Zelda
January 29th
Three days later, we signed the contract with BlackStar’s newest studio, Second Time Around. Iris said the name was a nod to an antique store in a comic book series she loved. Mother May I? was to be her first imprint, and since she was our boss, she’d given us a deadline of one week to finish the graphic novel.
Roy and Mary Goodwin took us to dinner that night at Gramercy Tavern, to celebrate both the contract and Beckett’s birthday.
We sat at a table under gleaming lights, ordered filet mignon and expensive wine, because Roy and Mary insisted on it.
“It’s a special occasion three times over,” Roy said, exchanging a glance with Mary.
“Three times?” Beckett asked, taking a bite of his filet. “The contract is one.”
“The blessed occasion of your birth is the second,” I said giving his hand a squeeze. I looked to Roy. “What’s the third?”
Roy took a deep breath as if to say something, then let it out again, flapping his hands. “Later, later. After dessert.”
It was the richest, heaviest meal I’d had in years. Afterward, the wait staff placed a delicate square of cherry cheesecake in front of Beckett with a single candle, then embarrassed him by singing Happy Birthday.
“Make a wish,” I said.
He looked around the table, at Roy and Mary smiling sweetly at him, and then at me. “I have everything I could possibly want right here at this table.”
Mary nudged her husband and mouthed the word now.
Roy cleared his throat. “I’m happy to hear you say that,” he said, his voice thick. He withdrew a fat envelope from inside his suit jacket pocket. He handed it to Beckett across the table, his hand shaking. “You don’t have to say anything right now, but… It’s something to think about.”
Roy looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself after that. He picked up a napkin, put it down, shifted in his chair and shook his head against whatever Mary whispered to him, unable to take his eyes off Beckett. She clutched his arm, her own eyes bright, as they both watched Beckett open the envelope.
Beckett pulled a small sheaf of documents from the envelope. His ocean blue eyes swept across the pages rapidly.
“What is it?”
Wordlessly, Beckett handed me the papers.
New York State, Family Court, Petition for Adoption request form…
“Oh, Beckett…” I reached for him and he squeezed my fingers hard.
“But I’m twenty-four years old,” he said hoarsely.
“Twenty-five, as of today,” Mary said, her smile a beautiful thing.
Roy cleared his throat. “We don’t feel that age has much to do with how strongly people care about each other,” he said. “Family is family.”
He shifted in his seat again, and his wife rubbed his arm reassuringly. They both stared at Beckett, waiting. Hopeful.
“I…I don’t know what to say,” Beckett murmured.
“We tried to find your birth parents,” Roy said, “and could not, so there are a few pieces of the process missing. But because you’re no longer a minor, the decision is yours. If you give your consent, you would…” He cleared his throat again. “You’d be our son. We’d like you to be our son.”
I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from bursting into tears. Beckett stared at Roy and Mary, his chin starting to rise and fall. “Yes,” he said, hardly a whisper. Then cleared his throat and said louder, “Yes, I… I’d like that.” He laughed, wiping his eyes. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Good,” Roy said, trying mightily to sound gruff, as if they’d just finalized a business deal. “It’s settled, then.”
Mary and I exchanged looks and we both burst out laughing and crying. Mary shot out of her seat and threw her arms around Beckett’s neck, then turned to me and did the same. I clung to her, watching Roy shake Beckett’s his hand, then pull him in for a tight hug. He squeezed his eyes shut over Beckett’s shoulder, knowing he held something precious.
When we got home, Beckett slumped on the couch, and put his foot up. I curled up next to him.
“Well that was a pleasant dinner,” I said. “I can’t get over the filet. Cooked to perfection. Quite the highlight of the evening, wouldn’t you agree?”
A low chuckle rumbled out of Beckett’s chest, growing louder and louder until he threw his head back as laughter roared out of him. He pulled me onto his lap and kissed me. “Yeah, that was the highlight all right.”
“I’m so happy for you, baby,” I said. “And damn if that’s not the understatement of the year. Did you have any idea?”
“None.”
I let my fingertips trail along his lips. “I love it. I love you.” I kissed him softy. “Happy Birthday.” I laughed against his lips as a thought occurred to me. “Today was your birthday in more ways than one.”
“Yeah, I guess it was.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Jesus, my brain. I need to focus on something else. And we need to finish Mother, May I?”
I sat up. “Right now? Tonight?
“Let’s just knock it out, baby,” he said, his hands sliding up and down my thighs. “It’s hanging there, waiting for an end, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
We changed into sweatpants, sweatshirts and scarves. The radiator gave a petulant clank when I kicked it, and wheezed out just enough warm air to keep our hands from freezing. Together, at the small table, I pulled out the graphic novel.
“This is where we’re at: Kira spared the man. Put him in jail instead of killing him. And now she’s ready to jump to the year 2111.” I glanced up at Beckett. “So what happens when she gets there?”
“Ryder is waiting for her. He sweeps her into his arms and they have hot, sweaty, futuristic sex all night.”
I swatted his arm. “He is not a love interest.”
“Poor guy. Do they have a cure for blue balls in the year 2111?”
“Will you be serious?” I said. “The ending…”
“Her ending, Zel,” Beckett said, his voice turning soft. “She deserves a happy ending.”
I thought of my life, and how one decision had changed it forever, in the best way. A chain reaction. A series of opening doors, one after another, all leading me to this moment. This happiness. With this man. I covered Beckett’s hand with mine for a moment, then picked up a pen.
“Maybe jailing the guy instead of killing him created a kind of…cause and effect,” I said, thinking out loud as my pen scratched the paper. “Maybe he sought to better himself in prison, to tell his story in the hopes others wouldn’t take the same path. One decision sent out ripples, wider and wider. The tiny lessening of one man’s pain spawned other kindnesses. Which spawned even more. It kept going, on and on through the years in small ways. Until they found their way across decades, to the man who murdered Kira’s daughter.”
“Chaos theory,” Beckett said. “One decision…”
“Yes,” I said, my hand gliding over the paper, now. “It didn’t change the sickness in his mind. By the time kindness reached him, the change was a small thing—smaller than the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. But it was enough. Maybe he missed a red light on his way, or someone detained him at work to tell him a funny story. The window closed. Kira’s daughter was spared.”
I stared at what I’d sketched. It was 2111 in the panel, the skies a little freer from pollution’s darkness. Kira’s hair fell softly around her shoulders as she hugged her daughter. Gone was the black suit of a vigilante. She wore a nurse’s uniform now. Her job was to save lives, not end them.
Kira no longer remembered the Butterfly Project or even Ryder. The course of her life reset to the one she was always supposed to have, and Ryder was there to witness the moment. And he smiled to himself and walked away.
“How does it look?” I asked.
“It’s perfect,” he said. “You found her heart.”
I lifted my hand to touch his chin, his jaw, his lips. “No, Beckett. You did.”
He leaned over and kissed me. Gently at first, then opening deeper. I kissed him with everything I had. Nothing held back. I felt his arms go around me, holding me, then moving to seek my bare skin, find warmth under the layers. We stripped off our clothes and created our own heat. Built our own defense against the chilling winter winds of black memories, our bodies touching and moving together. His strength made me safe. My arms around him dispelled his loneliness.
“I love you, Beckett,” I whispered afterward, holding his body tight to mine, no space between us. “Only you. Always.”
“Me too, baby.” His mouth found mine in the dark, kissing and whispering his promise. “I’ll never love anyone but you.”