It was a regular Wednesday. Mom was out grocery shopping, and I was sitting in the kitchen, with a stranger’s knife to my throat.

Just to be clear, this is not what I’d call normal. Normal Wednesday would be me raiding the fridge as I got home, pretending I did my physiology homework, probably vanishing to play some game with Shelly for a couple of hours, and then showing up back home for dinner. Mom and I would have one of our usual arguments while Dad pretends not to take sides. Then we’d all end up in the living room watching a show about old ladies solving murders or something.

I could hear the door open. There was some scuffling, probably Mom with the shopping bags. “Hanna,” she called. “You home?” The man behind me whispered shush in my ear, and I didn’t respond. I don’t move, I couldn’t move.

I’m not a very girly girl. I don’t wear dresses or skirts, I don’t have any make-up, you would not see any hint of pink in my room. I got ball practice three times a week, and I’m not allowed to play with the boys because I keep kicking their ass. Dad sometimes gripes about me being a bit too much of a tomboy, mostly when he sees a nice dress I won’t even look at. He was actually happy when I asked to get my ears pierced, although I don’t think he’s a fan of most of my earrings.

Usually, I am very much not a wallflower. I say what’s on my mind, and I’m not afraid to follow that with actions. When someone tried to bully my friend Daniela at school, I broke his arm. Mom and Dad had to come to school for a talk, and they sent me home for three days. Mom said I get to pick dinners for all of those days. Dad was not so happy, but he took me to work all of those days, and there wasn’t a bit of shame when he told everyone why I was there.

But when I got home today, this man was waiting for me in the kitchen. He was not that big, but he was bigger than me. When he grabbed me, it hurt, then the knife came out and pinned me to the wall. For a moment there, my mind was going to the worst things. That he was going to rape me, that I’ll get pregnant, and my life would be over. But he just guided me to the chair, told me to be quiet, and stood behind me, the knife never leaving my neck. The way he moved, the way he held the knife, the way he looked at me – I knew he would not hesitate to hurt me. He might even enjoy it. 

Mom came into the kitchen, her vision obscured by the shopping bags. “I know who you are.” The man said. Mom ignored him. She put down the bags on the island and began unloading them, oblivious to what he just said. I wanted to scream at her, but I could feel the knife at my throat. “You will do as I say, or I will kill your little girl here.” Mom continued to ignore him. She had definitely seen us at this point. There was nothing in her ears; Mom hated headphones. “You would do as I say!” He raised his voice. “I will hurt her!”

Not breaking her movement, Mom made eye contact with me. “Honey,” she said. “Don’t move.”

One moment Mom was standing on the other side of the island, the next, her hand was wrapped around the man’s knife arm, forcefully twisting it aside and away. When he grabbed me, the expression on the man’s face scared me – but Mom’s expression as she pulled the man off me was terrifying.

It is hard to explain exactly what I was seeing in her face. Her lip was half curled up in a snarl, but her eyes were not showing much emotion. She was, at the same time, radiating both unimaginable violence and bored disregard. I turned as she pushed him to the wall behind me. He screamed and dropped the knife as a sickening, wet, cracking noise came from his side. No arm should bend like that beyond the elbow.

“My arm!” He cried as Mom drove her knee into his balls, and he cried again, collapsing to the floor.

She kicked him in the ribs, and there was another wet cracking sound. Then she bent over and picked him up by the neck. It’s a really cool move. You see it on the screen sometimes, but I know you can’t do that in real life – I tried. But she was lifting him, one-handed, by the throat.

My mom is not a badass. She’s a stay-at-home mom who likes to do embroidery. She drives me to ball practice and calls embarrassing things from the stands. She does a bit of yoga in front of the screen - that is as far as exercise I have ever seen her do. Dad and I have to wrangle her out of the house every time we go camping. She doesn’t even like to open pickle jars.

Yet here was my Mom, in a light dress, high heels, and pearl neckless holding a man up in the air with one arm. “I’m on holiday.” She said. The man tried to say something, or maybe he was just gasping as she was strangling him. “Did you have to disrupt my vacation? Do you know how much work I put into that girl's genetics?” Then she realized his face was turning purple and tossed him to the floor. He grasped for air, and she squatted in front of him. She turned her head to me. “Honey,” she said with a smile. “Could you get me some paper towels?”

I got up from the chair, shaking, and somehow made it to the island. I slowly moved around it, my brain was still not fully processing what just happened. I got to the stand, got some paper towels, and came around to give them to Mom. She put them on the floor and then shuffled the man around to sit on them. He was still holding his arm; a bruise was forming around his neck, and his breath was laborious and wet. Mom went on one knee and punched him, once, in the chest, and he stopped breathing. Then, a moment later, as Mom stood up, he fell to the side, his eyes empty.

