This one was different.
I don’t have time to unpack that thought before Griffin and David burst into the room, eyes darting from Jack to the costumes, then back to Jack. They let out a matching howl of laughter, tag-teaming an effort to yank his heather gray long sleeve over his head, revealing a torso that’s been perfectly sculpted by the required stamina for fire fighting.
I look away quickly, my cheeks flushing as I rush into the hallway bathroom to put on my costume. The last thing I need is more content for the incessant dreams that arestillmaking a nightly appearance.
God I can’t wait for these hormones to calm down.
I change into the yellow t-shirt, then loosen the straps on the overalls to get them over my bump. I pull the goggles over my eyes, then slide on the black gloves before looking in the mirror and taking in my appearance.
It’s absolutely fucking perfect.
I emerge from the bathroom at the same time as Jack steps out into the hallway, both of us stopping dead in our tracks when we catch sight of each other.
“Good lord,” he mutters, looking me slowly up and down. “Abby Thompson, you’ve got to be the only person in the world who can look that pretty in a minion costume.”
“You’re not too bad yourself,” I say, hoping my teasing tone covers the fact that he just knocked the wind out of me.
“I mean it, pretty girl,” he says, stepping toward me. “You’re glowing.”
I blink rapidly, my heart fluttering in my chest at the nickname he used the night I was angry with him for leaving. I thought he was placating me, making up for the misstep by being exceedingly nice.
Goddamn do I like the way that sounds.
“Sorry,” he says, eyes widening at the realization of what he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay. I told you not to forget that I’m pretty. Glad to see you listened.” I hope I sounded as nonchalant as I was trying to be. Unfortunately I am feelingverychalant right now.
We stand awkwardly for a few seconds before he points wordlessly over his shoulder, and I follow behind him as he heads out the front door and into the Halloween explosion Griffin has concocted in the front yard.
Neon purple and orange ghosts project from the contraption on the ground, dancing across the front of the house. The trees and bushes are covered in fake cobwebs, giant spiders spread haphazardly throughout. A comically large cauldron of candy sits in the middle of the grass, five folding chairs spaced evenly in a half-moon around it. Ellie and Griffin have taken the left two seats, her perfect golden ringlets and pink feather boa a sharp contrast to his homemade felt jacket and green sprayed hair.
“I see that the bulk of the costume budget went to Ellie,” I call as I take the seat next to David, Jack rounding out the circle at the far-right end. “But you look like you’re being very brave about it, Griff.”
“Listen,” he says, scooting his chair close to Ellie’s and placing an arm around her shoulders. “My wife’s job is to be the most gorgeous thing on this side of the Mississippi.Myjob is to say ‘whatever you want, darlin’.’”
“Good man,” I laugh, and Ellie grabs his chin, tilting her face up to kiss him with a smile on her face. The sight makes my heart sink–not because I’m not happy for them. I’ve never been more grateful that two people ended up together than when they finally sorted their shit out.
It’s knowing that Aaron won’t ever kiss me like that again that makes me feel like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. It hits methat soon, somethingwillbe kicking me in the stomach–another thing that Aaron will miss out on.
Just like that, the joy from the costumes is replaced by agonizing grief. Somehow sensing the shift, Jack reaches out and coaxes my fist open. I didn't realize I’d clenched my hands shut during my internal spiral. I look at him with more of a grimace than anything, and slip my palm against his, not letting go.
If anyone notices, they don’t say anything. Although I doubt anyone actually noticed, since David’s time to shine has come. He whips his garish cape over his face with his forearm at approaching trick-or-treaters before revealing the fake blood dripping from the vampire fangs attached to his incisors.
“I vant–”
“Do not tell these children you want to suck their blood,” I hiss.
“–to give you candy!” he declares, wisely heeding my warning.
He does this routine over and over, sometimes to laughs and sometimes to actual screams from some of the younger children. “Sorry!” he yells after a group, the mom shooting daggers at him while the dad reassures the crying boy that he isn’t a real vampire.
Around ten p.m. the last of the teenagers still holding on to the childhood tradition of collecting as much candy as possible clear the street, silence falls over the neighborhood. But instead of feeling spooky, it feels peaceful, like the moment after finishing a project you’ve worked on painstakingly for weeks.
“Just think,” Ellie says, stifling a yawn. “This time next year we’ll have a tiny ginger angel to dress up.”
“Oh my god,” David says, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “Abby.” He looks at me pleadingly, so earnest I have to fight hard to hold back laughter. “You have to let me and fetus do matching costumes. Me and my new best friend are going to look so fucking cool.”
“Not on your life,” I laugh. “Unless you’re okay dressing up as Piglet. Little One is going to be Winnie the Pooh whether they like it or not.”
