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Welcome to Olympus City Meadowville, where super-powers, physics-defying tech, and unearthly creatures are all possible now everything is nice and normal. Human nature, however, remains unchanged.
No one is born a perfect superhero, but a few strive to live up to the ideal anyway especially not in this town, but an imperfect superhero was born here and has returned for a visit.
“Don’t embarrass your sister!”
Naomi was practically shouting in Miranda’s ear. She more than compensated for the music blaring through the DJ’s several speakers, ensuring Miranda could not possibly miss the message, just in case she had missed it any of the previous eleven times.
“Would I ever do a thing like that?” Miranda, exuding the purest of innocence, turned to Peyton, who was already giggling in the adjacent seat. “Would I ever embarrass you?”
“You know which sister I’m talking about,” their mother said. “This is Bianca’s day. It’s not one of your performances.”
The purity slipped behind a mischievous grin. “Bianca understood the risks, so really, it’s on her for appointing me.”
Naomi’s stern gaze bounced right off Miranda, who had long since developed an immunity.
“Just give a nice toast,” Naomi said. “Don’t turn the whole thing into a joke, please.”
“Of course.” Miranda put on her most ridiculously serious face. “No joking. Serious toast.”
Peyton stifled her laughter while Naomi shook her head and withdrew to her own table, unwilling to dignify these antics with an amused smile, even though she absolutely was smiling.
An assemblage of cousins filled Miranda’s table. She enjoyed their company and didn’t get to visit often enough. Last time she saw most of them, she hadn’t even become Ultra Woman yet. They were long overdue for a family reunion, and Bianca’s wedding supplied the necessary pretext. There was just one problem: Every cousin was younger than Miranda. Not by much, and it wasn’t like they each needed to get married in birth order. Nevertheless, relatives tended to weigh seniority rather heavily in their forecasting. Miranda was the heir apparent to the altar.
A papery, wrinkled hand gripped her shoulder. Miranda flinched.
“Where’s your date?”
It was only Aunt Tilly. Miranda should have heard the abundant jewelry rattling as she approached, but that damn music kept getting louder.
“My, you’re really tense. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
The tension was Miranda’s superhuman durability. Mostly. But her grandmother’s sister did not need to know that.
“Nothing’s wrong, thank you. And there is no date. I’m leaving that position open for the time being.”
Aunt Tilly evidently misread that as a problem to solve. “Oh, don’t you worry. Bianca has a lot of doctor friends here, you know. You should ask her to introduce you to someone.” Satisfied with the brilliance of her solution, she smiled and squeezed Miranda’s shoulder one more time. “Try to relax. The boys won’t approach if you don’t relax.”
Miranda thanked her for the advice, and Aunt Tilly moved on to Peyton, enveloping the kid with her bony arms.
Cousin Craig pointed at Miranda’s wine glass. “You’ve hardly touched your drink.”
That wasn’t quite accurate. Miranda hadn’t touched the wine at all. But she understood the implied question. A few years ago, she would have been halfway through her second glass by now.
Miranda pointed her thumb at Peyton. “Just trying to set a good example for this kid here.”
Peyton, freshly released from Aunt Tilly’s interrogations, objected to being cast as the excuse. “Hey. You can drink. You’re legal.”
“But I’m also the designated maid of honor. Drinking and honoring don’t mix.”
Craig presumed to know what Miranda really meant, and he agreed that drinking had lost much of its appeal since hitting the legal age. Miranda rolled with that.
She could have sipped the wine for the sake of appearances, she realized. The alcohol couldn’t affect her too much. But there could still be some effects. She didn’t dare risk it. A minuscule amount might be all Dame Disaster needed to slip back inside her head.
How did she even get in? Where is she now? Both Sibyl and Carey subjected her to thorough testing before she flew back to Meadowville. They found no evidence of any lingering presence. If she returns now, Ken is on his own over there. Miranda reached into her purse and peeked at her phone. No news alerts. No reports of anything in progress. But if something’s beginning right this second …
“I’m going to stretch my legs.” Miranda stood up and tapped Peyton on the arm. “You’re the reigning bridesmaid at this table until I get back. Wield your power responsibly.”
Peyton responded with mock seriousness. “I’ll do my best.”
Miranda strolled along the edge of the empty dance floor, which would serve as a decent stage in a little bit and then a nice refuge for the remainder of the evening. For now, people were still eating. The food smelled wonderful and was indeed delicious—as it should be. Her parents paid more than enough for everything.
She just wished she could hear better.
That’s silly. Nothing’s going to happen here.
Nevertheless, she swept her eyes across the venue, confirming everything was as it should be. Bianca and Remy looked happy as they made the rounds among numerous relatives, friends, and colleagues. So many loved ones had turned out. A full house.
An unknown bald man greeted Miranda as if they were good buddies from way back.
“We just love your sister,” he shouted over the music. “She’s been doing tremendous work at the hospital. Such a wonderful person.”