I never seen anything die. Nothing with eyes. Nothing with a face. I covered my mouth with my hands as he just laid there, or his body did.

I was looking at Mom as she went to the sink to wash her hands and then put on an apron as if nothing happened. She got back to unloading the groceries. “Hanna, sweety,” she said. “Is Shelly joining us for dinner tonight?” I just stood there and looked at her with an empty expression. There was a dead body on the floor behind me. “Sweety?” She asked. “Is she coming? It’s a Wednesday, so if you aren’t there, she usually comes over.” I looked behind me, then back at Mom. The realization that Shelly might be coming in at any moment and seeing this was paralyzing. Would she call the police? Would they arrest Mom?

My Mom just killed someone.

I had no sympathy for him, but I was now terrified in a completely new and unwelcome way. A stranger that was communicating violence is a horror I could process, I could understand. My Mom, the woman who has weekly fights with me over my choice of underwear, who doesn’t like squirrels and obsesses about crisp folds on the napkins at the Friday dinner table. She just killed a man, and she did not seem to care about it.

I was still standing there, frozen, as she finished putting away the groceries and put the bags under the sink. She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Hanna,” she said. “You can’t just freeze up like that every time you see someone die.”  

And something in me snapped. “I never seen anyone die!” I yelled. “I… I… I… He was… and you just… You killed him!” I couldn’t get my mind organized enough to express the crazy maelstrom of things I was feeling.

“Ha,” she said. “Really should get rid of that before your father gets home.” She walked about me and picked up the body, tossing it over her shoulder like it was nothing. “Could you pick up the papers and put them in the bin outside?”

“What?” I cried. “No!”

Mom is usually a decent communicator. I won’t say she’s great, but we talk - a lot. She sometimes doesn’t understand things, not things you’d expect. She was completely baffled when I told her I like boys, and just boys. She had me explain to her, in detail, why I chose some earrings – as if it was some monumental decision. Two years ago, when I was fourteen and a half, she got me my first sex toy and couldn’t understand why I didn’t want her to go into details on how to use it. But we talk. It’s usually easier for me to talk with Dad. He’s, usually, a bit less direct. But she communicates, I can understand her, and she usually does try to get me to understand where she’s coming from.

Right now, she wasn’t even trying. “Since when are you so squeamish about some bodily fluids?” She asked, the dead body still over her shoulder.

“What bodily fluids?” I asked. Only then did I notice the smell. “What is that?”

“Loss of bowel control near death.” Mom said. “Could you take care of the papers and open a window?” I looked at her, not understanding. “I’ll take care of the floor when I’ll get back.”

“Where…” I began. “Where are you going?”

“To get rid of this,” she said, jumping the body with her shoulder. “We can’t just have it on the floor, it will attract bugs.” Yes, because that is the problem with having a dead body in the kitchen. She looked me up. “You’re right,” She said. “He has accomplices.” That was not a reassuring thought one bit. “Come along, we’ll clean the kitchen when we get back.” She said and walked to the back door. Holding it open for me. It took me a while, but I eventually came and walked out. Partially because the idea of staying alone right now was not something I could stand.

We live at the end of the neighborhood, with our backyard open to the woods. Dad keeps saying we need to put a fence, but he never gets around to doing that. Mom just walked straight out into the woods with the body over her shoulder, and I followed close behind. “Where are we going?” I asked after a few minutes.

“Not sure.” She said. “I forgot to bring a shovel.” She snickered at that, as if that was somehow funny. “So I guess I need to find some big rock to put him under.” We went up the slope for a while and then turned to go a bit down until we came to a small notch with some boulders scattered around. “This will do. She tossed the body on the ground next to the wall and looked at the boulders, eventually picking one. She got back to the body and folded his legs atop his chest. There was a pop sound as she forced the legs to stay. Then she got back to the boulder and picked it up.

I fell on my ass.

When I say a boulder, I don’t mean something the size of a kitchen appliance, although that would also be rather heavy — this thing was the size of our car. And Mom just lifted it. There wasn’t any effort there — she just picked it up, not even lifting with her knees. She walked over with the rock and placed it, not too carefully, over the dead body. There was a squash sound as the weight of the thing crushed it under. “Ok,” she said and walked over to me, offering me a hand to get back up. “That should do it. I don’t think any hiker will stumble on it by accident.” She pulled me up. The body was entirely buried under the rock. But there were some splotches of blood and gore around.

I needed to throw up.

