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The day that Lorna first manifests, she walks around with a metal spatula stuck to her back all day.
"I can't get it off and I don't have time to deal with this right now," he snaps at her preschool teacher. Ostensibly, he doesn't have time to deal with it because he's already late for a meeting. In reality, the meeting is a distant fear, overshadowed by blind panic over the fact that his daughter is a) growing up and b) going through a process that Erik went through very painfully when he was twelve.
"She's four," he says to MacTaggert when he gets to work. "Four."
"They say it's happening younger and younger," MacTaggert says without looking up from her computer. "My nephew manifested when he was six. You used to be the Mutant Guy. You should know better than anyone."
"Yeah," he mutters, "but it's different when it's your kid."
He hates when he says things like that. It makes him feel old. It makes him feel like a parent. He likes the illusion that he's still tough and hard and edgy and cold, but it's been slowly slipping away over the past four years, ever since the afternoon he went to the hospital to sign the last of the adoption paperwork for a woman he slept with only once and caught sight of Lorna's soft green curls for the first time. He'd remembered what it was like being a mutant child in the system and he couldn't do it. He couldn't give her up. He let her mother sign away her rights and took Lorna home with him that afternoon.
It had been an adjustment. He's reminded now that every day is an adjustment, as he spends the afternoon googling resources on early manifestation. Before Lorna, he'd probably be able to rattle off a list of them himself, or at least step out of his office and shout an order and have three people pop up with an answer. Unfortunately, one of the sacrifices he had to make to be a full-time father was giving up his sometimes risky, unpredictable, time-suck job as Northeast Director of the Mutant Equality Action Center in favor of something stable and 9-5. Working for the city planning council is markedly less interesting, but he's off whenever the schools are closed, the pay is good, they'll do tuition reimbursement if he wants to get his master's, and every time he wins a petition to use more mutant-friendly infrastructure, he can convince himself he's still working for the cause in his own way.
It does now, however, offer him any insight into how to help his baby through the painful trials of manifestation. She still can't sit long enough to follow the plot of an episode of My Little Pony, he doesn't know how he's going to explain to her the changes her body is going through.
"You know," MacTaggert says an hour later, "there's a series of books for mutant kids. They're aimed a little older than your kid, but they might help. I think there's one about manifestation. I'll call my sister and get the author for you."
Erik stares at her, struggling for a response more collected than grateful weeping and less sharp than, Mind your own business. He settles for breaking his doughnut in half and wordlessly handing her the larger piece.
"You're welcome," she says.
Two hours later, when MacTaggert gets back from lunch, there's an email sitting in his inbox with the subject line, "You owe me a coffee, at least." The body says, "The Mystique Series by Charles Xavier."
Erik brings her a coffee and a cupcake when he returns from his own lunch break, and makes a note to swing by the bookstore after he picks up Lorna from school.
***
Lorna is waiting for him with a bright smile, holding up the metal spatula like a prize. Erik has a quick conversation with her teacher, who assures him that Lorna pulled the spatula off herself and spent the rest of the day walking around with it cheerfully. Erik doesn't know whether to be grateful that it was painless or nervous that the worst is still to come, so he makes a detour to Barnes and Noble and buys Irene's Sick Day by Charles Xavier, paging through it while they wait to check out.
He's expecting one of the stupidly condescending books of his youth, but instead it's--well, it's a story. Mystique's friend Irene isn't at school, so she decides to take some cookies to her house. Irene is in bed because she's manifesting and having trouble controlling her powers. She's scared and upset, but Mystique sits with her and they learn that it's okay to be scared and that it's actually very exciting, learning about a new part of yourself and discovering all you can do.
It goes on from there, but it never gets clinical or weighed down in politics or public opinion. It's first and foremost a story, and the story just happens to explain the sometimes humiliating, sometimes painful, always confusing process of manifestation.
It's a little longer than Lorna's current attention span, but Erik reads it to her that night anyway. To his surprise, she sits still during it and even asks questions. Erik likes that Mystique has an obvious physical mutation, while Irene's mutation is invisible. It's a nice contrast. He'd like to see both of them using their powers, but the back flap tells him there are other books in the series, and Mystique Gets Dressed sounds like it covers that fairly well.
