Page 29 of The Troll’s Summer Flame

Chapter Seven: Fireworks

“What time are you going to get here?”

I stop slathering on sunscreen and frown at the phone. “Where, Mom?”

“To Tita Anna’s house for the cookout. Are you on the way? We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

“Oh. Oh, Mom! I have a date.” Yep. I’m taking the plunge. Telling the world’s most judgemental adult that I’m not coming to a family gathering (that no one mentioned to me, by the way, that everyone just assumed I’d attend even though I now live hours away), and opening the door to date-related grilling.

“A date? On the 4th of July? What kind of date? Who is this man? What does he do for a living?” My mother shouts for my father, which means she’s going to need fatherly threatening to add to the arsenal.

“His name is Gordon. He’s the firefighter who got my cat out of a tree. Twice, actually. I made him thank-you cookies, we talked, he asked me to go bowling, we bowled, I made him dinner, and he asked me to go to the fireworks in town. It’s more like a community cookout and a little carnival on the high school athletic fields,” I explain, smiling. It all sounds perfectly innocent.

My thoughts surrounding Gordon haven’t been innocent lately, which is a problem, since I know he’s hesitant about physical things. “He’s a gentleman, Mom. You’d like him. He’s quiet and heroic, and he loves the piano.”

“He’s going to be a predator. A kinky sex maniac.”

I breathe a silent prayer to stay un-stressed and cheerful, then say, “Hi, to you, too, Daddy.”

“You listen. He’s a perfect gentleman, you say? Quiet? The quiet ones are the ones on the True Crime Channel episodes. How do you know this guy isn’t some monster?”

“Well, everyone in town knows him and likes him. He’s not perfect, but he’s sweet, kind, and honest about stuff. He doesn’t play games.” As far as I can tell. We’ve known each other for a week. Whoop-dee-doo.

I’m going to leave that part out.

“Bring him to Tita Anna’s.”

“I can’t. He’s in charge of the display. Not running it, but making sure everyone is safe and that nothing catches on fire.”

“Hmph.” Mom gives a grudging noise, which could mean anything from the potato salad needing salt to her being secretly a little impressed.

“He’s probably a secret arsonist. A lot of firefighters are.”

“Daddy. That’s not remotely true. Some might be, but a lot? There are thousands, probably hundreds of thousands of firefighters in America, maybe a million. If ‘a lot’ were firebugs, we wouldn’t have anything left but ashes.”

“Hmff.”

“You two are starting to sound a lot alike. That’s that whole being married for almost thirty years, right?” I tease.

“Your cousins are going to be there. Don’t you want to see them?”

I sigh. Yes. My cousins and besties are back, and all of them had a blast, got a bunch of numbers, a bunch of hangovers, and way too many souvenirs. I definitely feel like I missed out—but now I also feel a little bit like I got something they didn’t. Like they went to the tropical island, but I dug up the treasure. “I’ll make time to visit soon, Mom, I promise. When I talked to Shane last night, she was still dealing with jet lag, even though she never crossed a time zone.”

“She was dealing with a half a bottle of tequila!” My mother snaps. “Wild girls. If you had been there, you would have made sure they behaved.”

I bite my lip and make a noise of agreement while I cross my fingers behind my back. No. I would have been as wild as the rest of them.

Maybe I would have slept with Mr. Harvard Law. Maybe he wouldn’t return my calls. He’d be in Boston, probably, which is a long way from Jersey City.

My phone buzzes against my ear, and I look at it while Mom launches into a comparative history of my sins versus the rest of my relatives.

Gordon: I saw this article about a cat who learned to play eight different songs on the piano. I thought you’d like it. Here’s the link.

Andrea: I have to show this to Chopin. He’s been slacking, obviously.

Gordon: Maybe you should give him lessons instead of me. He might be more capable.

Andrea: Nope. I want you on this piano bench. Drop and give me a C scale.