I managed to walk by myself for about a meter or two before I fell to my knees and emptied everything that was in me, the wrong way out. If there was ever a time I was happy I kept my hair short, it was now — because Mom did not come to hold it for me.

Once I was done, I remained on my knees for a little while, then stood up and turned back to Mom. “Feeling better?” She asked. I could not get my head back up; my eyes narrowed on her feet. She was still wearing her high heels. I never understood how she could walk in those. I constantly fell whenever I tried, but Mom could somehow run in them. I never understood how she could walk in them. Now I was wondering if it was just part of this other side of her I never knew about.

“No.” I eventually said. She wrapped one hand around me and began to walk me home. “Does Dad know?” I eventually managed to get myself to ask.

Mom laughed. “Why would he ever think to ask?” She said. I kept my eyes on the ground. I always thought that they talked about everything, sometimes a bit too openly. They talk about odd smells their bodies produce and why Dad has issues with some shade of green. There was even the time that Mom was trying to convince him that it’s fine for him to have an affair. I had to intervene in that one since it was in the middle of dinner, and my parent's kinky sex life is not something I need as I try to eat. But apparently, they didn’t really talk about everything.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized there were many things Mom didn’t talk about. I never met her side of the family; the only thing she ever said about them was that they lived far away. She never talked about being a kid or what she did before she met Dad.

But the thing is, Mom never lies.

Never.

Even when she should, she doesn’t lie. She always tells the truth. She sometimes doesn’t answer or doesn’t give the full story, but she never ever lies. My preschool teachers sure hoped she would at some point. Let’s not talk about the week they had after I asked where babies come from.

We got back into the house, and Mom sat me down in the kitchen, on a different chair. She got me a cup of water and then set about cleaning as if it was some plate that had fallen on the floor and broken. When she got back from the bin and finished washing her hands I managed to take a sip of the water. She took a look at me and started the kettle. She was done with a quick sweep of the floor by the time the water boiled. Mom took down two mugs, the brown one and the blue one with the unicorns I used to obsess about when I was younger, and made us some herbal tea. 

She placed the blue one in front of me and then sat down next to me with her mug. The tea smelled good. We had a good collection of herbs, and Mom had a good nose for them. I held the mug with two hands but didn’t pick it up. Letting the heat spread through my hands. “How strong are you?” I asked.

“Strong.” She said, and took a sip of her tea. I was looking at the mug, so I don’t know where she was looking.

“But how strong?” I asked.

“I can’t crush coal into diamonds.” She said. I almost smiled at that. Mom sometimes has the weirdest tropes as references. “I never had the patience to figure out how to get that to work.” The idea of the smile vanished. I had no idea what to make of that statement.

I turned my head to look at her. She was holding her mug, but looking away, out the window above the sink. I looked back at my mug and then back at her. I exhaled and braced myself. “Mom,” I asked. “What is going on?”

She took a sip of her tea, still looking out the window. “A nuisance.” She said. That is an odd way to describe the events of the last hour or so. I looked out the window. The kitchen is at the side of the house and all you can see out of it is the fence between us and the neighbors, and a little bit into their yard. The Jankowskis are nice, but we don’t really interact with them that much. Their yard is rather empty. They don’t even pull out any decorations for holidays, not that we do. I could not understand what Mom was looking at.

I was going to ask about calling the police, but then I realized how dumb that would be. I just looked back down at my mug. I really had no idea what is supposed to happen now, comic books and games give you the parts with all the actions, but they never get to the part of what happens next. Mom was not being very informative, or understanding, here.

The doorbell rang, and I braced, then exhaled, realizing that they would probably not ring the doorbell. “Coming.” Mom called and got up. A moment later, I could hear the door open. “Hi, Shelly,” I heard Mom. “She’s in the kitchen.” It took a moment for Shelly to get to the kitchen, then she pounced and hugged me. She was wearing a blue jacket with a purple shirt, black pants and, as usual, too many necklaces. This week, her fohawk was blue and green, I helped her repaint it over the weekend.

“When are you going to get a phone?” She asked. “I was waiting for you for half an hour before I decided to come and check.”

“Sorry,” I said and hugged her back with half an arm. “Things got busy.”

“Well,” she said. “I’m here now, which might be better because Dad is cooking today.” Shelly’s dad has one mode of cooking he’s half decent with, which is grilling. Everything else he tries to make is a disaster, and he usually doesn’t have enough time to heat the grill midweek. She took Mom’s seat. “So, what are we having for dinner?” She asked Mom.

“You know I should be making you do chores around the house here.” Mom said as she got back to the other side of the island and began to get things out of the refrigerator. “You eat here so much, you might as well earn it.” She pulled out two large onions and a chopping board and handed them over to Shelly. “Diced, fine.” Then she placed some carrots and potatoes next to me with a peeler and a trash bag - the implications were clear. 

