Hours later, Ben and I had tucked the kids in, said prayers, and sat curled up together on the sofa, watching the news, my tail winding around his waist.
"This latest incident has prompted this new Commission on Superhuman Affairs to declassify some of its information and accept oversight from the Senate Ethics Committee…"
Of course, there was so much they would not air. The surveillance footage of me levitating the truck and Grace manifesting her sonic scream was confiscated and classified. How the Commission had people in all branches of the military, law enforcement, intelligence, and rescue services with the sole purpose of keeping an eye out for people like us. How I now had a plum new job and relished the opportunity to use my powers for good, as well as for keeping Graves in check.
"You're still worried?" Ben asked. "But we came out on top here."
"I'm just not sure we'll have a normal day ever again," I sighed, "no matter what we do, how we lie or pretend things are normal."
"Yeah, saying you were wearing a costume was a bad idea," said Ben. "I shouldn't have thought of it."
"That's okay," I said. "You were only trying to help me get through the day."
Ben snorted. "When have we ever had a 'normal' day, anyway?"
"Exactly," I conceded.
Ben smiled, pulling me closer, then stopped. "So I'm immune to your telepathy?"
"Apparently," I said.
"What a lame power. I mean, I can think of some uses for it, but I'll have to go to the trouble of articulating what I'm thinking now?" He squeezed my shoulder.
"Or maybe you could just kiss me," I purred. I didn't need telepathy to know what was on his mind.
"But I just had étouffée for dinner," he said in mock protest as he leaned in.
"So did I." I smiled, closing the distance.