“Hello, Benji,” she says. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“I don’t know,” I say hoarsely. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Soon,” Nina says. “I told you soon you will see. And you will. Soon, we all will.” She turns again and stands on her tiptoes, then reaches up and plants a kiss to Calliel’s red beard. She spins back around, a gentle blush rising on her cheeks, evident even in the dark. She rushes toward me, a determined look on her face. I open my arms and she collides with me, breathing heavily against my neck. “There is a point to grief,” she whispers fiercely. “But there is also a point to opening your eyes and living.”
I nod, not knowing what else to say. Disbelief washes over me again.
She lets me go and pushes past me. “Nina, wait. You can’t….” I stop.
She looks at me over her shoulder expectantly.
What do I tell her? That everything we’ve both just seen is a figment of our imaginations? That this man (Blue, I think; Calliel) isn’t what she thinks he is, whatever it is she’s thinking? I can’t say those words—they would sound false to the both of us. I don’t know what I’m thinking. I don’t know what he is.
“Just… don’t tell Mom, okay?” I say finally. “Or the rest of the Trio. Not until—”
“Nina? Benji? What’s going on out here?”
Oh fuck.
Without thinking, I turn and toss the coat at Cal. He stares at it for a second until I hiss at him to put it on so he doesn’t look like he’s ready to do battle in a gladiator coliseum. He does, smiling quietly to himself.
My mother opens the screen door to Big House and Mary and Christie pile out behind her. They’re looking at us curiously until one by one they see the gigantic man still standing next to the Ford. “Hello,” my mother says uncertainly.
Calliel takes a step and starts to smile, and we’re only seconds away from, “Greetings, Lola Green, born December 15, 1962 under a corporeal moon and take me to your leader” or some other fucking crazy bullshit.
“Uh,” I override him loudly. “This is just… a friend of mine. You know. Just… hanging out. And stuff.” He looks at me curiously, and I try to put as much murder in my gaze as I possibly can, but he seems amused, nothing more.
“A friend?” Mary says, starting to grin. “Well, he’s certainly quite the specimen for a friend.”
Oh goddammit.
“Yes,” Nina says, somehow picking up on the growing awkwardness. “I was just waiting for Benji to come home and he introduced me to his friend and nothing more. Nothing more at all is going on, so no nosy nellies.”
“What’s his name?” Christie asks.
“Blue,” Nina says, as he says, “Calliel,” while I say, “Cal.”
The three women on the patio stare at us.
I cough. “Calliel Blue,” I manage to say. “Everyone calls him Cal.”
“They do?” Calliel asks, sounding extraordinarily baffled. “I have not heard this before from—”
“What he means,” I say, interrupting him, “is that he has a lot of nicknames and Cal is just one of them. Or Blue. Or… whatever.” Yeah. That should convince them.
“Really,” Mom says, sounding like she doesn’t believe a single word that’s falling from my mouth. “Hello, Cal. Or Blue. Or Calliel. I’m Lola, Benji’s mom. These are my sisters, Christie and Mary. I think you’ve already met Nina.”
He waves jovially at them (and everyone except for Mom starts waving right back), looking at me, begging with his eyes to speak. I shake my head quickly once and, unbelievably, he grunts at me, calling me ridiculous without saying the words.
“Cal Blue?” Mary whispers quite loudly, still waving. “That sounds like a porn name. He looks like he does porn too. Big bad ginger-man porn.”
“That’s not a porn name,” Christie scoffs. “Calliel sounds… Hispanic. Or Greek.”
I groan.
“I am not Hispanic,” Calliel assures her. “Or Greek.” Mary and Christie titter quietly at the sound of his voice, rough and wonderful.
He tries again. “I’m actually—”
“He’s actually Californian,” I say, as if that explains everything. To Mary and Christie, it seems to suffice; they nod as if that makes perfect sense. My mother is not buying a damn thing. Even worse, she’s starting to get that look on her face that means she’s going to start asking questions I have no idea how to answer. Making a decision, I walk over to him and take his hand in mine. Even though it can’t possibly be real, there’s a moment when