I pushed my tea to the side and started peeling. “So, what are we having?” Shelly asked again.

“Soup.” Mom said and got out a few vegetables and beans. Mom’s definition of soup is rather broad, but I never mind either of them. Right now, with the taste of bile still in my mouth, I didn’t feel much for any flavor. Shelly got her chair closer to mine and began working on the onions, brushing up against me from time to time. I think I’m the only person Shelly came out to, and she was really depressed for a while when I told her I don’t like her the same way. But I did my best to not let it change anything between us. Shelly, for her side, did her best to take it as me being a heteronormative conformist that she’ll get around to seeing the way out of the closet at some point. I was fairly sure Mom knew - she was scary like that sometimes…

I dropped the carrot and the peeler. The idea that Mom might have had other powers as well dawned on me. There are things that a teenage girl would very much like to keep in her head and as obscured as possible from her parents. I was beginning to reevaluate the talk she and Dad had with me two weeks ago about the risk of porn addiction, which was as awkward for me as that sounds and way more embarrassing given some things I sometimes do in my room with the door closed.

“You okay?” Shelly asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I got distracted.” I picked up the carrot and the peeler and got back to work. It didn’t take me long to get through the small pile, and Shelly got through hers. We were sitting there, as if everything was back to normal, and it wasn’t. I really wanted to talk to Mom about this, but I didn’t know what to say, or if she’ll give me any answers. I definitely did not want to have that conversation with Shally here, and I couldn’t figure a way to get rid of her in a nice way… and I also wasn’t sure I wanted to stay alone with Mom right now.

Stolen story; please report.

I jumped out of my chair and grabbed Shelly by the hand. “We’re going up to my room,” I said. “Call us when the food is ready.” I yanked Shelly out of the chair and ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into my room. I almost forcefully got her in and locked the door.

When I turned to her, she had already tossed her jacket on the bed and grabbed me, her hand coming behind me and grabbing my ass. “I knew you’d get around eventually.” She said with a terrible attempt at a husky voice.

“Shelly,” I looked her down, doing my best to replicate one of Mom’s patented stares that make me feel like a small animal in front of incoming high beams. “Let go of my ass. This isn’t what this is.”

“Spoilsport.” She said, gave me a pack on the lips, squeezed me behind one more time, and let go. I rolled my eyes. I really love Shelly, not like, love, but not like that. The fact that I love her so much is the only reason I’m willing to let her get away with her acting like that. It’s not that I don’t like feeling her touching me, I’m not repulsed, I just don’t feel anything toward her in that way. I know it’s hard on her, which is why I’m fine with her doing it from time to time, so long as she respects it when I set boundaries and stops when I tell her. She walked over to my bed, grabbed my pillow, and hugged it. “So, why’d you pull me up here like your life depends on it if you didn’t want to make out?”

I took a deep breath and gave her the short version of everything that happened since I got home. The word “what” was said a lot of times, as well as various variations on “are you kidding me?”. Her face went through a wide range of emotions, there were a few hugs, without trying to reach for my ass this time. “And then you got here,” I said, I may also have been crying by that point. “And we were just sitting there like it was another Wednesday, and I couldn’t take it anymore…” My head was deep into Shelly’s shoulder, and her hands were around me. She held me like that for a little while longer while I cried.

Eventually, I calmed down a bit. Shelly gave me a kiss on either of my eyes and got up to get some papers to wipe my tears. She sat back on the bed and slowly worked on my face, drying it slowly. “It’s going to be fine.” Unlike Mom, Shelly never had any issue with lying.

“How?” I asked.

“Maybe you also got powers?” She said with half a smile.

“I don’t have any powers.” I said. Then, with a momentary panic attack, I grabbed her arm. “You think it means I’m adopted?”

She held my hand. “You’re not adopted.” She said. “Your mom told us about your birth, multiple times, in so many details I don’t want to ever have kids.” Mom was never squeamish about the details, one of the reasons that about a year ago, I informed her I was becoming a vegetarian. Mom took it as a personal culinary challenge, Dad still complains. “Maybe they just haven’t kicked in yet.” I didn’t know if that was something I should dread or look forward to. Shelly grabbed my hands. “How about we go downstairs, together, and you just ask her. Ask her everything, I’ll be there, I’ll hold your hand.” Shelly did not miss an opportunity to try and put herself in the girlfriend role.

“She’ll just skirt around the questions.” I said. “You know how she is, if she doesn’t want to say something, she doesn’t.”