Lorna nods off still holding the metal spatula and Erik opens his laptop to order the rest of the books from Amazon before reading through the usual mutant rights blogs in a vain attempt to stay on top of news that moves too fast for a busy single father to have any hope of keeping in step.
***
The next day goes by in a blur of meetings and grocery shopping and bathtime tantrums. The Mystique book is the last thing on Erik's mind, right up until bedtime rolls around.
"How about Pigeon?" Erik asks, settling onto the edge of Lorna's big girl bed and pulling out Don't Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late. He thinks it will be a good reminder of how all bratty little pigeons and bratty little girls need their rest.
"No," Lorna says. "Do Mystique and Irene again! Please? Please, Daddy? Please?"
"Sure," Erik says, and tells himself that she's asking for it because she's interested in stories about mutants, not because it's significantly longer than the Pigeon book.
To his surprise, however, she asks for it again on Saturday afternoon and again Saturday at bedtime. By the time the rest of the books come on Tuesday, he finds himself giving them all to her at once instead of parceling them out over a few months, if only because he's read the first one so many times he nearly has it memorized. He's desperate for variety.
Not that the books are bad, by any means. Erik's actually surprised by how good they are and how...he's not quite sure how to describe it. They're just stories. The same sorts of stories that Erik has read to Lorna a thousand times--friendship stories, family stories, school stories. There's nothing afterschool-special about them. They're not about How Tough It Is Being a Mutant. They're about Mystique's inability to decide on what outfit to wear to a party, about an argument on the playground when a boy accidentally uses his powers to cheat at kickball, about getting stage fright before the school play. Mystique's friends are humans and mutants alike. Some of them have mutations as visible as Mystique's bright blue skin, but some look the same as any baseline human. The illustrations are brilliant too--bright colors and expressive, happy faces, with all the adults slightly less distinct than the child protagonists.
Erik finds them fascinating. The first book, Mystique Gets Dressed was published three years ago. Four more have followed and a quick google tells Erik that another is due at the holidays--Mystique and the Holiday Light Helper. The summary on Amazon refers to both Christmas and Hanukkah as the subject and Erik is even more impressed.
Three years ago, Erik was already a year into fatherhood and out of the center of the mutant movement. It explains, at least, how he's managed to miss this--the last two books have debuted on the New York Times' bestseller list for children's fiction. He spends a moment allowing himself to be frustrated and bitter that he's so cut off, then settles on the wonder that he can have these for his daughter. He would have loved to be able to read about mutants when he was younger. Sure, there were a few coming of age novels, but they always treated mutation as something shameful to admit to, something that could only be embraced once all the protagonist's baseline friends and family accepted him. Erik yearned for books that featured young mutants just...being young mutants. Going through all the regular trials and tribulations of life, but with this minor difference.
Lorna, at least, will grow up having that. It makes him extremely grateful to Charles Xavier.
That, really, is what leads him to click on Xavier's Wikipedia page. The man has to be a mutant, Erik thinks, and assumes he's probably an old hippie or a boring professor.
He's surprised, then, when a handsome, laughing, babyfaced man smiles back at him from the Wikipedia profile. A very handsome man. A very young, very handsome man. A man that Erik probably shouldn't keep staring at.
Or thinking about.
Or cyberstalking.
Charles Xavier, according to Wikipedia and every interview that Erik can dredge up when he's supposed to be working, is a rather powerful telepath, a genius, a billionaire, and an incredibly talented writer and artist who's surprisingly humble and attributes all his success to the sister who inspired his books.
"I didn't want to write another issue book," he says in an interview for School Library Journal. "I wanted the books I wanted to read as a boy--books about mutants that aren't about how terribly hard it is being a mutant. I think children would rather read about mutant children having fun than be reminded that things aren't always easy. I think sometimes they need an escape."
