“I said I love you,” I sigh, the fight draining out of me as I pick at my wrinkled t-shirt.
“Not that part, the other part.”
“In spite of your powers?” I ask, uncertainly.
Dad swoops forward and gives me a one armed hug, nearly crushing me. He kisses the top of my head. “That is the truest kind of love. I love you too, Val. Now, get dressed for dinner. I’ve got to go hide my hammer so your sisters don’t try to take it again.”
“Perhaps you should bring it with you. The time they tried to grab it was hilarious.” None of my sisters can lift his hammer an inch. I can pick it up no problem.
My ancient father wags a finger at me. “No. I want no drama tonight. Now get dressed or prepare to clean out the barn!” He stomps off, slamming the door shut behind him. He’s under the illusion that hiding his hammer actually works. I know every hiding spot he has. Under the pillow. Behind the huge painting of himself (at dick level and no, I don’t want to consider the implications of that), or in the crowded umbrella stand. He’s not all that creative.
After he leaves, I sink right back into making faces at the closed door, like the child that I’m not. I play eenie meenie miney moe to determine what I should do. Ultimately, I decide that sixty minutes of misery outranks thirty days of manure work for a couple of old, gassy goats.
“Fine,” I yell as I hear Dad’s footsteps retreat. Huffing, I drag myself out of bed and get dressed for this blessed “family” event.
Please note that I use the word family in the most scathing of terms possible.
What my dad has is not what I would call a ‘family unit.’
It’s more like a dysfunctional gathering of gods that my father either slept with or spawned. I’m one of the spawn, obviously. The lowliest of his children because I’m, gasp, half-human. As if this is my fault, but my obnoxious siblings and their disdainful mothers can’t scorn Thor—at least not openly, so they turn their rancor on me.
A bunch of charmers, that group.
And lucky me, I get to go eat with them. That’s exactly what I want to do on my vacation from Earth and my job at Home Depot. I want to spend my work-free time listening to people who hate me.
I quickly pull on a pair of faded, torn jeans and an Animaniacs T-shirt sporting the Brain and his bid for world domination. I freaking love that mouse. How Mickey remains more popular, I’ll never know.
I hum the cartoon’s theme song as I toss my long brown hair up into a ponytail and debate adding makeup, but what good is it when I’m competing with gods? The jerkwads can make their skin glitter, for crying out loud—I forego the mascara. Then, I gracelessly stomp down the long corridor to the main floor and into the opulent dining room.
The room itself is massive. It’s full of carved wooden beams detailing ships and dolphins, islands and massive waves that stretch across the ceiling. The walls are covered in obnoxious paintings of my relatives, which my eyes studiously avoid. I make my way to an eighty-foot-long table. Everything on it from the silverware to the bowls is made of gold.
I’m greeted by the sight of two elegant women dressed to the nines in sparkling dresses and a gaggle of my siblings, most decked out in their battle gear.
I spot my least favorite sister already seated, blonde head tipped back as she chugs some mead. Leaned against her chair is her weapon. If Skeggjöld3 can bring her ax to dinner, then I can bring my cell to text Dev, my human BFF.
How the man got my phone to work in Asgard is mind-blowing, but Devin is a tech wizard. He’s also smarter than any god that I’ve ever met—not that I’m ever going to admit that out loud to anyone, especially Dev. That’s a good way to place a target on his head if the gods knew. Or make his head swell, if he knew, not that Devin is conceited, by any means. Even though he’s hot, he’s one of the most down-to-earth people that I know. Humble, but knows his strengths.
I bite down on a smile as I picture his reddish-brown hair, beard, and goofy grin. I couldn’t ask for a better best friend, but everyone else here tonight would most assuredly disagree.
Bunch of superior beings.
I personally feel that they can choke on a dick and mind their own business. I don’t tell them how to do their god stuff; they can butt out of my human affairs. Of course, this is just wishful thinking on my part. What god can resist torturing humans?
No sooner do I sit down, than do my glorious step moms begin their weekly rant. (Yes. Step moms. Double the nitpicking. Double the fun.)
“Ugh. Sigrdrifa, what are you wearing?! It’s positively putrid,” Sif, the goddess of family, sneers at me, looking down her long, hooked nose. Apparently, she hasn’t kept up with the times and realized that tiny button noses are in, but I’m not about to tell her this.
Járnsaxa, my father’s other consort, giggles next to her like a schoolgirl. Her blonde curls and giant breasts bounce in tandem as she giggles.
Really mature, ladies.
Of course, with my father out of the room, they feel safe, emboldened even, to verbally attack me. But, because I’m classy, I don’t say anything.
At first.
“Yes,” one of my many sisters adds, “you’re a disgrace to the Valkyrie name! Frankly, I’m surprised that your fashion sense hasn’t landed you in the half-breed jail. The Black Hole seems like the perfect place for a weirdo who loves human eccentricities. I mean, look at those pants you’re wearing. They’re torn to shreds! Were you in a bar fight with a cat? Did you lose? Don’t even get me started on your shirt.”
Everyone laughs.
My step moms laugh.
My sisters laugh.
My brothers laugh.
I laugh.
Ha, ha, ha. . .
I clear my throat dramatically before responding.
“Me, going to jail, because I lack your fashion sense. Brilliant. And a bar fight with a cat. That’s funny, Skeggjöld. Good ones. Alas, my pants really got torn when your boyfriend tried to rip them off of me in a fit of passion. Not the brightest bulb, that guy. I told him to use the button and the zipper, but I guess he’s just used to the ease of skirts and even easier women. Did I mention that I like yours? Skirt, that is. Are those leather strips? Super fucking tasteful. I’m so glad that you can escape the Black Hole because of your full-goddess status, because you sure wouldn’t be smart enough to escape otherwise.” I end with a smile.
On the outside, I’m a smug little brat, but on the inside, I’m seething. Could I make it five minutes without one of my dick siblings or their dick moms ragging on my heritage? I’m half-human—an abomination, apparently—I get it, as if being magicless wasn’t reminder enough.
I just smile sweetly and wait for the explosion.
It doesn’t take long. Half a second passes before Skeggjöld, whom I’ve secretly nicknamed Skanky, is launching herself across the table, her battle ax raised above her head.
The step moms squawk indignantly and my other siblings join the argument. It’s a blond mob against me, but I’m smarter than all of them. I timed my barb perfectly and my father enters the fray just as my darling sister is about to split my skull. Immediately, he throws up a hand and freezes time for everyone but me.
He marches over and plucks the ax out of my blonde sister’s hand where it’s just about to shave my ear from my head. He tosses the ax on the floor.