Chapter 3: I Prefer Shots That Come In A Glass

We made it to the diner. Yeah, I know you were expecting a supervillain attack, a dead relative, maybe even some lime green super soldier serum, or something like that, but nah.

Have you met my cousin?

He's not the sort to attract many blockbuster villain attacks on his own these days, so just sit tight for now, okay?

That's what I was trying to do.

Is there anything more uncomfortable than an awkward family dinner?

I was nursing my coffee trying to act casual. Meanwhile, Bruce was still holding his menu all the way up, even though the server had known to just order his 'usual'. Why did Bruce even have a 'usual' here? He'd had a tab at the last place too…

If I'd realized the best way to find my cousin was to hang out at my sorority sisters' newest favorite getaway vacation spot, I would have still not gone on vacation since trying to climb up to the next level at work was more than a full-time job. But I would have been seriously tempted to try and squeeze in a one-day weekend to come sniffing around.

"Here it is!" our server said, "A usual for you and another for your friend." The lady had on a huge 'give me a tip twice as big as all my teeth' smile.

I gave her a more restrained smile back.

Bruce just nodded at her.

Our server didn't seem put out though. She just set down our platters and went back to the cash register up front since we were her only customers. The group of what looked like blue-collar workers had left shortly after we had entered.

"You going to eat?" Bruce asked.

I examined my plate and this time my smile was real. "Are you serious!?" I exclaimed.

Were I worried Bruce had changed beyond recognition, here was proof some part of him was the same dork I'd grown up with. My plate looked pretty typical at first glance: eggs and sausage, but I'd just noticed the layer of baked beans beneath everything. Everyone knows that the not-so-jolly green giant loves baked beans, but Bruce started it and perfected it. I might have teased him about it, despite that being a horrible idea, except I really liked baked beans too.

Bruce and I shared a look and then we were both eating like kids. This was good, better than good. This was, dare I say it:

This was Normal.

Talking was superfluous while Bruce had beans to devour, but I couldn't resist telling him, "This is great!" The beans were done in what else, a Mexican style, and the added spices were a YES Please! "The perfect comfort food after a long night."

To my surprise, Bruce actually responded, "You sound like Tony."

Tony? As in asshole billionaire alcoholic narcissist 'super' hero, "Tony Stark?"

No answer this time, Bruce just ate his fancy breakfast beans and gave me a dark look that said 'Shut it'. Or that's what it was supposed to say. Bruce being about as intimidating as a puppy had trouble pulling off anything more sinister than mild annoyance.

"You brought it up," I pointed out.

He grunted.

I let the case rest for now, drank my coffee, and ate slowly. I had gotten distracted by the food, but I still wanted to get more out of this chance meeting. I needed my wits about me if I wanted to squeeze info out of my secretive cousin.

An hour later, I was telling Bruce about one of our mutual cousin's hot mess of a bar mitzvah when I realized something had gone wrong. I had meant to make Bruce talk, but the sly man had turned the tables on me by asking about our ridiculous family.

"What happened next?" Bruce said with what I now suspected was forced casualness.

"He had to apologize to the poor lady and promise to pay for her lost dentures," I said, playing along for now. "That's why he ended up with a summer job at Aunt Cassie's place."

"Ah…" Bruce said with a knowing smile. "Does he do any work for her or…?"

I snorted. "Of course not! Micheal is worse than Ched. He and the other Krenzler kids make poor Davie do all the work and Davie lets them."

"I'm surprised you haven't intervened on Davie's behalf."

I had and come up against the strange parenting philosophy of Aunt Cassie, ageism, and two more Davids. We have a lot of Davids in my family, but, "That's a whole other story and I have a dessert to finish, so how about you take on some of the conversational burden and share a story of your own."

Bruce's smile faded.

"It doesn't have to be recent," I insisted. "I haven't seen you in ages. Surely, you can give me something." I searched my mind for a seemingly safe but enlightening topic. "Tell me about some of your non-proprietary research."

Bruce's eyes lit up, but then he said, "It's rather complicated. It probably wouldn't be of interest to you."

It wouldn't be, but that wasn't the point. "I'm a big girl now, Bruce. College-educated and everything. Try me."

