She pictured Francis, the stuntman she met a few months ago, and her skin shimmered. Her appearance cycled from Harriet to Vivian to the twins and back to herself.
“I still haven’t completely gotten the hang of it,” Angela said, “but I’m getting better every day.”
For good measure, she visualized her friend Leigh and made every cellphone in the room play “Jingle Bells” with their ringtones.
“Other than that,” she said, “there’s not really much else to tell.”
Vivian gave Angela a slow clap.
“We’ve got quite the impressive daughter, don’t we, Jackson?” she said.
“Yes,” he said, smiling at Angela. “We certainly do.”
Angela felt her face redden; she spent the rest of the meal staring at her plate. They had plum pudding for dessert and headed back for the couches afterward. On the way, Jackson pulled Angela aside.
“Can I talk to you alone for a bit?” he asked.
She glanced at Genesis.
“I’ll be fine,” Genesis said. “Go.”
Angela took a deep breath and led her father out of the apartment. They rode the elevator up and stepped out onto the roof. The rain had died down to a light drizzle.
Jackson walked to the edge of the roof and leaned against the ledge. She stood beside him, keeping her distance. Victory City seemed to glisten as the light of streetlamps washed over wet concrete.
“Such a beautiful town,” he said, looking out.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“I still miss it sometimes,” he said. “Vancouver is fine, but it’s not really home, you know?”
“Then why did you leave?” she asked.
“Did I ever tell you how Harriet and I met?” he asked.
Angela shook her head.