“Yes,” Shelly said. I know how she is. I know she never brushes you off when you have an uncomfortable question. I really wish my parents would be like that, sometimes.” I half smiled. Shelly’s parents were very nice, but they were also not the best people to ask questions. When Shelly had her first period, she came over and asked Mom.

“Fine,” I said after a while. “But if you run off on me, we are never speaking again.” Assuming Mom won’t just murder her for what she knows. I got up, Shelly’s hand in mine, and we went back to the kitchen. Mom was working on the soup, which smelled amazing. “Mom…” I began.

“Still can’t get her to make out with you?” Mom asked over her shoulder towards Shelly.

“Mom!” I grabbed Shelly’s hand tighter. “Could we… can we… I have questions.”

“Sure.” She said. Mom put away what she was doing, washed her hands, and turned to me. “Ask away.”

I looked at Shelly, I wasn’t sure what I should actually start with. I looked back at Mom. “Do I have powers?” I asked.

“No.” Mom said. “That’s not how I made you.” That was an odd way to put that. “You do have the potential,” she continued. “Backup is always important, but it won’t trigger. Without a massive intervention you’re not likely to get on this mudball.”

Shelly dropped my hand and pointed at Mom. “You’re an alien!” She cried. I didn’t get how Shelly made that mental leap.

Mom rolled her eyes. “Really Shelly?” She asked, she gave Shelly one of her looks. “We talked about the use of derogatory terms in this house.”

“Sorry.” Shelly said and looked very embarrassed. She took my hand again.

“You aren’t wrong,” Mom continued. “But language girl.”

“You’re an ali…” I began and caught myself. Mom had zero tolerance towards certain things. “You’re not from here?” That actually explained more things than I was comfortable admitting.

“No,” Mom said. “I’m not.” She might have been about to say something else, but then she ran over to the stove to take the heat down and add something to the pot. That might have been for the best because that bombshell definitely merited a moment to process. “Hanna, could you hand me the herbs?” I looked at Shelly, who nodded and let go of her hand, going around the kitchen’s island to get the herbs from next to the sink and handed them to Mom, who was stirring the pot. “Thanks, dear.” She said. “Did you have anything else you wanted to ask?” I wanted to scream. Yes, there was so much more I wanted to ask. I didn’t even know where to start.

Without Shelly there to hold my hand, I exploded again. “Could you please stop acting like it’s all normal, Mom!” I yelled. “This isn’t normal!” Mom looked away from the pot, still steering, and looked at me. She shrugged. “How are you so calm?” I asked. I mean, it wasn’t that strange that Mom was that calm. She’s always calm, it drives me crazy sometimes. I yell, and she just stands there and talks to me in a level voice. But this wasn’t the neighbor coming over to yell because I broke their window by accident, kicking the ball too hard from the backyard. This isn’t Grandma going ballistic because I left a pan in my pants pocket when she did laundry, and it ruined her tablecloth. Someone was trying to kill me. Someone actually died. We buried a body in the wood… A little bit of an emotional response is very much in order.

Mom turned back to the soup. “There isn’t really anything that special about it?” She said. She tasted the soup and then extended the spoon towards me. “Could you give it a taste, I think it needs more salt.”

I tasted. “It’s fine.” I said. I could feel Shelly’s hand on my shoulder, and I was very grateful for it. “People breaking into our house are not… you being… This is not normal, Mom.” I took a breath. “This is not my normal.” I said in a low voice.

“Well, of course,” Mom said. “It was never meant to be.” She added some spices to the soup and covered it, turning to me. “Do we need some rolls with the soup?”

“Can we, please, be in one conversation?” I asked, I had my hand on Shelly’s as she squeezed my shoulder. I was trying my best not to cry. “Please.”

“Sure.” Mom said, lowered the heat on the stove, and came to sit on a chair. It was the same chair the man had me sit on. “What do you want to talk about?”

I leaned on the island with both my hands. “You, this, me!” I barked at her.

“Hanna,” Mom said. “Full sentences, please.”

“I…” I took a deep breath. Shelly’s hand had dropped from my shoulder, but I knew she was still standing behind me. I appreciate that she didn’t intervene, this time. “Do you know who he was? What did he want from you?”

“He had a name.” Mom made a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter. He wanted me to do something for him… well, he actually mostly wanted revenge on something I was tangentially related to and wanted to force me to do it for him.”

“So you knew him?” I asked.

“What?” Mom looked at me oddly. “Didn’t even know he existed until today.”

“So how do you know?” I asked. “Are you guessing?”

