Suddenly, Calan is grateful Malaika isn’t around. He doesn’t want her to see him being put on the spot like this.
“Of course he does, Tish,” says his mom. “Calan knows all there is to know about the Dewars. Don’t you, honey?” She beams at him.
“But what about the other great families you are a part of?” Grandma Tish pats the seat cushion to her right, inviting Calan to sit down next to her. “You see, my dear, my mother was a Carmichael before she married my daddy, a Baron. He was not the eldest of the Baron boys, but at the time, Mama believed that Daddy would be chosen to inherit the family’s oil empire. Now, it’s true that Uncle Jack surprised us all by stepping up and filling in the shoes that were meant for him as the firstborn, but regardless of succession matters, I am a descendant of two prominent families that are as close to blue bloods as one can be in America, which means that you, my dear, are as well.”
His dad looks at Grandma Tish with a funny face. Calan thinks he knows why: Grandma Tish rarely talks about her side of the family. He once overheard his dad say that it brought back bad memories, but Calan never learned exactly why.
“I’m going to have to side with Nick on this one, Mom,” his dad says, whiskey glass in hand. “If you’re using terms like blue bloods, then, yes, it’s racism.”
Grandma Tish tuts. “The point here is not race, but history. Why do you think I was so warmly accepted into Alma society when I married Charles? Because Almanacs can recognize when someone has been born to fill a certain kind of role, that’s why.”
“And you were born to reign!” Uncle Nick rises to his feet and does a mock salute and Grandma Tish purses her lips to contain a smile. “Wait, that’s wrong.” He takes a half-step back and bows, chuckling. Everyone claps as he returns to his seat. Calan feels his cheeks stretch into a grin. Uncle Nick’s superpower is that he can make everyone feel relaxed—even Calan.
“Reign in a town no bigger than a mall?” Aunt Alice’s voice cuts through the fizzling laughter. Her lips are pressed closed, her brow furrowed. Not even Uncle Nick can pierce Aunt Alice’s icy veil.
“My dear,” Grandma Tish begins, “Alma may be a small kingdom, but a queen is a queen regardless of the size of her territory. If Charles had brought back some other woman—a lesser woman—Almanacs never would’ve accepted her.”
“Besides, we’re much bigger than a mall,” his mom offers.
“The Dewar name would be nothing without the preservation of the Dewar name,” Grandma Tish says. “They are one and the same. I helped preserve it, just as I always hoped my sons’ wives would.”
“Mom lives and breathes Alma,” Calan whispers.
He doesn’t add that he wishes his mom still had a family of her own. Calan doesn’t know much about his mom’s parents, except that they had died when she was eighteen. He would’ve liked to have met them, to have them in his life. Maybe they were like him—different. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so weird if his family were bigger.
“Yes,” Grandma Tish says. “And one day you’ll run Alma Boots, my dear, so you should follow her example.”
Calan chews on his lower lip. He has made it clear that he wants nothing to do with the family business, but they seem set on ignoring him. Alma Boots is a fine company, one that Calan is proud of. But Calan is going to be a graphic novelist. There is a zero percent chance of him being stuck in a soul-sucking office all day filled with uncreative followers like the kids at his school. Plus, he doesn’t want to live in Alma. Aunt Alice is right: it’s too small. If they lived in a big city, Calan wouldn’t stand out as much.
“Nick, would you make me another one?” Grandma Tish holds up her Martini glass.
“What brought this on anyway?” his dad asks.
“You were late,” Uncle Nick says, getting up and taking Grandma Tish’s empty glass. “Mom was upset because she thought you weren’t coming and started talking about the importance of tradition. How she managed to spin that into this purity of blood speech I have no idea.”
“We weren’t late,” his mom says. “Alice said 6:30.”
Grandma Tish gives Aunt Alice a pointed look. She is about to say something when Malaika steps outside with Allegra.
Calan holds his breath. The best part about coming to Aunt Alice’s house is seeing Malaika. She’s beautiful, hypnotic. Prettier than any girl in any comic book—even Stargirl.
Malaika is wearing black leggings and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her earrings—a pair of dangling, yellow crystals—match her eyes. Allegra is in her arms, her weight pulling down at Malaika’s blouse, exposing an additional inch of skin. She isn’t showing cleavage, but Calan still feels movement coming from his pants, one that he desperately does not want Malaika—or anyone else—to see.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Malaika says. “But someone wanted to give Mommy and Daddy a kiss goodnight.”
“Cawan! Cawan!” Allegra swings her arms in his direction.
“Oh, you want to see your big cousin, do you?” Malaika coos.
Hearing Malaika refer to him as big makes his erection more powerful. He panics—Malaika is now headed towards him. His legs became Siamese twins that can’t decide which direction to take: he starts getting up and crossing his legs at the same time. The result, of course, is that he stumbles and falls to the ground, landing less than an inch away from the center table—and the fire.
“Honey!” his mom screams. “Are you all right?”
A second later, he’s back on his feet. The humiliation has cured his erection, possibly for good.
“I’m fine.” He keeps his focus on the ground as his vision blurs. He wishes he could vanish. Go invisible like Sue Storm.
Uncle Nick swoops in and takes Allegra from Aunt Alice.