Erik clears his suddenly slick throat and blames his rapid blinking on allergies when MacTaggert asks. He can tell she doesn't buy it, but she keeps her mouth shut, earning her another half doughnut.
***
"So," MacTaggert says the Friday after Halloween, "you're about to owe me big time."
"Do you finally have the signed permits for that stupid holiday market?" he asks without looking up from the incredibly wordy minutes from a planning board meeting that he had to skip to take Lorna to the doctor.
"I told you, that's not me--talk to Platt," she says. "But no, even better. My sister found out that Charles Xavier is doing a surprise signing at the bookstore in town tomorrow."
Erik looks up, blinking slowly.
"Why would you think I'd be interested in that?" Erik asks with what he hopes is an indifferent expression.
"Oh, come on, Lehnsherr," MacTaggert says. "You talk about his books all the time, you spent like, two weeks stalking him on the internet, and I caught you watching an interview on YouTube last week. You actually voluntarily talked to that lunatic councilwoman with the weird hair for twenty minutes so you could give her a run down about why she had to go buy all Xavier's books for her kid. You have a huge ass crush and stop trying to hide it. It's good. I'm glad for you."
Erik manages an embarrassed scowl, but he can feel himself blushing.
"I don't--why is it any of your business?" he asks. He doesn't mean for it to be an actual question, but MacTaggert leans forward onto her desk, resting her weight on her forearms and grinning at him.
"Because you've worked here for four years and aside from hooking up with that--what, was he Portugese?"
"Spanish," Erik mutters.
"Right," MacTaggert says. "That Spanish guy who did the cultural competency training and--what's his name, the architect?"
"Azazel," Erik says.
"Right," MacTaggert says. "Aside from them, that's been it. You do these one night stands or these quick flings and I'm not knocking it, but even those were two years ago, now. I know you love your kid, but you get to have a life too, you know."
Erik sighs and rubs his forehead. This, at least, is more familiar territory.
"No," he says. "I really don't. Lorna comes first. I can't date anyone who doesn't understand that and you'd be surprised how few people do."
"That's only because you don't get to know people," MacTaggert says. "And, I can't help but think a guy who writes kids' books probably understands about your kid being number one."
"We're not going to meet and fall magically in love," Erik says. "We're not going to meet, period."
"You're going to deny your daughter the chance to meet the guy who writes her favorite books?" MacTaggert says skeptically, and Erik curses under his breath.
It's not that he's opposed to taking Lorna to a book signing, even if it will likely be filled with other brats and their clingy parents. MacTaggert is right--he's been reading up about Xavier non-stop and, yes, okay, he's developed a little crush. It's the type of crush that's best nursed from afar, the type of crush you get on someone you will never meet, someone you have no chance with. It's equal parts attraction and hero worship and nothing will kill it faster than meeting Xavier and finding out he's actually an ass or married or frightfully dull. He's happy to continue reading interviews and being half jealous and half pleased that Xavier is doing more for the mutant cause than Erik can manage just now.
"I'll think about it," Erik says. "We might have things to do."
"At noon on a Saturday?" MacTaggert asks. "Come on, Lehnsherr. Nick and I are meeting my sister and my nephew there."
Erik looks up again, eyes narrowed.
"So," he says, "what you're saying is that this is all a ruse to get me alone with your boyfriend so he can try and sweet talk me into the Mutant Task Force?"
MacTaggert rolls her eyes.
"You want to do it," she says. "You bitch all the time that you could be doing better work, that you miss having your finger on the pulse of the movement. They need people. They need mutants who care about helping other mutants so it doesn't turn into a dozen baselines making idiotic social faux pas. You'd be a great advocate. And it would probably pay better."
"And it would have terrible hours, I'd get called at all hours of the night, and there would be no one to care for my four year old," Erik snaps. "Stay out of my business, MacTaggert, and tell your boyfriend the same." He turns back to the meeting minutes and tries to project an aura of unapproachable ire, but MacTaggert has long since taken to ignoring his body language as it suits her.
"It starts at noon," she says. "You should probably get there early--I'm sure there will be a line."