“No.” Mom said. “I read his mind.” I nodded, biting my lips. So, Mom could read minds, my life would never be the same again. “Yes, Shelly, I know about your fantasy regarding the strap-on and the kitchen table.” I could hear her gasping behind me. “We can revisit that when you’re a bit older if Hanna will be fine with that.” I allowed my head to drop. Mom’s ability to derail this conversation was getting on my nerves, and I could have lived very well without the mental image of my mom and my best friend going at it on the kitchen table.

“Why do you keep throwing the off the topic, Mom?” I asked, not looking at her. “What is it that you don’t want to talk about?”

“It’s a long list, sweety.” She said.

“Like, why Hanna doesn’t have powers?” Shelly asked behind me. “You said you made it that way, so it was on purpose.”

“Hanna doesn’t have powers because she doesn’t need them.” Mom said.

“Mom,” I looked up at her. “When you beat that guy to death, you said you were on vacation.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer to that. “Why did you say that?” And that hit the nail on its head. For a moment there, Mom didn’t answer. Her face darkened a bit.

She leaned with her elbows on the table. “No powers.” She said. “But I sure did make you smart.” She might have been about to say something else, but rather, she jumped up from her chair, over the island, and on top of us. “Girls, get down!” She called.  As I hit the floor with Mom on top of me and Shelly underneath me, something exploded. Everything shook, and I could feel my ears popping. Between the fall and the explosion, whatever air was in my chest was long gone, and I was trying to climb out of that, to get a breath. But Mom grabbed me and dragged me down to the floor. “Stay down.” She said in a voice that would stop a bullet in mid-air.

She did get up, and walked around the island. I was not willing to have the last thing I saw of my mother be the back of her heels. I began to pull myself up, but I could see Mom stopped, and took off her shoes. There was debris everywhere, but she did not seem to care; she just left her shoes on the floor and walked into the living room. I crouched and looked over the island with Shelly trying to pull me down. There was someone there in powered armor. Like, real power armor, not some cosplay, it had actual weight. They, maybe he, held a weapon towards Mom, who was walking straight towards them.

There was something utterly ridiculous about what I was seeing. Here was some person, wearing a small tank, holding a gun bigger than my thigh, and there was Mom, in her summer dress, barefoot, walking towards them. There wasn’t a balance of power here, but the person shaking and retreating was the one in the powered armor – not Mom.

Then they called something and shot. Multiple more shots came from farther into the living room, and Shelly forcefully pulled me down and out of the possible line of fire. I got out of that and got back up, I had to see.

No one was firing anymore, and Mom just stood there, her dress ruined, but other than that, she was fine. She was holding up her hand, I could see she was holding her necklace. “I liked those pearls.” She said and tossed it to the side. Dad got her those pearls on their honeymoon; he liked telling that story. I hoped we could find them later. But Mom didn’t seem to care about that right now. It looked like she was taking just a step, but then she was just next to the powered armor, and her punch came flying. It came in so fast, it was like there was another explosion when it hit. Her hand just went straight through the armor, like it was just some wet paper. Then she pulled her fist out, so fast it barely felt like it had moved, but now it was covered in blood. She looked to the left, there was focus on her face that I knew to fear, but I had no idea how much until that moment. Then she was gone, the sound of shots echoed to us. Then came the explosion, one, two, three… and then silence.

“I got all of them for now,” Mom called from the living room, like she was just dealing with some spiders or cockroaches. “It’s safe to come out.” Shelly and I exchanged a series of looks, complete with facial gestures and the odd head tilt, until I groaned and just stood up and walked out to the living room, Shelly behind me.

Mom’s dress was gone, her hair was wild. She was sitting naked on what was left of the orange sofa, hugging her left leg with her chin on her knee. “Hi Mom,” I said. “You okay?”

“Not really.” She said. “I’m really not in the mood to redo the living room, or the house.” She looked at me. “I really hate dealing with contractors.” Yes, because right here, contractors were our problem. Not the four dead bodies in powered armor who were scattered on the ground, not the fact our house was in ruins, not whatever heat was going to come down from the government – contractors!

Our house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. The Jankowskis didn’t have kids, and they both worked late. The house on the other side was empty since the Kaufmanns moved last month. But the explosion that took the front of the house was so loud that there was no way it wasn’t noticed by someone up the street. Sooner or later, the cops would show up.

And then the realization dawned on me. “What are we going to tell Dad?” I asked.

Mom looked at me, confused for a second, then laughed. “That’s a good question.” She said. “I’ll figure that out later.” She stood up. Mom is stupidly good-looking, thin but athletic, with breasts that needed no bra to keep their shape and not a spec of body hair. I don’t need any ads or celebrities to induce body image issues – I have enough of those at home. “I think I’m going to change first.” She said, and walked up the stairs to the second floor.

I looked at Shelly. “What am I supposed to do?” I asked.