He gave me a look, but began anyway. And I'm proud to say I understood a tenth of what he said. I like science okay, but I hold exactly zero PhDs and Bruce wasn't known for his communication skills. I analyzed his lecture on his research like one of my legal documents, looking for clues in the dense language to build my case like the fact that some of Bruce's research had taken him to let's say 'exotic' locales or that Bruce mentioned Tony Stark thirteen times and counting.

After 40 minutes, our server swung by again, looking hopeful. I had already paid, the diner was filling up, and we had prime real estate. I knew it was time to go. I finished my second cup of coffee and the last bite of my flan and got up. As I hoped, Bruce was too busy gushing over invention number 11 to protest me moving him out the door.

I asked questions and kept him talking and walking. We had almost achieved my goal, only for me to be thwarted by Bruce's car. The Jeep was locked and when he pulled out his keys, he dropped them. All would have been fine if he hadn't hit his head on the side mirror on the way up.

He hissed in pain.

Even my question about the 'wonders' of cardiovascular AI analysis wasn't enough to recast the geek-out spell on him.

Bruce just looked at me. He must have realized what I'd done because he said gruffly, "Phone."

"Phone?" I repeated, acting dumb and thinking fast. I pretended to search for it in my too-small-for-a-toothpick suit pockets. "Hmm," I said after a bit, "maybe I—"

"You didn't leave it at the diner," he said, ruining that excellent time-waster.

"Yeah, of course," I said agreeably. I had bigger fish to fry right now.

"We can charge your phone in the car and I can help you catch a cab," he explained.

"Or you could drive me yourself," I pointed out.

"No," he said flatly.

"You're right," I agreed again. "Driving is a waste of money. We should walk."

"Jen," he began.

"The weather is just right for it and a little exercise will be a great way to end this awesome morning," I declared.

"The weather is nice and this…has been nice, but—"

"You'd prefer to not see me ever again?" I finished for him hoping for once that I was wrong.

Bruce didn't meet my eye as he said, "I just don't want you to get hurt. My life is dangerous, Jen. I'm dangerous."

"Your lifestyle has been a bit dangerous," I allowed because there wasn't any getting around that.

Bruce smiled humorlessly and said, "You have no idea."

"Then tell me," I pressed. "Give me something real to report to Mom, Dad, and Aunt Suzy. Life has been crazy right now. Aunt Edith, Uncle Tucker, Angelica, Grandpa, Erica, David, so much of our family is gone. Now is the perfect time for you to come back to us, for you to say something, anything. We miss you, Bruce." I put a hand on my chest and went in for the kill which was also the truth. "I miss you. I want my better-than-a-brother cousin back!"

"And I want you alive. Missing me is better than being dead," Bruce said, unmoved.

I really wish he hadn't gone there, but I had a counterargument ready. My job was arguing and damn it, I wasn't losing this one again!

Yet my purest intentions to hit Bruce with my stellar debate skills and all-too-real waterworks were supplanted by a live demonstration of his point.

That's right folks. The moment you have all been waiting for has finally arrived. So, tell me, how familiar are you with guns?

Before this point in my life, I would have happily said I was an amateur at best and wanted to stay that way. I didn't even understand Bruce at first when he shouted, "Duck!"

You might be tempted to assume my nightly activities were responsible for that mistake, but no, I can't blame the piña coladas or my one breakfast mimosa for this. I certainly felt stone-cold sober when the bullets came flying at me and I mean a lot of bullets. I'm talking about a machine gun's worth blasting at the two of us and I might be a kickass lawyer but my skin is soft and definitely not bulletproof.

Metal entered my limbs and back as the drive-by did its thing. And the next thing I knew I was following Bruce's instructions to get down against my will.

I crumpled onto the ground. There was shouting, someone calling Bruce's name, explosions, more gunfire, and probably a really interesting fight happening somewhere nearby.

I wish I could give you more details and really paint a picture, but dying turns out to be rather distracting.

As I lied there numb on the ground, my eyes refused to work. The only channel they seemed to be getting was the after-midnight blackout station. All the same, this new evidence was not enough to make me change my stance.

Not one inch.

I can now say with complete confidence that I would rather die than admit I might have been wrong.