Erik doesn't dignify that with a response, but he doesn't forget it, either.
***
Saturday morning, Erik makes the mistake of telling Lorna where they're going and she responds with more enthusiasm than he would imagine a four year old would feel at the thought of meeting a writer. It makes it hard to keep a low profile once they enter the small bookshop; MacTaggert spots them almost immediately.
"Ms. Moira!" Lorna says. "Mr. Nick!" She tears her hand out of Erik's and before he can warn her off running, she's thrown herself around Moira's legs. Moira shoots him a smug smile before leaning over to scoop Lorna up into a hug.
"Miss Lorna!" she says. "I'm so happy to see you! It's been such a long time!"
"I went to school a million times!" Lorna says. In reality, it's been maybe two months since Moira and Lorna last saw each other, right before Lorna manifested. He supposes that's roughly the same as 'a million days' to a four year old. "Daddy says the man who makes the Mystique books is here!"
"Yep!" Moira says. "That's why we're here, to hear him read some and meet him."
"Lehnsherr," Moira's boyfriend says in greeting.
"Fury," Erik says, shaking the man's proffered hand. "I'd ask how work is, but I don't actually care."
"Good," Fury says, "because I don't care about yours either. You got any pictures of the kid?"
Nick Fury, to Erik's great surprise, dotes on Lorna more than even MacTaggert. He's never thought of Fury, who's taller than Erik, wears an eyepatch after a violent confrontation with an armed robbery suspect, and looks like the type of cop who would take on an armed robbery suspect head on, as the family type, but the man loves kids. Erik's grateful for it, though he's hesitant to ever express gratitude to MacTaggert if he can help it. There are very few people he trusts to watch Lorna for extended periods of time. In fact, the list begins and ends with MacTaggert and Fury. It's good to know that leaving her with them isn't as much of a burden as it could be.
"She was Snoopy for Halloween," Erik says to Fury, pulling out his phone and punching in his passcode. He pulls up the images of Lorna in her plush white costume, strands of green hair poking out around the face opening, and hands the phone to Fury to peruse. Lorna is still hanging off of MacTaggert's neck, babbling about Mystique and books and school.
"Hey," he says to Fury, "I'm running to the bathroom. I'll be right back if Lorna needs me."
"The world won't end if you're out of her sight for five minutes," Fury says without looking up, and Erik rolls his eyes as he sneaks away towards the restrooms tucked around the back.
It's true. It's more than true--Lorna's been in daycare since she was nine months old. She spends all day with people who aren't him, every day. Every once in awhile, usually when there's some sort of other change, like a new teacher at preschool or a student leaving her class, she gets clingy and shy and cries when he tries to leave her, but she's startlingly independent and happy to make new friends and meet new people. She's more independent than Erik wants her to be, frankly. He doesn't want to be a helicopter parent, but he has to admit that there are days when he wishes she would never leave, days when he wants to spend all his time with her, when his chest aches with the knowledge that she'll need him less and less as the days go on.
Erik's put his life on hold for his daughter. He doesn't regret it, not really, but the knowledge that he's doing it specifically so he can raise her to leave him burns somewhere deep and painful in his chest.
He's thinking about Lorna and his life and hers as he washes his hands and leaves the rest room, head in the clouds. He's so distracted that he nearly knocks over a man in the hallway.
"Oh!" the man says, and he totters precariously, his arms full of books. Erik reaches out to help him.
"I'm sorry, I wasn't--"
"No, it's quite alright, I should have--"
The man looks up and Erik freezes.
It's Charles Xavier. It's definitely Charles Xavier.
"--been looking where I was going," Charles Xavier says faintly. "Hello."
"Uh," Erik says. He's short. Shorter than Erik, anyway, by maybe a good six inches. His eyes are stunning in person. "Hi."
"I'm really terribly, awfully sorry," Charles Xavier says, shifting his hold on the stack of books in his arms. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
Not an asshole, then.
"It's okay," Erik says. "I was distracted. I should have been paying attention."
"Well," Xavier says. "No harm done. I'm Charles, by the way."
