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Summer can pack a suitcase faster than the Flash can run the hundred yard dash. As far as superpowers go, it's not super strength or invisibility or twelfth-level intelligence, but a girl has to work with what she's got. She picks up Cohen's hideous t-shirts from their position on the floor, and shakes the wrinkles out, folds once, twice, three times, and lays it in the case, and wonders if her superpower is inherited. She figures it probably is, because her Mom had been there one minute, and the next she was gone. Her clothes too, of course, because leaving your husband and daughter is one thing, but leaving your Chanel and Armani is quite another. In a way, she thinks it's for the best. After all, if she had time to dwell on what she was doing, she might do something unthinkable like cry. And she will not cry over Cohen. Not now, not ever. Even if he was the best boyfriend she ever had, even though he was a horrible boyfriend. After all, he chose Anna over her and he chose Ryan over her and he left her with nothing more than a note. But she's not going to cry and she's certainly not going to make any more goddamn comic book references because she's getting Cohen out of her life. She closes the suitcase with a decisive snap and glares at it, as if the clothes inside are Cohen himself and not the clothes he left behind when he left her behind. The doorbell rings in the distance and Summer straightens. She hears the faint voices and casts one last glance at the suitcase before picking it up and sliding it beneath her bed. Out of sight, out of mind, she decides as the steps approach. She manages a smile that doesn't quite make her eyes as she opens the door. She lets Zach in and sits on the edge of the bed, her heel pushing the suitcase farther beneath the mattress. Out of sight, out of mind, she repeats to herself. Any day now, she's pretty sure she'll start to believe it.
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