Not About Angels

Chapter 16

Heather tried to be strong for the twins.

In the morning, she'd go into each of their rooms and wake them up - if they resisted, she kissed their chubby cheeks and tickled their sides until they shrieked with laughter. Once they were awake, they demanded to do things themselves - Wanda would whine until she was allowed to pick her own clothes out and even if he wasn't tall enough to look into the mirror, Pietro would insist he would brush his teeth.

She would cook breakfast while they were getting ready. Sometimes she'd go all out, spending a good chunk of her morning making pancakes, bacon and eggs. Other mornings, she could barely drag herself out of bed, let alone make a fancy breakfast - a bowl of cereal would have to do.

By the time they had eaten and grabbed everything they needed for the day, the bus would already be rolling down the street, coming to a screeching halt in front of their house.

Heather would kiss each of them not once - but twice - and would smile and watch the two bounce eagerly onto the waiting bus, just in case one of them turned to look back at her. When the bus finally would drive away, she could usually feel herself deflate.

Some days, she could convince herself she was okay - she could unpack and do some housework, even read a little and catch up on some soap operas.

She could tell herself that Sean wasn't buried in some ditch in Vietnam, that she didn't have to see her students in body bags and coffins, that Alex would come home, that Charles hadn't become a stranger to her. But the other days, it wasn't easy to pretend.

On those days, she'd curl up into a ball on the couch and wonder if she curled into herself enough, could she disappear. It would last until she heard the sound of a slamming door and two excited voices, and the game of pretend would begin again - with a smile on her face, she would greet her babies with kisses.

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One day, a month after they had moved in, she noticed something was wrong with Wanda.

She had left for school like she normally did - all smiles and giggles - but when she arrived home, she was lagging behind her brother, trudging along. Her lips were pouting and her little eyebrows were pulled together in confusion. "What's wrong, buttercup?" Heather asked. Wanda could be overdramatic at times, she reasoned with herself, Pietro beat her in a race or maybe a classmate took her crayon.

Wanda was silent and that, for Heather, was a sign that this was bigger and badder than race or a crayon. But she didn't push - she made dinner like usual, helped the two with their homework before she tucked Pietro in and kissed him on the top of his blonde head.

Finally, she made her way to Wanda's room. The little girl was already in her red nightie, her Raggedy Ann doll and teddy bear by her side in bed. She looked less heartbroken now, but something was still off. Uneasy, Heather sat on the edge of the bed, before asking, "Baby, what's wrong?"

Wanda hesitated, before her sweet voice finally rang out. "Do I have a daddy?"

The question surprised Heather. "What?"

Wanda let out a sigh, sitting up quickly, before she ranted, "Today at school, Willy come over and he asked what my mommy and daddy's names were, so I told him that I had a mommy named Heather and four uncles, but he said that uncles don't count and then I said I don't have a daddy but then Willy said you had to have a daddy."

Heather's heart stopped. She knew this day would come, she just knew it, but she hadn't prepared for this. She didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell her the truth, she wouldn't understand and - and they had no way of knowing that Wanda was going to be a mutant. Hearing that her father was human hating terrorist would hurt her in so many ways. She couldn't do that to her girl.