Shelly looked around. “Want to go to my place?” She asked with an awkward smile. She was flushed red, and I realized that she had just seen Mom naked for the first time. That is definitely going to keep her up at night, very busy.

“Let’s wait for my mom to com…” I began, but the sound of steps on the stairs drew my attention. We’ve lived in this house for as long as I can remember, and I can tell people by the sound of their steps on the stairs. Dad has a heavy step with a slight spring and a determined pace. Shelly has a quick pace, her legs hit the floor fast and hard, even when she just walks. Mom has a staccato to her steps, with a sharp sound when her heels hit the floor. That was not the sound coming down the stairs. The steps were soft, just barely audible. I braced for a moment, worried there was another one of them coming from upstairs.

A woman came down the stairs. She wore cargo pants, a tank top, and a denim jacket. It took me a minute to realize it was Mom. She didn’t move like Mom – her motions were much wider and smoother. Even her expression, a content ease, was not one I would usually associate with Mom, but it seemed in place for this woman. As she made it downstairs, I noticed she was wearing combat boots. I knew for sure we didn’t have any of those in the house. Nor did we have any swords, but she also had one of those strapped to her back.  

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” The woman who used to be my mom asked. Her tone was different, both bemused and harsh at the same time. I brought my hand to my mouth as I realized this was the first time I actually seen her as she really is, not the mask she was apparently wearing all these years.

“I want to know who my mother is!” I yelled. I could see Shelly at the corner of my eye trying to signal me to stay calm. Mom did calm, I didn’t. “Was it all just a game for you?”

I still had a problem really think of this woman as my mom. Then she shrugged like Mom usually did. “Mostly.” She said.

“Then what about me?” I was crying. “Was I just some toy you played with? Why did you have me?”

“You’re being a bit dramatic.” She said, then looked me up and down. “Ho… you were always too smart for your own good.”

“So you’re…” I began.

“For a while.” She said. “I’ll be back in a day or two.”

I blinked. “What?” I asked.

“I’m not leaving you.” She said, kicking one of the dead bodies. “I'm just going to take care of these idiots so they won’t bother us anymore. I’m going to stick around for a few more years.” She came over and grabbed me. Gave me a kiss on my forehead. I looked up, and I could see Mom again. “Go sleep over at Shelly’s tonight.” She said, and walked out of the hole in the front of the house.

I looked at her go. Shelly came over and hugged me. “You think she’s coming back?” She asked.

“Mom doesn’t lie.” I said. “She says it’s less effective than telling a truth.”

 I sat down on what was left of the sofa. “What do you want to do?” She asked.

“I don’t know.” I said. “Maybe I should spend the night at your place.” I looked at the rubble and dead bodies. “But I think I’ll wait a bit… Dad’s going to have an aneurysm if he comes home and has no idea where I went.”

I sat there for a while. Shelly went upstairs and packed me a bag. I placed it next to the hole in the wall for now. At some point, I remembered the soup and turned off the stove. It might even be edible.

The police didn’t show up, I don’t know why. But eventually, Dad did. He came running into the house, to find me, still sitting on the sofa, with Shelly hugging me. “Hi, Dad.” I said.

He ran over and hugged me as well. “Are you ok?” He asked. “What happened? Where’s your mom? Why didn’t you call?”

“I’m fine.” I said, I wasn’t, but he didn’t need to hear that. ”Mom’s an alien super soldier or something, and… I didn’t think to call.”

He pulled back. “What?” He asked, clearly baffled. I gave him the cliffsnotes version, Shelly chiming in from time to time. “And she just left?” He said as I wrapped up.

“She just left.” I said. I was still trying to understand how I felt about that.

“She just left.” Dad repeated, looking back behind him at the hole in the front of the house. 

“She said she’d come back in a day or two.” I said. Not sure if that helps in any ways. I have no idea where she went. I could have run after her, but I didn’t, and I’m not sure why.

“From where?” He asked.

“She didn’t say.” I said. “Maybe we’ll just wait, she…” I choke on my words. Dad looked hollow, and I couldn’t blame him.

He was sitting on the floor next to us, taking a long look around him. “What are we going to do about all this?” He asked, not me, just in general. Then he sniffed the air. “Wait, she made dinner?”

I was holding myself from laughing, realizing she actually did. There was still a huge pot of soup, the type you eat with a fork, on the stove. “You hungry?” I asked. I had no appetite.

“Not really.” He said. “But we should probably eat something before we try to deal with the rest of this.” Dad usually skips lunch, he was probably famished.