"I know," Erik says. "I mean, I'm here because--"
Xavier--Charles--laughs.
"Oh, right!" he says. "I'm sorry, that was silly of me. Of course you're here for--I mean, not of course, I don't just assume that everyone is here to see me, it's just that--well, I mean it makes sense that you would know me. I mean, given the location and--erm."
"I'm Erik," Erik says quickly. He recognizes the look of word-vomit-induced mortification on Charles' face.
"Erik," Charles says. He smiles his obvious relief. "Wonderful. Lovely to meet you. Are you here--uh, that is--"
Whatever it is that Charles is about to ask is cut off by the sound of rapidly approching tiny feet and a call of, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" Erik turns just in time to catch Lorna as she bounces up to him, MacTaggert just a few paces behind her.
"Daddy!" she says. "Can I have a cookie?"
"After we use the bathroom," MacTaggert says.
"After we use the bathroom?" Lorna adds.
Erik mentally calculates her sugar intake so far today.
"Sure," he says. He lowers her back to the floor. "You have to wash your hands."
Lorna gives him a look that's far too skeptically condescending for a four year old. He narrows his eyes at MacTaggert.
"She learned that from you," he says. "I know it."
"Yeah, right, look in the mirror," MacTaggert says. "You're the king of withering looks."
When Erik glances back at Charles, his smile has gone a little stiff around the edges.
"Oh," Erik says, "Lorna, say hello to Charles. He's the man who makes the Mystique books." Sarcastic expression gone, Lorna's eyes go wide and round. "Charles, this is my daughter, Lorna." He gestures towards MacTaggert. "And this--"
"--is his co-worker, Moira," she says. "Not Lorna's mother. Just a cool aunt. Not at all romantically interested in Lehnsherr. He's totally single. Completely free." She smiles, despite the glare Erik is aiming in her direction. He turns back to Charles, mortified, to apologize, but the forced edges of Charles' smile have melted away. They've gone a little goofy, actually.
"Lovely to meet you, Moira," Charles says. "And you as well, Lorna." He crouches down, wobbling a little from the stack of books still clutched in his arms. "Your hair is absolutely lovely." Lorna beams. She vacillates wildly between loving the color of her hair and being insecure about it. "Why don't you and your cool aunt Moira go use the restroom, and when you come out, you and your Daddy and I can go have a cookie and you can tell me your favorite part of the Mystique books?"
"Yes, please!" Lorna says, and grabs MacTaggert's hand, pulling her towards the women's restroom as quickly as she can. Erik and Charles watch her go, and when Charles struggles to stand again, Erik finds himself laying a steadying hand on his back. It puts them in close proximity once Charles finds his footing.
"You don't need to do that," he says to Charles. "We've only just met."
"Yes," Charles says, "but after your friend went to so much trouble to highlight your singleness, I feel compelled to make sure you're not lonely as we wait for the signing to start."
Erik hesitates. He can't tell how much of that is a joke and how much of it is genuine interest.
"Besides," Charles adds, "my sister won't be bringing my boys around for another half hour. I don't want to be lonely either."
"Well," Erik says. There's warmth blooming in his chest. "In that case, I accept."
"I wasn't planning on letting you turn me down," Charles tells him, and Erik can't help the fluttering in his stomach as he takes half the books from Charles and follows him towards the coffee nook in the corner of the store.
***
Erik is a little dumbfounded to find that Charles Xavier is exactly as perfect as Erik imagined while reading his Wikipedia page. He speaks to Lorna seriously, nodding along as she tells rambling stories about preschool and he signs copies of all of his books for her, including the new holiday one. He draws pictures on the title pages as he tells her about growing up with the real Mystique and listens raptly as she attempts to explain Hanukkah in her meandering way, leaving out most of the actual important historical and religious bits and focusing instead on getting to light and candles and beating Erik at dreidel last year, which Erik has a feeling is a complete fabrication.
