Page 58 of Make Me Bee-lieve
But for today, we’re all still wearing our flip flops and t-shirts and basking in the warmth of summer’s glow—and everything feels … perfect. Even if my girlfriend does like to embarrass me as often as she can.
Polina finds me anyway and takes my hand in hers and squeezes it. “Your mother was asking if you could grab more ice soon. We’re running low,” she says.
I sigh. “Again? Already? I just restocked it an hour ago…”
“I know, but she says it melted already. But … I could go with you? We could stop at the apartment real quick if that provides any incentive.”
Okay, it does. I look down at her, my head tilted, and grin. “Are you propositioning me, Sunshine?”
Her ruby red lips curl into a sly grin. “Maybe I am. I guess you’ll have to leave with me to find out, won’t you?”
But before she and I can sneak off for the car, my brother steps out of his in the parking lot. He’s lugging a huge case of beer on his shoulder. Jules steps out of the passenger side, holding a tote bag full of chips. When she sees us, she waves.
“Oh, good. Maybe we can get Elvis to go get the ice instead,” I say.
Polina flashes me a frown. “Are you saying you don’t want to?—”
“No, no. That’s not what I’m saying,” I quickly say, and peck her on the cheek. “Of course not. But I really don’t want to have to go get ice again.”
Then a couple more people get out of Elvis’s car. Two people I don’t recognize. A man in his mid-thirties runs around to the other side of the car and opens the door, and a beautiful woman in a tight leather dress steps out. Her raven black hair is so shiny it catches in the sunlight and glimmers. She reminds me of an old-fashioned pin up girl from the 1960s.
“Hey, Po?” I nudge my girlfriend in the arm. “Can we find you a dress like that? Please?”
Polina looks the woman up and down as the group approaches us.
“Maybe,” Polina mutters under her breath.
The man beside the mystery woman is clad in a sharp white dress shirt and a pair of slacks. They’re dressed up so formally for a picnic. Who are they?
I walk over to my brother and clap a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Elvis. Who are your friends?” I ask. Meanwhile, Polina strides up to the woman, already extending her hand to the newcomer. The woman smiles politely and shakes her hand.
Elvis sets the case of beer down beside the table. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Forgot to tell you and Mom that I was bringing over friends. This is Byron. He’s my co-worker,” he says. “And his wife, Faith.”
Polina smiles at Faith and points at her dress. “That is stunning. Wherever did you get it?”
Faith feigns a blush, smooths the non-existent creases in her dress, and says, “Oh, this? I got it on clearance at Saxton’s on the corner of Ninth and Chestnut.”
“Wow,” Polina says, nodding. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Our mother wedges herself between me and Elvis and elbows me in the gut. “You didn’t get that ice yet? Sweetheart, the drinks are going to get warm!” Then she notices the newcomers and throws her hands up in the air. “Oh, sweetie! You didn’t tell me we had more guests! I would have gotten extra hot dogs!”
“On it, Mom,” Elvis says. Jules opens her tote bag and pulls out a few packs of hot dogs.
“Ta da,” she says as she hands them to my mother. “I told Elvis he should have called and told you about the new additions last night, but he wanted it to be a surprise.”
Elvis lets out a deep, throaty laugh. “Hey, not wearing your dorky bowtie today? Or your pocket protector? What’s up with that? You’re actually wearing regular people clothes.”
I roll my eyes, and Polina stops chatting with Faith to glare at my brother and emit a soft growl in his direction.
“Whoa, whoa. Okay, sorry, Polina. I’m just bustin’ his balls a little,” he says, throwing his hands up in defeat.
Polina’s eyes narrow. “Bust them less,” she hisses. “My Calvin looks perfect in his bowtie, by the way.”
Faith blinks as she looks up at her husband, who beams back down at her. “Oh, I like her,” she murmurs. “I like her a lot.”
“You two probably have a lot in common,” Byron says, then winks at me. “In more ways than one, I’d wager.”
What does that mean? Before I can puzzle it out, the crowd moves over to the picnic tables and grill to get the hot dogs going. Faith piles a paper plate high with Polina’s homemade watermelon and feta salad while they chat. A few bees buzz past, zipping over one of the trees, and my heart leaps into my throat.