“Yes,” Miranda shouted back, “she’s practically a saint.”
He missed the sarcasm. “Really just a treasure. She’s got a bright future ahead.”
Miranda dutifully agreed that Bianca should have one of those.
The bald man, whose name she didn’t catch, introduced her to a half-bald man, whose name she heard and immediately forgot. He, too, gushed about Bianca, making it sound like her merest touch could mend broken bones. A frumpy middle-aged woman, another doctor, said that Bianca and Remy were the perfect couple. Miranda, with some effort, refrained from asking if that was her medical opinion.
The next man she did know. Her father pulled her aside for a quick chat.
“Your mother is worried you’re going to embarrass Bianca in your toast,” Vern said.
Miranda pointed at her ear and feigned confusion. “What was that? You want me to embarrass Bianca in my toast? Okay, if you say so!”
“Miranda.” Vern wasn’t playing along. “Make your mother happy and just say something nice and heartfelt.”
Fortunately, Uncle Bill sidled up to them and interrupted. Unfortunately, he interrupted with a too-chipper “You’re next!” aimed squarely at the maid of honor.
“When are we getting together for your wedding?” Uncle Bill asked, perhaps unaware that Miranda was missing a key ingredient for an effective wedding.
While issuing the standard deflections, Miranda noticed the doors through which she and the rest of the bridal party had entered. A patio lay on the other side, a quiet and empty patio, or at least quieter. She excused herself and headed in that direction as quickly as good manners and her dress would allow.
A few other friendly souls slowed her progress, but eventually she escaped into the fresh early-evening air. The door closed behind her, putting a cork in the music.
Quiet at last. Miranda could finally hear. And she heard … not much. A gentle breeze, chirping insects, faint traffic noises. The quiet confirmed it. Peace.
Nothing is going to happen here. There is nothing to worry about.
Peace was easy to find, it turned out. All she had to do was step away, recuse herself, ignore the world. The residents of the New Mount Olympus resort managed to do it on a consistent basis. Despite their various super-powers, they simply opted out of all responsibility.
Why can’t I?
She imagined releasing that weight, worrying about nothing but herself. Guilt spoiled the fantasy within the span of an accelerated heartbeat.
Miranda took another breath, then slipped back inside right as Bianca happened to be looking in that direction. The bride went straight for her sister.
“Where did you go? Did something happen? Were you …?” Bianca made a gesture that vaguely indicated flying.
“I was getting fresh air,” Miranda said. “At sea level. Your reception is safe.”
Bianca ran a skeptical eye over her. “But you’re not okay.”
“I’m fine.”
“Which is exactly what you would say if something was wrong.”
“Don’t worry about me. Not today. You get the day off from that.”
“You never get the day off. What are you worried about?”
Not wanting to ruin her sister’s wedding day, Miranda turned to the side, found their grandmother, and commended her on her professionally coiffed, immovable hairdo. Bianca had no choice but to pivot into the new conversation, and Miranda endured a few more questions about her marriage prospects. A worthwhile sacrifice.
Dinner soon wrapped up. The time for toasting had come. Vern kicked it off with the sort of nice, heartfelt remarks that would meet Naomi’s approval. The best man went next, issuing a casual but sappy wedding toast, perfunctory but sincere.
Finally, Miranda’s turn.
She grabbed the microphone, strode onto the dance floor, and faced the crowd. Her whole family. Remy’s whole family. His and Bianca’s friends and colleagues. The entire room was smiling, happy, united in their affection for two good people.
Dame Disaster would slay them all. Torture them. Subjugate them. Turn their world into hell. Any or all of the above.
“It’s been suggested that I should give a nice, heartfelt toast,” Miranda began. “But I can’t compete with Bianca’s heart. So, I’m going to turn it over to her.” The crowd perked up in interested confusion as Miranda gestured to the DJ. “If you please.”
A large wall-mounted television turned on. Momentary static gave way to home-video footage of Bianca at age seven, holding a toy microphone, standing on a bed as if it were a stage, all glammed up. Or a child’s idea of glammed up, anyway.
Family and friends reacted with the appropriate “aww” right before kid Bianca started singing. She belted out a cheesy love song at the top of her little lungs, unhindered by any grown-up concerns about talent or dignity.
Laughter flooded the reception hall. Bianca lowered her head in gentle embarrassment, concealing the smile that absolutely was spreading. Naomi and Vern were enchanted by the preciousness of their eldest. Family, friends, and colleagues all had a grand time.
And now, finally, Miranda did too.
I win this round, Dame Disaster.
Next: Bliss
Three Terrific books are currently in print. If you haven’t already, please consider checking them out. If you already have, thank you!
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Oooh, a nice down moment for Miranda. 🙂
And I see what you did there with the standard intro - very nice. 😆
Unfortunately, I seemed to have jumped in the middle or end of an arc - so a bunch of things went over my head! 😅 Will have to catch up soon, I hope!