“I’ll set the table.” I said and stood up, only then realizing that the table was gone, crushed under a dead body in powered armor. “Ah… Maybe we’ll just eat in the kitchen.” I corrected myself and went. There was something comforting about just following the routine of doing something normal. Shelly helped me, never being too far away from me.

We eat quietly. Mom’s cooking was, as usual, great. But there was a flavor to her absence. I wasn’t sure what to say to Dad right now, and it seemed that he wasn’t sure what to say to me. Shelly was kind enough not to try and help, which made for a really quiet dinner.

I was about to clear my plate when someone called from the living room. I walked out, but Dad rushed past me. Jana Jankowski was standing in the hole in the front of the house. I pulled back into the kitchen as Dad tried to excuse the mess. She didn’t freak out about the dead bodies, but only because she thought they were some sort of props. Maybe that’s just a sane mind trying to find a rational explanation. After all, why would the nice people next door have dead bodies wearing something from a comic book lying around?

Eventually he managed to get her to go away and came back to the kitchen. “I think it’ll be better if Hanna sleeps at your place tonight.” He said to Shelly.

“That was the plan.” She said as she was working on her second serving.

“Good.” Dad did his bast to avoid looking at me and just looked at the mess that was the living room. “I’ll try to do something about this.”

“I can help.” I said.

“Let me get started.” He said. “Hopefully, by the time you get back from school, this will all look like something…” He lost his words. Mom never lied, Dad was a bit more human than her.

“Fine.” I said. I didn’t mean it, but I was old enough to know that Dad needed his space right then. Dad isn’t really what I would call a macho, but he had some trappings. He took care of himself and exercised a lot. A fair bit of it, I think, had to do with just looking good enough for Mom. She never cared, but he did. Mom had some income stream I never figured out, some investments or something. But Dad was the main breadwinner. I wouldn’t say he had a fragile male ego, but he did see himself as the person protecting us, and this could not have been easy on him. “Ho crap,” I said and covered my mouth. Dad didn’t care for this sort of language, but he didn’t react right now. “Grandma is coming tomorrow.” That made him flinch.

“Crap.” He said and looked at the time. “She’s already on the flight.” She was on a trip, and we live closer to the airport. Dad looked around the house. “How am I going to explain…” He looked at us.

“Can you just drive her home?” I asked.

“Maybe…” He said. “I’ll take care of Grandma.” He said, not very convincingly.

Shelly finished her plate and took it to the sink. “I think that is our queue to leave.” She said.

I looked at Dad. “You sure?” I asked.

“Go.” He said. “I’ll call Shelly’s if I’ll have any update.”

Shelly had to drag me out of the house, not forcibly, but my legs would not have walked if she didn’t pull me. We walked out of the yard and out to the sidewalks, it was not dark yet, but it would be soon. “Thank you for letting me talk for myself.” I said.

She slung her hand over my shoulder. “What are best friends for if not to shut up and look pretty.” She said with a huge smile.

I returned a coy one. “You’re the best.” I said.

“Yet you still won’t make out with me.” She said, it was a joke, but I knew she also meant it.

“I just don’t…” I began.

“Not to worry.” She said, still with the huge, stupid smile, she wiped her hand across the air in front of us. “Now I can put all my fantasies on your mom.” To that, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh, or be terrified. 

“Please don’t.” I said.

“OK.” She said. She gave me a look, I felt like she was about to make another jab about me not being into her. But apparently, something in my face blew out that candle for now. “Sorry.” She said. “I’m not really distracting you, am I?”

“Not really.” I said. “But you can hug me tonight.” I smiled at her. We usually shared her bad in her place, and I would always elbow her and tell her to keep to her side, and to stop stealing my blanket. “I think it would be easier to know someone is there.”

“Will do.” She said, smiling again and giving me a thumbs up.

“You touch my nipple or try to put your hand into my pants,” I said. “I’ll break your fingers.”

“Spoilsport.” She said and extended her tongue to me. “Wait, so your tits are game as long as I don’t touch the nipples?”

I elbowed her. “You’re such a perv.” I said.

“Said the girl who wants to get into bed with me.” She replied, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It wasn’t that funny, but this was our usual banter when it was just us.

Shelly’s parents didn’t even react when she said I’d stay the night. We have been sleeping over at each other’s place since we were kids. At this point, Shelly’s mom would buy me new toothbrushes when the old one I had there got too janky. But then, her mom’s a dentist, and worse – she’s my dentist. Not that she ever had anything to say about my teeth, I never had a cavity. Something that Shelly definitely can’t say.

It was nice to have someone next to me that night. I cried more than I slept, and Shelly hugged me throughout. I only had to slap her on the wrist once for putting her hand where she shouldn’t have, but I think she did it mostly to distract me.