Page 65 of A Midsummer Night's Ghost

“Um…I haven’t met his family yet. They live in Pennsylvania.”

“Interesting. How old is he?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Divorced? Kids?”

“No and no.”

“Never married? I wonder why that is? Gambling debt? Selfish? A man child?”

“Maybe he just never found the right woman,” I said, trying to save Alyssa.

“I guess it was love at first sight then. If you believe in that sort of thing.”

It was clear she did not.

Alyssa sighed in relief when Mom excused herself to get another cupcake.

“I always feel like your mom is interrogating me like I’m on the witness stand. This is why I never wanted to sleepover at your house in high school.”

“I understand. I almost wanted to be the hangout house, you know that, but it was never going to happen.” Even watchingher now, I could see she was eyeing our ancient stove with pure disdain.

“No way. Your mom was scary and your house was so clean I was afraid to touch anything.”

“Your parents were chill. Plus, your house had all the good snacks too.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Alyssa said, squeezing her hips. “Thanks for the chips and cookies, Mom and Dad.”

Alyssa’s parents had a theory that you shouldn’t say no to kids at all.

That setting a positive example would allow their kids' internal compass to guide them in the right direction. It had been semi-successful, depending on how you gauged success.

“You’re not afraid of anything and I’m a worrier, so whose method worked better?” I asked wryly.

“How do you see yourself as a parent?”

That made me immediately anxious. “Well. Not as a mom who sees ghosts, that’s for sure,” I said, keeping my voice low so no one else would hear.

Alyssa laughed. “Yes. You should probably work on that.”

Speaking of ghosts…

Ryan was sitting at the kitchen table having a major discussion with my grandmother and my mother had noticed. Grandma was telling Ryan, “They say life is a journey.”

“Mine wasn’t a journey so much as a quick bus ride,” Ryan said.

“Your mother is talking to air,” my mother said to my dad. “Aren’t you at all concerned?”

He didn’t appear to be concerned. “She’s old. What do you expect?”

“It’s a whole conversation.”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” Grandma said. “I’m talking to a ghost, so mind your beeswax. I’m not losing my mind or my hearing.”

My mother gave my dad a told-you-so look.

The truth was, Grandma was losing her hearing. Not totally, but enough that Jake and I could watch TV after she went to bed at high volumes and it didn’t bother her. She definitely was not losing her mind.

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