• That week the house felt more like home than it ever had before. Having my parents and their problems out of the house made me realize how much space they took up. I was making breakfast for Chris at 1 P.M. in my bathing suit, and I kept shifting my feet on the cold tiles. I wanted to put some music on or something, but instead I just stared at the egg mixture in the pan. Chris sauntered in from the back yard in his own bathing suit, dripping water on the floor. He gave me a nod and slumped onto the counter.

    “You’re such a good house wife,” he teased.

    “Don’t interrupt,” I said, “Scrambled eggs are an art. I need focus.”

    He grabbed an orange from the basket and tossed it from one hand to another. “I wanna play.”

    “Stop,” I said. “I need focus.”

    “That’s not what you need. You need to play.”

    I sighed, set the spatula down, and moved the pan off of the burner. We each grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge, drank them in seconds, and then decided to take turns reading from my mother’s self-help books while standing on top of the kitchen table.

    “What one must realize,” Chris read in a fake British accent, “is that in the absence of hope, there lies hope itself. Faith will come up from the fields of dread and sorrow, and like any other crop, faith needs time to grow. And time, dear friend, is your friend too.”

    “I hate the way he refers to his readers as ‘Friends,’” I leaned back in my chair and nibbled on an apple, “It’s so patronizing.”

    Chris held up the back of the book to show the author’s photo. A fat man with a red face and white beard smiled down at me.

    “Dude,” he said, “It’s Dr. Scott B. Scott B. is your friend. He wants to help you. And me. He wants to help us.”



    Ned and Lucy came and went as they pleased. The house became our post-adolescent clubhouse. We held marathon Ouija board sessions between the four of us in the living room and cooked barbeque on the patio. One night Chris and Ned stayed up all night doing God knows what while Lucy and I slept upstairs. I came down to find a large winding crack in the sliding door that led to the back yard the next morning. Chris and Ned were eating frosted cereal at the table, bags under their blood shot eyes.

    “What happened?!” I exclaimed. “My parents are going to kill me!”

    “He fell,” Ned said.

    “I fell,” Chris repeated. “My head did that.”

    I slumped against the kitchen counter and found myself glaring at Ned more that Chris. I felt a bit jealous of him, jealous that the two of them had been up all night together wreaking havoc in the house without me. I glanced over to the refrigerator and noticed it was covered with magnetic letters.

    “Where did those come from?” I asked. “Did you go out and buy refrigerator magnets last night?”

    “I’m not sure,” Chris said. “but I’m thinking yes, we must have.”

    “At least you’re thinking,” Ned moaned. “That’s more than I can say for myself.”



    That night we invited Gina and her friends over for a few hours. We put some music on and sat outside like we always did.

    “Let’s get in the pool,” Lucy tugged at my shirt.

    “Dude,” Chris said. “He owns a pool. He’s so over pools.”

    “I’m not over pools,” I objected, but I still didn’t want to get in. Chris and Lucy shrugged and jumped into the water. They make a bubbling splash then came up for air, laughing in the spontaneity of it all. They waved at me, and I waved back.



    The rest of the party was spent hanging out with Ned, which was hard because he kept flirting up a storm with Molly Baker. When morning came ‘round, and Gina got everyone together to say good bye, we all clapped when Molly slipped Ned’s Vas Deferens T-shirt over her bikini; a token of his love. When she walked across the lawn to join the rest of her friends, Ned shook his fists at the sky victoriously.



    We all went inside and sat in the living room, waiting to fall asleep. I took blankets and set them all over the floor and couches. Chris fell to the love seat and turned to me. He yawned, stretched, and said, “You’re such a good house wife.”



    I was sitting on the side of the pool with Lucy the next morning, watching Chris and Ned roughhousing in the water. When they had worn themselves out they played dead and floated on the surface of the pool.

    “It’s so hot out,” Lucy said. “I love it.”

    “I’m more of an Autumn person, myself,” I said.

    “Aw,” Lucy teased, “How sensitive of you.” She wiggled her toes into the grass and earth and played with the dirt.

    “I love having the house to ourselves,” Lucy smiled.

    “It’s like we are in our own little bubble,” I agreed.



    From inside of the house I heard a horrified shriek. I turned to see Mom gaping at the giant crack in the glass door and Dad next to her, looking at the trashed yard and us in the middle of it. Their bags were next to them, still in their hands.

    “That’s the thing about bubbles,” Lucy said, grabbing her phone and sweatshirt and standing up. She took my hand as well and helped me onto my feet.

    “They burst.”