Finding Us (Christian Interracial Romance)

Chaos At the Party

Jeremy

The bass thumps so loud it feels like my heart's skipping beats. The familiar roar of DMX's "Party Up (Up In Here)" cuts through the chatter and laughter spilling out from the backyard. I glance over at Uncle Peter, who's leaning against the grill, flipping burgers with a spatula in one hand and a wine cooler in the other. Athena's head snaps up when she hears the music and her face splits into a grin.

"They're here," she says, tilting her head toward the driveway.

"Fantastic," I mutter under my breath, trying not to sound like a total wet blanket. The last time Cecilia's cousins showed up, it was like the house got hit by a tornado made entirely of bad decisions and loud laughter. I'm all for a good time, but Reagan, Lizzy, Veronic-- I mean Ronnie, Paul Anthony, and Eddie operate on a frequency of chaos I've never been able to match.

Athena catches my expression and smirks. "Don't worry. If they destroy anything, I'll blame it on you."

"Gee, thanks."

The music gets louder as their car pulls up, a beat-up black SUV that's somehow still kicking despite what looks like years of neglect. The doors fly open and out they pour, one by one, each louder than the last. Reagan—the self-proclaimed leader of the pack—struts up first, her arms spread wide like she's walking into an arena. Lizzy and Ronnie are right behind her, bickering over something I can't hear. Paul Anthony and Eddie bring up the rear, already laughing about God-knows-what.

I glance at Athena again. "Think they'll keep it together this time?"

She shrugs. "Depends. Did you hide the liquor?"

Before I can answer, Reagan's booming voice cuts through the air. "Yo! What's good, Birthday boy?"

I force a smile and step forward, bracing myself. "Hey, Reagan. Glad you could make it."

She pulls me into one of those half-hug, half-handshake things like Marlon Wayans does on The Wayans Bros that always feel awkward to me. "Wouldn't miss it! Thirty-one, huh? Damn, you're getting old as fuck."

"You're twenty seven," Lizzy points out as she walks past, rolling her eyes. She's carrying a Tupperware container that looks suspiciously like it might contain something she cooked. I make a mental note to steer clear of it until someone else tries it first.

"Age is just a number," Reagan shoots back, flashing a grin. Then her expression shifts and she steps closer, lowering her voice. "Relax, man. It's all good. We're here to celebrate, not start some trouble. You're officially off our shit list."

"Right," I say, though I'm not convinced. Her tone is friendly enough, but there's a glint in her eye that keeps me on edge.

As the cousins scatter into the backyard, Athena shoots me a look. "See? That wasn't so bad."

"Yet," I reply and she laughs while Uncle Peter is tossing a burger onto a plate and handing it to Dylan, who's been hovering by the grill like a seagull waiting for scraps.

The rest of the party is already in full swing. My brothers Thomas and Bradley, are stationed by the drinks table, debating the merits of craft beer versus cheap beer with Uncle Frank. Ellie flits around like a hummingbird, her energy infectious as she makes sure everyone has what they need. And then there's Cecilia, sitting at one of the picnic tables with her siblings along with her parents and a few of her cousins, looking more relaxed than I've seen her in months.

She catches my eye and smiles, a small, genuine thing that makes my chest tighten. I've known Cecilia since we were babies and I've always admired how strong she is. Lately, though, she's been carrying a weight I can't quite put into words. She's been open about her struggles with depression and how she's taking steps to focus on herself—therapy, work, church after finally forgiving me for everything. It's inspiring, but it's also hard to watch someone you care about fight battles you can't help with. 

I grab a drink and head over to her table. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Good," she says, her voice soft but steady. "Happy birthday, Jeremy."

"Thanks. Glad you could make it."

Mrs. Evans chimes in. "We wouldn't miss it. Your parents always throw the best parties."

"We try," I say, glancing at Eddie, who's now attempting to teach Uncle Frank how to do the Harlem Shake. "Sometimes the entertainment is...unplanned."

Cecilia laughs, a light, airy sound that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, everything's going to be okay.

The evening wears on, and the chaos—predictably—ramps up. At some point, Ellie announces that she's brought a surprise appetizer and everyone gathers around the patio table as she unveils a tray of what look like buffalo hot wings. The smell throws me off; they're sweet, not spicy, and I exchange a confused glance with Dylan.

"What's the deal?" He asks.

Ellie's grin is almost sinister. "Just try one."

Thomas, ever the guinea pig, picks one up and takes a bite. His eyes widen and for a second, I think he's about to spit it out. Instead, he starts laughing. "What the fuck? It's cake! These are cake wings!"

The rest of us dive in, the initial confusion giving way to delight as we realize she's somehow managed to make cake look and feel like hot wings, complete with a sweet glaze that mimics hot sauce.

"Ellie, this is genius," Athena giggles, her mouth full.

"I know," Ellie replies, preening. "Happy birthday, old folks."

Later, as the party starts to wind down, I find myself sitting on the back steps with Cecilia. The moon is high, casting a soft glow over the yard, and the sounds of laughter and music have faded to a low hum.

"You okay?" I ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

She nods, pulling her hoodie tighter around her shoulders. "Yeah. I think I needed this. Being around people, celebrating you and Athena turning thirty one. And Ellie's cake wings hit the spot. It's good for me."

"You seem like you're in a better place," I say carefully, not wanting to overstep.

She looks at me, her eyes steady. "I am. It's not easy, but I'm getting there. One step at a time, right?"

"Right."

We sit there for a while, watching the last of the guests trickle out. Reagan and her crew are the loudest as they leave, their SUV blasting DMX again, but this time it's "Ruff Ryder's Anthem" as they peel out of the driveway. Despite my earlier apprehension, they've managed not to destroy anything—a birthday miracle if there ever was one.

Athena joins us, plopping down on the step beside me. "Well, we survived another year," she says, raising an imaginary glass.

"Barely," I reply and the three of us laugh, the sound carrying into the cool night air.