The Summer We Let Go

Chapter Thirteen

Leo

          She's dragging me to a bonfire tonight. She never said anything about a bonfire, or meeting her entire family, but she's dragging me to it, anyway, even though I didn't agree to this part of the trip. I expected to meet a great-grandpa, an aunt, and maybe a few cousins. I don't protest, though, because I know she probably needs this. But going from meeting her great grandpa and some random guy whom she doesn't blame for her sister's death to meeting her entire family is a pretty big deal.

          And here we are, in the car, on the way to an old schoolhouse that her family owns but never uses except for these kinds of things. Family reunions. I've never had a girlfriend before, and now—not even two months into the relationship—she's introducing me to her entire family. Well, all except for the out-of-state ones. The only family I've ever known is made up of my sister, my mom, and her parents back when I was a kid before they passed away. Do I even count my dad's parents? They're more like an awkward meal pass if anything.

          Carter tells me about each and every member who could possibly be there, starting with the cousins around our age—Emily, Corey, and Mitchell—to some Great Aunts and Uncles—Dawn, Bruce, countless others—and even some of her dad's cousins, the only name I remember being Dallas because it's the same as a city. She must have listed off about twenty or so in all, but the names flew past me, as well as any descriptions.

          I grab her hand and trace my finger over it, staring at the coral painting of her nails, covered in silver sparkles. I never understood why girls painted their nails such specific colors, though, because of the whole color coordination. What if you paint your nails dark blue, but you want to wear orange clothes with yellow accessories? You would literally have to compile an outfit that at least had some kind of resemblance to the color of your nails. And this lasts at least about a week, right? Or even longer if they're professionally done and acrylic. At least from what I remember about whenever Rachel got hers done.

          Mom would of course rant about wasting money at first, but then the next night they'd be up late admiring them while she painted Mom's. Girls, right? I can't explain them. And I can't ask them to explain themselves, because then they'd go off on a tangent and thirty minutes later I'd be more confused than I was when I asked. At least that's how it was when I was twelve, and Rachel felt inclined to go over the basics of how to get a girlfriend.

          "Alright," Carter sighs, pulling into a grassy area in front of the old schoolhouse. The kind that you see in those 1800 western movies. "We're here."

          There are already about a dozen cars and trucks parked here, some along the side of the road, and a group of people in the yard behind the white building, a few here and there meandering in and out of it. Some people see us; an older blonde woman nods toward us and smiles, lifting her hand in a wave.

          Carter starts pointing out people and stating names, but I just nod and don't bother registering them. I'm sure they'll introduce themselves once she ushers me around, but even then I'm not going to bother trying to remember. I mean, when am I even going to see them again after this trip? Carter hasn't even seen any of them in, what, seven years? There's no way I'm going to be seeing them anytime soon. And if I do, I could just do what I plan on doing now. Acknowledge them but never try to call them by their name.

          We get out, and most of the people call out their welcomes, a few too busy setting up the fire to do much more than glance our way. She doesn't mind, though, a broad grin shining out at them all. I shove my hands in the pockets of the basketball shorts Carter made me wear because they were red and not black, and she was tired of seeing me in black. She walks a step ahead of me, and I try to keep my chin up and look people in the eyes as introductions are made and hands are shaken. Names rush past me to join the buzz of the mosquitos swarming in the air around us.