In addition to being appallingly wonderful with Erik's child, it's not long before Charles' sister appears with two young boys. Lorna is stunned speechless at meeting the actual Mystique, so there's a blessed moment of quiet to watch Charles hug both boys tightly and ask about the birthday party they were attending.
"Jean's a girl," the smaller one says. He's about Lorna's age. "Girls are boring."
"Are not!" Lorna shoots back immediately, finally tearing her eyes from the adult Mystique. "Girls are better than boys!"
"Are not!" the boy says. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Alex," Charles says sternly. "Use your manners, please."
The boy rolls his eyes, the expression so put-upon that Erik has to smother a laugh.
"Himynameisalexwhat'syourname?" he says.
"Lorna Dane Lehnsherr," Lorna says. "And I don't want to play with you."
"Lorna!" Erik scolds. Normally, he can't be bothered by who Lorna is or isn't getting along with, but this is the--child? Probably--of a man he'd like to...well, fuck. But also get to know. Maybe become friends with. "Be polite."
Lorna sighs. She reaches up and takes the spoon from Erik's coffee and drops it. It immediately flies forward and sticks to her leg.
"I can do that," she says smugly. In the past few weeks, they've gotten mostly over the aches and the sleeplessness. She hasn't quite mastered the level of control she'll need to have before she can start elementary school next fall, nor has she managed to hone her abilities to the point that she can levitate things or move objects around. She can bring them to her well enough, though, and that alone is enough to frequently delight her.
Alex, too, if his expression is anything to go by.
"That's cool," he says. Then, more quietly, "I can't do mine inside. Sometimes I have to wear a special shirt so I don't hurt anybody."
Lorna frowns then brightens. "You can throw stuff at me!" she says. Apparently she's changed her mind about wanting to play with him. Sometimes Erik misses the easy companionship of being a child.
"Yeah!" Alex says. "Okay!"
Charles, for his part, looks horrified.
"Alex, no, you can't--"
"It's fine," Erik says. To Lorna, he adds, "Don't leave the cafe area." Throwing things at Lorna has become something of a strange bonding experience over the last few weeks. He takes the carabiner for his keys out of his pocket. "Don't throw them hard and don't lose them," he says sternly to Alex, who nods and grabs the keyring out of Erik's hand.
"Alex, what do we say?" Charles asks, though he's still flustered.
"Thank you!" Alex calls over his shoulder, following Lorna to the corner. Erik watches them for another moment, as Lorna shows Alex how to get keys off the carabiner, and then returns his attention to Charles and the other young boy.
"The keys don't hurt her and they're helping her learn control," Erik explains. "Well. Probably. They're probably doing something."
"Whatever works, I suppose," Charles says, chuckling. He squeezes the other boy's shoulder and says to him, "Scott, would you like to go play with your brother and his new friend or would you like to sit here with us or perhaps Aunt Raven will take you to get a book while we wait for the reading to start?" Where Alex is blond, Scott's hair is dark, and he's reserved in contrast to his brother's quick overtures of disdain and then friendship. He's wearing glasses with a red tint, and Erik wonders if it's just a "kids will be kids" thing (once Lorna refused to take off a purple scarf for a month straight) or if he's visually impaired.
"I'd like to look at books, if that's okay," he says, and Mystique--Raven, right. Erik read somewhere that Mystique's real name was Raven--steps forward and uncrosses her arms, offering a hand to Scott.
"That's fine, kiddo," she says. "Come on. We've got about fifteen minutes. We'll leave Charles to talk some more with his new friend." She raises her eyebrows at Charles and Charles raises his own back. There are a few more seconds of complicated expressions before she finally leads the boy away, leaving Charles and Erik mostly alone again.
"Well," Charles says. "Those would be my boys. Alex and Scott. Alex will be four on Tuesday and Scott is seven. They've been with me almost two years now."
Charles Xavier is also a single father. Erik wonders how he didn't already know that.
"It must be hard with two kids already half-grown," Erik says. "It was hard enough raising one from birth all by myself."
