A tray of Jell-O shots starts a path around the room and Emil intercepts it before they can cruise by us. He looks at me questioningly and takes two red ones when I nod. “Cheers,” he says, tapping the rim of his against mine.
The pat of cherry Jell-O slides easily down my throat with a tang from the alcohol that makes my lips smack. Emil crushes my cup with the one in his hand and takes them to a nearby trash can. DeeDee swoops in as soon as he’s gone, eyes wide and smile huge. “Holding hands. You guys are the real deal, huh?”
“We haven’t talked about it, really.” My face is hot like I’m talking to an audience instead of my best friend. “I don’t know what we are.”
“Whatever, I’m just glad you finally realized what a goddamn catch he is,” she whispers, bouncing away as Emil returns.
The sound system in Alicia’s house plays through every room, the recessed speakers emitting a mix of patriotic music that’s almost never played outside of this holiday and sporting events. Emil and I wander through the house, examining the intimate belongings of a person we only know peripherally. Family pictures cover the walls of the living room and front hallway, framed photos of Alicia, her mother, and her older sister. The dining room and kitchen are practically bursting with alcohol, more than I’ve ever seen in one place and certainly more than we usually have at our parties.
Justin finds us in the dining room next to a half dozen types of tequila. He’s carefully holding three plastic cups of beer, the foam almost brimming over the top.
“Have you seen Lionel?” I try to sound casual as I ask, but I see Emil’s head turn slightly toward me and he must sense my worry.
“He’s outside with his girl. They’re hanging all over each other.”
“Oh,” I say flatly.
Emil looks at me again. “You don’t like her?” he asks, and I realize I never introduced them, that the only thing he knows about her is she’s my coworker and Lionel’s girlfriend.
But before I can answer, a loud pop interrupts my train of thought—not as loud as I’d imagine a shotgun sounds, but definitely not a car backfiring, either.
“What the fuck is that?” Alicia says, pressing down on her hat. She’s standing a few feet away with DeeDee, but when the popping noise doesn’t stop she cuts her way through the people in the room, heading out to the backyard.
We all follow and as soon as I see Lionel and Rafaela standing with a lighter and the paper bag between them, I stop by the door. Alicia keeps walking out to them, and I think maybe she’ll be angry, but instead she laughs and says, “Oh my God, you got fireworks? Yes!”
“Your neighbors are going to be so pissed,” DeeDee calls out, standing next to me.
“So what?” Rafaela calls back, doing a little shimmy. A fireworks dance. “It’s not even midnight. We’ll set them all off at once. Come on!”
And DeeDee does. So does Justin, and then it’s just Emil and me, watching silently as the five of them light up the contents of the bag in a steady stream of hissing, whistling sparks and pops that make my heart beat too fast. I want to walk away but I’m afraid of what will happen if I do, so I plug my ears and stand next to Emil.
“Happy fucking Fourth of July!” Lionel yells at the top of his lungs, and everyone laughs and joins in his cheers, and I wonder if one of the neighbors will call the cops if this keeps up.
“Is your brother…” Emil pauses, careful with his words. “Is he doing all right?”
I don’t say anything, which is an answer in itself.
They save the sparklers for last, Rafaela lighting them up and handing them out as if she’s a mom distributing Halloween candy. She dances over to us with a sparkler in each hand, twirling the fiery sticks like pyrotechnic batons. I shake my head when she holds one out to me and Emil does the same, and she shrugs and smirks as if to say it’s our loss.
Soon the ground is littered with debris and the air smells like rotten eggs and Rafaela is pirouetting across the yard with the last sparkler in one hand and my brother’s hand in the other as he twirls her around and around.
Justin wanders back over to us, swirling a finger through the head on his topped-off beer. “Some people are getting a game of flip cup going in the garage. You guys game?”
“I’ll watch,” I say, but I’m not looking at him. I’m still watching Rafaela and Lion, hoping their excessive energy will die out with the sparkler.
“Dude, you drove us here.” Emil raises an eyebrow at Justin. They exchange a couple of looks until Emil sighs. “And I guess I’m driving us home.”
We follow Justin to the garage, where a long card table has been set up in the middle, away from the dusty boxes and bicycles and crates filled to bursting stacked alongside the walls. Two pitchers of beer are set up on either end of the table and teams are assembling, a tangle of arms and plastic cups attempting to find their way to the appropriate side. I try not to look for Lionel, and Emil tries to pretend like he doesn’t notice me looking, but it’s obvious every time I whip my head around when someone new comes into view.
And then Lionel is standing on the end farthest from us and I tense up instantly. I remember what he said at the lake: I’m not doing anything wrong. And right now, he’s not. He’s laughing and holding a beer like everyone else, taking sips as he talks to Rafaela. The shouting, firework-shooting guy from just a few minutes ago seems to have calmed down, which calms me down, at least for a moment. I remind myself that this is what I wanted—for him to be back out again, hanging with our friends, acting like he belongs with everyone else.
But now that he is, I’m worried. He was supposed to be around us as his new self—pills, regulated moods, and all. Not off his meds and glued to Rafaela and already way too comfortable with partying. I was nervous in the tree house when we drank the rum with DeeDee, but that was controlled. Close to home, with people he knows. Now I think he might be trying to keep up with everyone else, pretending he’s had more experience with alcohol than he really has.
The hand not holding a beer involuntarily tightens at my side, perhaps because I’m so tempted to walk across the room and pull him away—from Rafaela and the game and all the buzzing in this room that he doesn’t need to soak up.