I said. It seemed to me that one of the defining features of parents is that they don’t get paid to love you.
He asked me about my school day, and I told him I’d had a fight with Daisy.
I asked about his day at school, and he said, “It was okay. There’s this rumor at school that I killed not only my dad,
but also my mom... so. I don’t know. I shouldn’t let it get to me.”
“That would get to anyone.” “I can take it, but I worry about Noah.”
“How is Noah?” “He climbed into bed with me last night and just cried. I felt so bad I loaned him my Iron Man.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “He’s, just... I guess at some point, you realize that whoever takes care of you is just a person,
and that they have no superpowers and can’t actually protect you from getting hurt.
Which is one thing. But Noah is starting to understand that maybe the person he thought was a superhero turns out sort of to be the villain.
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