“I think it’ll lookkilleron you,” Kayla encourages. “It works for the party or for a date night.”
“I’m too excited about it not to wear it tonight,” I argue. “But you’re right. Maybe I can wear it again next week.”
A good outfit gets more than one use, right?
Music plays at a reasonable volume, and catered snacks litter the kitchen as I cruise by for another carrot dipped in ranch, waiting for my friends to arrive.
My mom and dad laugh with their friends Wes and Winnie Lancaster, and their daughter Lexi and son Wes Jr. post up on the couches in the living room. A chef works on the main courses on the backyard grill, and my new white skort and halter highlight my summer tan perfectly.
Evie is still in her room getting ready, claiming some kind of online emergency yet again, and I text Ace for the seventh time to get an update.
Me: Where the hell are you guys?
Ace: The traffic on the GW was fucking bananas. Thatcher hung his head out the window on more than one occasion saying he needed air like he’s a fucking husky or some shit. Gunnar is wearing five tons of Axe body spray though so I can’t even really blamehim
Me: Okay, I’m just bored!
Ace: TRUST ME when I say you wont be bored when we get there. My parents are fucking psychopaths
Me: Is my dad gonna flip out?
Ace: Most DEFINITELY
Me: Oh Jesus! Can you give me a hint?
Ace: Steve Irwin?
Me: The Australian guy who died? Did they exhume his body?????
Ace: Trust me Lia. Let yourself be surprised
Me: Fine. But you better be here soon.
Ace: We’re pulling into the front gate of the neighborhood now
I jump excitedly, grab another carrot dunked in ranch, and run for the front door to be waiting when they arrive. If Ace is saying something crazy is going down, I can trust that it really is unhinged, and I want to be the first person to know the details.
As I pull the heavy wooden front door shut behind me, the Kellys’ Escalade pulls up at the curb. Ace is the first to get out, and Gunnar is right behind him, strolling casually in an open button-down shirt. His whole chest is still out, but his shoulders are covered, so I guess he’s at least taking the occasion semi-seriously.
Thatch and Cassie get out the other side, and Nathan, Thatch’s driver, gets out and heads for the back hatch. I watch with pointed interest as he opens the door and then hesitates, Thatch stopping behind him and rubbing his hands together with excitement.
“What the hell is about to happen, Ace?” I ask, terrified.
“Well, Thatch says, at our parents’ age, if you’re not crockin’, you’re not rockin’.”
“Yeah. I’ve heard that before. About those shoes, right? What’d he get him, a bunch of shoes?”
“Oh, Lia. I beg of you…just wait.”
I turn back to the car just as a huge Rubbermaid bin is lifted out by Nathan and Thatch, holes drilled in the side and, if I’m not mistaken, a crocodile inside. A little baby crocodile, of course, but one, I imagine, will grow into an adult at some point in the not-so-distant future.
“Is that a—”
“Yep. It sure is.”
The Steve Irwin clue suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.
“My dad is going to lose his shit.”
