Page 51 of Shockproof

Hand in hand, we work our way to the back patio, ushering guests outside with one partner seated while the other – the one with the dry erase board – is behind them. Being wedged between Nik and Hildy seems unwise; however, it beats being closer to Hildy’s parents or near the group of singles that Morris has been prowling around nonstop. The men – and one of the women who’s in a same sex couple – all nervously peer up at my mother and anxiously wait for her to reach inside to ask the first question.

Relief is instantly found in the first few subjects courtesy of them being so easy.

Favorite ice cream flavor?

Favorite color?

Favorite flower?

Favorite questions are super simple and kind of a no brainer, leaving little to no pressure on my shoulders.

One by one the person scribbles an answer and turns it around to face the judge. We each get a chance to answer verbally, and Mom announces if it’s a match or incorrect.

Almost everyone responds accurately, which is good because the next set of questions – strangely enough – grows in difficulty.

First crush?

Who did you take to prom?

Dream vacation location?

Slater hits each of these without missing a beat too, yet both of my brothers manage to miss two of the three in regard to their significant others resulting in their huffs and my dad as well as Hilda’s dad’s amused snorts.

“Firstrealfight?” Mom collectively asks the group. After a few beats, she starts on our end with Monte. “Nik?”

“Spending the night together,” my sister-in-law announces with such certainty that I can’t help the way my face scrunches from hearing Monte’s hiss of a wince.

“Shit,” he mutters, tiny forest green letters tumbling down my arm. “Can I have a do over?”

“No,” our mother informs while shaking her head. “Your answer was ‘relationship status’, which isnota match, therefore, no point.”

“Again?!” Nik sassily swings her round face around to cop an attitude with her husband. “How long have we been married? How are you getting so many of these wrong?!”

“Someone’s sleepin on the couch tonightttttt,” T taunts loudly prompting Monte to lean past Slater to slug him. “Ou!”

“Deserved,” Mom points prior to moving on to us. “Arley, you’re up.”

“I have an answer,” I meekly inform yet hesitate, “it’s just…It’s gonna probably sound silly to everyone else or not like a real fight, but it was one, I swear.”

“Sounds like excuses…” my tipsy engaged brother pokes.

“She’s not you,” his future father-in-law good naturedly needles.

“Ouch,” T pretends to be wounded. “And here I thought you liked me Mr. C.”

“Eh, I like you enough to let you marry my daughter.”

Laughter expanding throughout the backyard precedes my mother sweetly stating to me, “Arley, all that matters is that the fight was real to the two ofyou.” A loving nod of encouragement is slipped in between statements. “Now, go on. Tell us.”

“Okay.” Straightening my spine so that I sit higher is attached to me announcing, “Walking me to my car.”

“What!?” some of the guests echo causing me to shrink down.

Back into myself.

Shut my eyes at the overwhelming amount bursts of various colors and shapes.

“The statistics regardin’ the number of women who get attacked on their way to their car is fuckin’ alarmin’,” Slater speaks up, words and temperament both steady. “I didn’t want Angel Cake tobeone of those statistics, so I insisted she either let security do its job and walk her to her car, or she letmedo it whenever I was still at the office when she was. She took it like I was sayin’ she couldn’t handle herself, and I was jus’ sayin’ I didn’t want anything to happen to her.Ever.Especially not if I could’ve done somethin’ to prevent it.”

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