let's light up the sky ☆

Chapter 18

Uncle Anthony's beach house deck was alive with the sound of music and laughter. He throws the best Fourth of July parties, so much so that I look forward to this party more than I do Christmas. Dad and Uncle Nate's shared birthday is two days after the Fourth, so it doubles (triples?) as a birthday party for them too.

Every year, we start at the house and work our way down to Huntington Beach an hour before the fireworks show begins. Huntington Beach is one of the few cities in LA County that makes concessions for fireworks. Uncle Anthony also happens to be the only one in the band with a beach house. He wanted a beach house because his house in San Fernando was too far from the ocean for his taste. Lucky for all of us, he decided to live the rich rockstar lifestyle to its fullest.

"You made it!" Uncle Anthony's wife, Melanie, cheered when we walked in. "And I see you brought the goodies," she followed up while intently eyeing the fresh nutmeg cake in Mom's hands.

"I'm pretty sure if we didn't come, then Anoush was going to hitchhike here," Dad joked and gave me a little elbow nudge.

Armen made a beeline to the nearest open seat on the couch. His ankle was close to healing. He could spend more time on his feet, but he wanted to get his rest before we moved the party out to the beach. Before I could follow him, I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me and attempt to lift me off the ground.

Matias braced my shoulders and turned me towards the TV with his plugged-in laptop. "Jackbox?"

"Weeeeell," I teased. "Okay, you twisted my arm. Let's do it."

Matias blew a raspberry. "As if you can resist the siren song of Quiplash."

I took a seat on the floor next to Julian, one of Uncle Anthony's 14-year-old twins. His sister Grace sat comfortably on the couch with her black cat plush throw blanket. Uncle Chris was also playing with us. After the last time the steaks got nuked on the grill, they haven't trusted him to help with food prep. He insists that that was "a long time ago," as if it didn't happen this past Easter.

"First prompt," I read out loud, "something that should never be decided by a coin toss. 'Which girlfriend you break up with' or... 'the divorce settlement.'" Uncle Chris was laughing so hard that he was breathless and beet red in the face. I voted for number two so he could feel a little vindicated with his game-medium trauma dump.

Julian groaned. "Boo, I wasted that answer!"

"Sorry, we can't all be players, big dog," Matias teased.

The next prompt was mine and I hoped that everyone else appreciated my sense of humor. "What new rule would make MMA safer?" Grace read. "'You kiss the boo boo when you hit them,' or 'Punch buggy, no punch back.'"

"Is Punch Buggy still a thing?" Uncle Chris asked after he made his decision.

"Ask the bruises on my arm," Julian complained. Grace sat on the couch smiling like a demon. She might look like the sweetest girl on Earth with their mom's bubbly temperament, but she can pack a mean punch when she's determined to land it.

I cheered when the boo boo answer earned a full quiplash. "And what do we call that?" I asked, standing up and miming a broom across the floor. "A... sweep!"

Matias, who lost the round against me, yanked down the frills of my shirt.

Julian cleared his throat to prepare for his dramatic reading. "Forget the labradoodle," he started in a posh 19-century English accent. "The best dog breed combination is the... 'Daniff,' or... 'Were-huahua'... THE WHAT?"

Matias finally got his come-uppance with this prompt when he won against his dad. "In my defense," Uncle Chris started. "I couldn't think of any other answers."