Page 2 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

But I appreciated the confidence the director, Sara Murphy, had in her actors.

Sara and I had gone to high school together, where she had been an It Girl. National Honor Society, drama club, salutatorian, lacrosse player, and student council president. Not to mention gorgeous with flawless skin. Yet you couldn’t even hate her (I can admit to being jealous in high school though) because she was genuinely nice to everyone, had founded the inclusivity club, and logged the most volunteer hours of our entire graduation class.

After heading to NYU and a stint as an actress in some off-Broadway shows, Sara was back home in Cleveland, working on a teaching degree and volunteering at the senior center.

Grandma Burke’s role was “A Young Woman of Athens,” which obviously delighted her. She’d started referring to herself as a Greek goddess at random intervals, much to my father’s irritation and Jake’s amusement.

“Let me call Dad and see if he can pick you up,” I told her. “We still have a quarter of the truck to unload.”

“What happened to Jake’s friends? I thought they were supposed to help you.”

“I did too.”

It just so happened though that Jake never actually asked anyone to help.

Which tracked with his personality.

Why ask for help when you can stubbornly do it all on your own and risk a back injury?

“Your father is too busy drinking and whoring to pick me up,” Grandma Burke said.

I almost fell off the wicker loveseat at that.

I knew my grandmother had a problem with both Dad’s drinking and his recent divorce from my mom, but those were strong words. But considering that he didn’t make a ton of time for his aging mother, I couldn’t blame her for being salty. She was living with me and not him for that very reason.

“Let me at least text him.”

Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I saw I had a text from Jake’s mother.

Can I drop by in an hour to see the house? I have a bundt cake for you and Jake.

On second thought.

“I’ll just take you, Grandma.”

Jake’s mother was not happy that we were living together without being married. She was even less happy that we were not even engaged yet and kept dropping not-so-subtle hints about a ring. I could use a day free from her criticisms of my age, my job, the birthday party I had thrown for Jake, and my apparently incredible talent at “bamboozling” her son into putting his name on a mortgage with me without us being married.

To be fair, my career had seen better days. But the rest? I don’t consider being twenty-eight an issue for anything other than I was at the age that half my friend group was getting married, and the birthday party waslovely, thank you very much. Jake would have been content with a six-pack of beer, some cupcakes, and me in only high heels and a bow.

Plus, I’d never bamboozled in my life.

I wouldn’t even know where to begin with bamboozling.

It was Jake’s idea to buy a house together and he—mostly—picked this very dated, rambling, nineteen-forties bungalow.

I texted her back, wanting to avoid seeing her and enduring another round of I-can’t-believe-you-bought-a-house-without-being-at-least-engaged guilt cycle.

Jake will be here but I have to take my grandmother to an appointment. I’m sorry I’ll miss you. Bundt cake, yum, thank you!

“Jake’s mother?” Grandma gave me a shrewd look.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“You always get a panicked look when she texts you.”

I couldn’t even deny it.

“You think I’d be desensitized to strong women, given Mom, but I can’t help it. Jake’s mom is relentless with this marriage thing. My mom may only give me a hug on my birthday and Christmas, but she also doesn’t even bother to harass me about marriage anymore.”

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