couldn’t find anything good at Savers for the gold crown, bracelets, or lasso—don’t even get me started on the invisible plane, so I’m going as Supergirl instead. Either way, I get to become someone else—someone stronger, smarter, better—if only for a few hours.
Since Blaine is on a long homestand, which rarely happens, and he doesn’t have a game tonight, he’s taking me to the haunted hayride at my favorite apple orchard. Usually, I end up dressing up like a giant ruler and tagging along with some of my second graders as they trick or treat, watching out for them.
But not tonight. Tonight is superpowers time.
I give my reflection the once over, from my knee-high red leather boots and matching mini skirt to my royal blue long-sleeved leotard emblazoned with an ‘S’ on the chest. And who could forget the flowing red satin cape that hits me at the backs of my knees? I even wore a little makeup and blew my long hair out into a more flowy style, cascading down my back. I adjust my red mask a little bit lower on my face to position the eye holes and nod.
I pass muster. So very un-Cora.
Because tonight I get to be someone else.
My phone chirps with a text that Blaine is downstairs waiting for me. I grab a light jacket and my purse. Despite it being late October in Northern Minnesota, it’s been unseasonably warm the past week. Which makes for a pleasant evening when you’re spending it outside. There have been years where you need to wear a snowsuit, scarf, hat, and mittens to be comfortable on Halloween in Duluth.
I lock the door to my townhouse and head toward Blaine’s SUV. When I see him, I skid to a stop and stare. What the hell is he supposed to be? If he’s wearing one of those lame, ‘This is my costume’ t-shirts, I’m going to smack him. He looks exactly like he always looks when I see him stroll through the player exit after a Caribou game. My heart dips in my chest because he didn’t put in any effort at all when he knows how important dressing up is to me. When he knows how important Halloween is to me.
I yank the door open and open my mouth, ready to read him the riot act.
But instead, I stare at his awestruck expression. His gaze sweeps my leotard-clad body, and I swear a flicker of interest ignites in his eyes before he masks it. No, that can’t be it. He’s just surprised, that’s all.
His lips pull into a smile and he says, “Before you go off half-cocked, take a good look at me.”
“You’re an NHL asshole? Accountant asshole? Stockbroker asshole?”
He shakes his head. “Just simmer down there a second. I’m no kind of asshole. Who goes with Super Girl?”
I can’t keep my glossed lips from falling. “Super Boy. Where are your blue tights and red speedo?”
His face falls into that little pout I swear I don’t love. Then he produces a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses and shoves them on his face. “I’m Clark Kent.”
I should have never told a professional athlete that I was going to be Super Girl. But I guess he tried. Even though one minute consulting our old friend, Google, could have told him the right answer. I sigh and hop inside, buckling my seat belt.
“Clark Kent AKA Superman goes with Lois Lane. But I guess I never asked you to match me, I just asked you to dress up. And you’re dressed up all right. That Kenneth Cole suit is going to get dirty. Didn’t you have something old to throw on, or hasn’t your seven-figure self figured out Savers yet? It’s everyone’s one-stop-shop for Halloween, you know.”
As Blaine tunes in the Sirius FM to the “Monster Mash” and heads out onto the highway, the irony of this situation is not lost on me.
I used this night to turn into him, and he used this night to turn into me.
We’ve unwittingly implemented a paradox. A complete role reversal.
His head shifts toward me and I already feel myself softening. “Are you mad at me?”
I toy with the sleeves of my coat as it lays in my lap. “I guess not. I know you’re busy and stuff.”
He reaches over and grabs my hand as I try to ignore how good it feels to touch him like a real girlfriend would. “I’m never too busy for you. Even when I’m on the road. I hope you