“Lemme go shower,” I said. “Then you can show me your sketches. I’ll show you mine for the museum. Sound good?” I had a sudden thought along the lines of
She beamed. “It’s a not-date.”
I kept my thought to myself, obviously, but jerked off in the shower just to be sure.
I finally mailed Gina’s letter on Friday morning. I’d finished it the night before, in a bit of a rush. It wasn’t much more than a description of my life for several days. I thought it was deadly dull, but it was all I had.
The rest of the day was wide open, since we didn’t have classes. None of us knew for sure why, but we weren’t about to complain. Christy and Wren gave the house a thorough cleaning. Trip and I fixed a bunch of little things that had been bugging us. We also oiled and adjusted all the door locks, since we didn’t want random partygoers in our bedrooms or studios.
In the afternoon we decided to skip our workouts and aerobics and go in search of costumes instead. Trip needed a Han Solo vest and boots, as well as a toy blaster, belt, and holster. Wren already had a brown bikini, but she needed thin copper tubing and a skirt that matched. My costume was simplest, and I already had everything, but Christy’s existed solely in her imagination.
“Let’s divide and conquer,” I suggested. “Trip, you and Wren get what you need. I’ll take Christy and hit all the kids’ dress shops.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
I had the last laugh on that score. She found the perfect dress at a local department store, in the Girls & Young Misses section. It was a blue and white confection of satin and organza, clearly meant for a twelve-year-old
with a nostalgic and nearsighted grandmother. I thought it cost too much for an outfit she’d wear once, but Christy blithely wrote a check and we returned home with our find.
Trip and Wren were already there, working on her costume. We ate pizza for dinner, drank too many bottles of wine, and planned the next day’s whirlwind of activity.
Christy and I spent Saturday morning scouring stores for decorations. We spent a small fortune but came home with bags of fun. Trip and Wren did the same at the grocery and liquor stores. He was still grumbling about the cost as we unloaded bags and boxes on the dining room table.
“It’s a party,” Wren said. “Lighten up.”
“But I actually had to
“What’s
“Never mind.”
“No, tell me. Do you have a problem?”
“Well, yeah, now that you mention it. I thought you were going to stop acting like daddy’s little princess.”
“Uh-oh,” I said under my breath to Christy. “Let’s make a run for it.
Upstairs. I’ll cover you.”
She nodded and grabbed two bags of decorations. I followed with the rest.
The fireworks heated up in our wake.
Christy’s studio was relatively quiet. And since the weather was cool and sunny, we opened the window to enjoy the fall day. We sat on the floor and cut out bats and cat shapes from black construction paper. Then we used string and an entire box of tissues to make little ghosts. (It seemed like a waste of good Kleenex to me, but I kept my mouth shut.) Finally we taped together two dozen honeycomb paper balls.
We had a lot more decorations—crepe paper, fake cobwebs, skeletons, jack-o’-lanterns, and more—but nothing else we could work on upstairs.
“Sounds quiet down there,” I said. “Want me to take a look?”
“What should I tell your mother if you don’t make it back?”
I grinned and stuck my head over the railing.
“What d’you see?” Christy whispered from the door.
“Nothing. But I don’t
We slunk downstairs like burglars. Faint domestic noises came from the
other side of the house. We tiptoed through the living room to the dining room.
Trip and Wren were working in the kitchen. He was washing vegetables at the sink. She was cutting them like she held a grudge. They were together physically but light years apart emotionally.
“Um…,” I said hesitantly, “we’re gonna start decorating. If that’s okay.”
“Fine.” “Whatever.”
Christy and I looked at each other and shrugged. What else could we do?
I slid around the kitchen table. “I’m just gonna get the stepladder.”
“Go ahead.” “Whatever.”
I returned from the basement and carried the ladder through to the living room.
“What do you think?” Christy asked.
“Defcon 2. Could be worse, but it’s pretty tense in there.”
“Should we do anything?”
“Decorate for the party,” I said with a shrug. “Keep a sharp lookout. Be prepared to duck and cover.”
She grinned.
“Come on. Let’s get to work.”
We strung black and orange crepe paper and hung the honeycomb balls from the ceiling in the main rooms. Then we taped up the rest of the decorations and tried to make the place look festively scary. When we were done on the main level, we went upstairs and hung cardboard RIP tombstones on the bedroom doors, with signs that read, “Danger: Zombies! Do Not Enter.”
