“It was divine,” Mom says.
“Then the meteor shower started, and it was like being at the Hollywood Bowl. But better.” Dad shakes his head in disbelief.
Mom nods. “What about you two? Did you have a good time?”
Gavin and I take turns telling them about our night while Mom folds the blankets they took with them. When I tell them about how I thought the fireflies were meteors at first, we share a laugh, knowing how any of us could have easily made the same mistake. Just as Dad is putting away the blankets in the hall closet, he startles us.
“Look what I found.” Dad holds up a box in his hands to show us. “Life!” As he says this, his breath rouses a cloud of dust to appear in the space between us.
“Are you sure you don’t meandeath? Because surely something must have died in there.” I fan the dust away from me.
“Oh, I’ve played this before. It’s a board game.” Gavin reads thebox carefully. “Except the logo looks different.”
“It says it’s the original game from 1960,” Mom reads off the box. “Should we play it?”
“Sure, why not?” I say, since we’re all wide awake. Besides, I haven’t played a family game in…well, there’s a first time for everything.
A few minutes later, we’ve cleared the table, and Dad reads out the instructions to us. “It says to first choose the banker. I think we all know it’s me.”
“Why you?” Mom asks.
“Because it says so right here in the instructions: ‘Choose the banker.Hewill be responsible for all the money.’ ”
Not sure these directions based on outdated gender norms make a strong argument, but I let him have it. I don’t want to be the banker anyway. Gavin and Mom don’t push it either.
“Okay, now pick a car and put a little peg in it,” Dad instructs us.
I choose a blue peg because that’s my favorite color.
“Elena, come on.” Dad eyes me. “Just take the pink peg.”
“What’s the big deal? I like blue better,” I say, not for one second taking him seriously. But Dad doesn’t budge. “It’s just a peg, Dad. Calm down.”
“I think I’m going to want a blue peg too.” Mom swoops in to change hers from pink to blue.
“Gloria, no—”
“I do like a good pink,” Gavin says, cutting Dad off. We exchange a quick smile. Even in our disagreement, we’ve reached a new level of getting along. And I’m not saying I take pleasure in watching people squirm, but it’s fun to mess with Dad, especially ’cause we’re all in it together. Even Mom.
“Fine, let’s move on,” Dad grumbles. “We spin to see who goes first.”
The old spinny wheel miraculously still works, making atick, tick, ticksound as it spins and lands on a number.
“Oh, yay! I get to go first,” I say when my number ends up being the highest. I rub my hands together and spin the wheel again, landing on the number four. Right off the bat, I have to choose between the business or college route. Business gets me working faster, but the salary is lower. If I go the college route, I take the longer path to getting a job, but the salary potential is higher. We’re playing a game, so I go the college route.
“Good. Wise choice,” Dad says approvingly.
“Honey, this isn’t real life. It’s just a game.” Mom nudges him.
“I’m only saying it was a good choice. This route may take longer, but look at the earning potential.”
Gavin gives me a subtle look and smirks. “I think I’ll start working right away.” As I knew he would, he moves his car to the business side of the game.
“Gavin, no—” Dad starts to say, but Mom shushes him by placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Not only is it a game from the 1960s, it’s cisnormative, supremely biased, and elitist,” I point out. “You can’t expect us to take the game seriously.”
“Besides, is it so bad to go to a trade school? Plenty of famous chefs went to culinary school instead of a four-year college,” Gavin says.
