With a beer in one hand and his phone held high in the other, he and his group make their way over, blaring “God Bless the USA” as loud as the little speaker will allow.
Chloe looks positively horrified. “Do they do this every year?”
“Yup,” I say, drawing out the word and popping the “p.” “Fuck the patriarchy!” I yell when they pass.
“Alex,” my mom scolds, whipping her head around and pinning me with a disapproving glare.
Richard holds up his beer. “End male supremacy!”
She smacks Richard on the arm, but that doesn’t stop him from turning to give me a wink. Chloe and Mason cheer, and though it does nothing to deter the patriotic brigade, it makes me feel a little better.
The neighborhood firework show ends up being rather spectacular. It never fails to amuse me that the neighborhood cop is the one who crosses into Pennsylvania for all the good shit. You know, the kind that are illegal here in the Old Dominion.
A rather impressive display of colors explode into the air, causing all sorts of oohs and ahs, followed by Jules gasping out a loud “Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” I agree, staring at the constant barrage of the multicolored pyrotechnics.
“No, not that.” Julia grabs my arm and points to Richard on one knee in front of my mom, right there in the middle of the damn cul-de-sac. “That!”
I look from the small box in his hand to my mom. Her hand covers her mouth, and even from here, I can tell she’s crying. She drops to her knees in front of Richard, her head nodding furiously.
“All right, Mom,” Mason calls out, and everyone in the area starts to clap and cheer.
The fireworks are no longer the main focus. Instead, it’s my mom with both hands on Richard’s cheeks, peppering his face with smile-shaped kisses. I’ve never seen my mother glow this much. And when she pulls away to check out her new bling, Mason and I rush toward her, sandwiching her into a tight embrace and pulling Richard in, too.
“That was so romantic,” Jules says as we sit on her swings once the fireworks end and the street’s been cleaned. Chloe went home not that long ago, and even though there are still pops of color exploding into the sky some distance away, it seems as though the celebration is coming to an end. “Your mom looked so happy.”
“Yeah, she really did.” For the rest of the night, Mom couldn’t stop smiling or clinging to Richard. She deserves it. To have this kind of happiness that Richard seems to effortlessly pull out of her.
“If someone proposed to you,” Jules starts, “how would you want them to do it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.” When I think about my future, I see exotic places. A modest-sized house. Maybe a dog. But a wife? I’m not sure that’s in the cards for me. “What about you?”
“It depends on the person, I think.” She tightens her grip on the chains and slowly lets herself sway with a faraway look. “Something intimate and meaningful. I don’t think I’d want to be asked in front of people, though. I’d rather it be a quiet moment between us. Maybe doing something casual so it’s unexpected, but not…”
“No grand gesture? No million rose petals sprinkled everywhere, illuminated by candlelight or a fancy dinner at an expensive restaurant?”
“If it’s the right person, I wouldn’t need all that.” Her eyes widen, and she looks at me as though she just realized what she said. “Not that your mom’s proposal wasn’t spectacular. I think it was perfect for her. But for me…”
“Something quiet and intimate. Unexpected but not,” I repeat.
She smiles and sighs dreamily. “Yeah.”
I watch her gain momentum and kick her feet until she gets some height on the swing, another firework bursting in the distance. She’s never looked prettier. It makes my heart clench in a weird sort of sadness.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Quiet and intimate.”
Chapter Five
Julia
What do you think?
I read the text from Alex and wait for the following photo. She was invited to some nineties party at school, and she and her roommate are out thrifting, trying to find the perfect outfit. When the photo comes through, sure enough, it does not disappoint. Alex stands in front of the dressing room mirror with one hand holding up her phone and the other shoved into the front pocket of her ripped jeans. She’s also wearing a white, high-collared crop top and a maroon and dark gray baggy flannel shirt over it. It doesn’t look terribly different from what seems to be trendy now, but she looks both in style and out-of-date at the same time.
As a whole, she looks great. But I can’t stop staring at the bit of stomach that’s on display. The same stomach that, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about.
Shoes?I text back.
