Page 2 of Those Two Words

Oh, maybe not.

Our parents try to hold back their laughter, before ushering us out of the room, and my dad locks his office back up. I look at him guiltily, but he just chuckles and ruffles my hair as he pockets the keys.

“C’mon, you two, it’s nearly midnight and you don’t want to miss the celebrations,” my mom says as she walks ahead with everyone else.

We walk back to the party and my dad pulls Johanna and me into his side. I think he’s about to tell us off, but then he presses something into my hand. I look down at the yellow wrapper of my favorite flavor of Starburst before grinning up at my dad.

He is so cool.

“Patrick, you can’t be telling people about a lady’s…business,” my dad says quietly—probably talking about when I told everyone Johanna needed to go poop.

“I’m sorry, Johanna,” I mumble and peer around my dad at my best friend on his other side. “You forgive me, right?”

“Hmmm.” She thinks for a second and then smiles. “Yeah, but only if you let me have the first sparkler now.”

“Okay,” I agree, because that seems to make her smile, and I like making my friend smile.

Everyone is still dancing around the room when we get back to the front of the restaurant. The tables have been pushed aside, people are singing at the top of their lungs about some summer that happened a long time ago, and the lights from the DJ booth flicker across the room and reflect off the disco ball hanging from the ceiling. The room is covered in a hundred specks of light, like the dance floor is made up of little stars.

I think it’s pretty cool that our dads own a restaurant, because we get to hang out here after school and eat as many lobster rolls as we want. Johanna and I decided we would run this place together when we’re older. She’s my best friend, so who else would I do it with? Plus, I don’t like any other girls but her, so it makes sense that we’ll be married too.

“Okay, kids, let’s take a picture of you both and then you can run off to cause more trouble. The clock is about to strike midnight,” Johanna’s mom tells us and makes a shooing motion with her hand as my dad stands in front of us with his Polaroid camera. “Huddle up close.”

We stand in front of the big driftwood bar in the restaurant, ready to pose for the picture. Once we’re standing next to each other with smiles on our faces, I whisper in her ear, “I know how I can make it up to you.”

“For what?”

“For saying what I said back there.”

“How?”

“Close your eyes.”

She looks confused but after a moment she closes her eyes and stands there.

“Okay, keep them shut,” I command.

“Ten,” everyone begins to shout around us. I realize we’re seconds away from midnight, so I need to act fast.

“Patrick, what are you doing?”

“Nine. Eight.”

“I know we’re not married yet.” I have to shout over everyone counting down.

“Seven.”

“But I won’t embarrass you like that when we’re husband and wife.”

“Six. Five.”

“We’ll be a team when we run this place.”

“Four. Three.”

Ignoring my clammy hands, I lean in closer to her. I really don’t want her to be mad at me.

“Two.”

---