Page 82 of Press Play

“You were the one who put them out?—”

“Don’t speak.”

Wren removes the shooter from my chest. I’m expecting her to drop it and apologize for us both. So when she raises it at my mom and sprays her, my jaw drops along with my mother’s.

Wren laughs, and it’s not long before Mom gives in. “Oh, it’s on now.”

“Get her!” Wren tells the kids, and as mom scrambles for a gun, the kids chase after her, drenching her with streams of water.

Wren and I watch the scene play out before us, taking a seat on the abandoned chairs.

“We just gave these kids one kick-ass core memory,” I tell her.

“I think we gave your mom one as well.”

I’m not used to seeing Mom like this—carefree and lighthearted. She’s always working hard and looking out for everyone else. This is a nice change of pace, and while I started this crazy scenario, I wouldn’t have had the guts to bring her into it. This is all Wren, and I hope she knows just how much she means to my mother and me.

The party started to disperse when the sun began to set. Mom is notorious for her “in bed by nine” routine, but the birthday girl didn’t get her way this time. One of my uncles decided to start a fire in the firepit, and with a drink in hand, Wren and I join him, a few of my cousins, and my mother.

“And there I was, in the middle of our backyard, face to face with an anaconda,” Uncle Mikal says.

“The closest you’ve ever come to a snake was in the garden, and it was noanaconda.” Mom waves a hand, dismissing him.

With a small chuckle, I sit in the grass and stretch my legs.

“You weren’t even there!” my uncle states.

“Of course I was! You dragged me everywhere you went!” Mom’s voice raises.

Landing on her knees, Wren taps my shoulder. “Let me in, I’m cold.”

Without a second thought, I lean back, and she gets comfortable between my legs. I wrap my arms around her, and she rests against my chest. With a sigh of contentment, I kiss her temple, and she hums.

“If I’m such a liar, explain the pack of raccoons,” Mikal continues.

“Oh, here we go again.” Mom sighs while throwing her hands in the air. “They were local and not out to get you.”

“Ah, dear sister, then explain why they followed us when we moved across the state.”

“Those were different raccoons.”

“That’s a load of shit and you know it!”

I rest my chin on top of Wren’s head as Mom and her brother go back and forth. Wren’s breathing slows to a steady rhythm, and I hold her tighter, trying my best to keep her warm from the cool wind.

“Wren is smart. Ask her about the raccoons,” Uncle Mikal says.

“She’s sleeping,” I tell them.

“How can you tell without looking at her?”

Mom responds for me. “Leave them alone. They don’t need a crazy old man like you bothering them.”

“Me? Loco? Disparates. Wren adores me as much as I her.”

“That doesn’t mean you can wake her,” Mom retorts.

“Fine, fine. I’ll ask her another time.” He concedes.

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