Heather and Raven

The Annual Great Frosting War

Every year, we celebrate the Fourth of July at Justin's home, and this year is no different. His mom, Allison, always hosts an enormous celebration for the entire block. As per tradition, I go over there in the morning to help her make the final batches of cookies and cupcakes and whatever else she has decided on making this year.

Allison McNamara kinda reminds me of Tinkerbell, if Tinkerbell had been a strawberry blond athlete. She's not very tall and just like her son, her cheeks and nose are splattered with freckles. She also runs marathons in her free time, which I suspect is the reason she manages to be up and functioning at a whopping eight-thirty in the morning.

When I cross the street to the large white-painted house, I can see the front door is thrown wide open. Anyone could walk in and rob the place, but I pity the fool who thinks he can rob Allison. Actually, wait. I don't pity them. Don't rob other people's houses, kids.

I just sort of wander inside like I've been doing since Justin and I were seven, and follow the scent of freshly baked goods into the kitchen. Allison is bent over a tray of cupcakes, tossing red and blue sprinkles onto the white frosting. She looks up when I come and smiles widely. Her smile is the exact same as Justin's.

"Heather! How are you? Justin told me you have a boyfriend!"

"I'm fine," I answer, unable to keep from smiling at how genuinely interested she is. My parents are away a lot, always have been, and Allison sort of became like an aunt to me. "And yeah, you've met him, actually."

She claps her hands. "Oh, is it Raven? I always knew you two would get together eventually."

I don't know what to say to that last part, so I just smile and nod. Allison gives me a quick hug, somehow without her dough-stained hands touching me. "I'm so happy for you, sweetie."

My guilt about this whole fake dating thing amounts to new levels, but I don't get time to think about it because Allison pulls away with a smile.

"Can you go wake up Justin? You know the way."

I do; I know it as well as I know the way in my own house. Up the stairs, first –and simultaneously only– room on the right. I barge in without knocking and yell at the top of my lungs: "McNamara! Get your lazy ass out of that goddamned bed!"

Poor Justin startles so badly he promptly falls out of bed in a tangle of sheets. I don't feel bad: it's merely revenge for all the times he woke me up on our camping trips by throwing a bucket of ice-cold water over me. Still trapped in the covers, Justin sits up and rubs his eyes.

"Jesus Christ, Heather," he mutters. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

I cross my arms. "Do you want the alphabetized list, or..?"

He considers this for a moment and then shakes his head. "Never mind. Why are you here at-" he squints at the alarm on his nightstand. "-fucking eight in the morning?"

"Eight-thirty, actually," I say, handing him his glasses. "And I'm always here this early on the Fourth of July."

"Oh, right, that's today."

"I'm not even gonna ask how you managed to forget," I say, offering him a hand to help him up.

"You slept through New Year's Eve when you were fourteen," he accuses as he gets up and scrubs his hands through what can only be described as an epic case of bedhead.

"Yes, but I had the flu. What's your excuse?"

He opens his mouth, seems to realize he doesn't have any, closes it again. Then he walks out of his bedroom and towards the bathroom. "I'll be down in ten minutes."