"There are times it's a struggle," Charles says. "Scott's powers manifested not long after the crash that killed their parents. He hit his head and sometimes he has trouble controlling it as a result, so he needs to wear those glasses. Alex manifested last year and...it's been rough. But I have Raven to help me when it gets difficult. What about you? Is Lorna's mother still in the picture?"
Erik can't stop himself from snorting.
"No," he says firmly. "Lorna's mother was an ill-advised one night stand. She signed over all her parental rights after Lorna was born. I was prepared to do the same thing, actually, but then I saw her and--" He wants to say, I thought about her being branded as a mutant from birth and wanted to weep. I thought about her growing up in the mutant foster care system and my chest hurt. I remember what it was like as a teenager and I could never wish that on a baby, especially not on my baby. He doesn't know this man, though, not really, and those are truths that only MacTaggert knows thanks to a drunken confession after a rough day at the office. Instead he mumbles, "I had to take her."
"She's beautiful," Charles says. "She looks just like you."
Erik spares a moment to wonder if that means Charles thinks he's beautiful.
"She looks like her mother," he says.
"No, no," Charles says. "She has your eyes. And your determined scowl. And, your friend was right, she wears skepticism the same way you do."
"You barely know me," Erik says. Charles smiles and reaches across the table, resting the tips of his fingers on the back of Erik's hand. Erik's stomach flips.
"I'd like to get to know you," Charles says.
The moment is, of course, interrupted by Lorna and Alex making their way back over to the table by only stepping on the black tiles, jumping over the white tiles with as much force as possible.
Lorna hops around Alex and splays her arms proudly. There are keys stuck all along her front.
"Daddy, look! I got all of them!" she says.
"Good job, baby," Erik says. "Now, can you put them back on the carabiner for me?" Lorna nods and pulls the carabiner off her hip, then begins to add the keys to it one at a time.
"Charles?" Alex asks. "Can Lorna come to my birthday party?"
"It's at Chuck E. Cheese!" Lorna tells Erik, looking up from the keys.
"We'll have to ask Lorna's dad," Charles says. "But if they're not busy, of course she can."
Both children peer up at Erik eagerly. Normally, Erik would discourage this kind of ganging up on adults, but Charles is still holding his hand and Erik is too giddy to care about much else.
"When is it?" he asks.
"Tomorrow at noon," Charles says. "But don't feel--"
"Sure," Erik says. "We can do tomorrow at noon." He desperately needs to clean out attic to find the Hanukkah stuff, but that can wait another weekend, easily. He knows he's made the right decision when Charles' fingers grip his and squeeze tightly.
"I'm glad," he says. He grins in a way that lights up his eyes.
"I'm glad too," Erik says.
There are a few seconds smiling and staring at each other, like something out of a romantic comedy, before Charles squeezes his hand again and then stands.
"Well, I need to sort out my books and things before the signing starts properly," he says. "But I'll see you after?"
"Definitely," Erik says.
"Come here, Alex," Charles says. "Let's find your brother and Aunt Raven."
Alex scampers over to him (still avoiding the white tiles), and Erik watches them return to the bustle of the main part of the bookshop. He's still staring when Lorna shakes his keys at him, all neatly returned to place.
"Thank you," he says, returning them to his pocket.
"I like Alex!" she tells him. "And Mr. Charles. He's nice and he knows Mystique!"
"I like Mr. Charles too," Erik admits.
"He likes you too," Lorna says.
"You think so?" Erik asks.
"He held your hand," Lorna says. "And you didn't shout at him like you shouted at Crystal's mom."
It takes Erik a moment to remember Crystal's mom, but then the Kidz Craft Time birthday party and the unsolicited parenting advice come back to him and he nods.
"I didn't," Erik agrees. On an embarrassingly hopeful whim he asks, "Would it be okay if we saw him again soon?"
Lorna nods. "Yes, please!" she says.
"Good," Erik says. "Come on, let's go find Ms. Moira and Mr. Nick and watch Charles read us some books."
If Sunday goes well, he thinks as he leads Lorna back to the storytime circle, he might have to give Moira a whole doughnut. Or maybe a whole dozen.
He's looking forward to the expense.