Chapter 3 - The Party Bus
I cut the engine and sat in the driver's seat for three seconds. Three deep breaths. In for four seconds, hold for four, out for six. It was the technique I used when a patient coded or when a family member started screaming at the nurses' station.
When I stepped out of the car, the humid morning air hit me like a wall.
The side doors of the passenger van slid open with a heavy mechanical clatter. Out poured my family and their expectations.
First came my mother, Diane, wearing her Sunday church cardigan despite the July heat, clutching a clipboard like she was about to inspect a military base. Behind her stepped my father, Russell, his face set in that permanent scowl that had governed my childhood. Then came my brother, Ethan, looking slightly rumpled in a polo shirt, holding the hand of his wife, Tessa, who was balancing a massive diaper bag on her shoulder and carrying a pastel-pink gift basket.
Behind them tumbled a chaotic stream of aunts, cousins from my father’s side I hadn’t seen in five years, and women from the First Baptist congregation whom I recognized only by their judgmental stares at the local grocery store.
My mother spotted me before I reached the walkway.
“Mara!” she called out, her voice cutting across the quiet suburban street like a buzzsaw. “Thank goodness. The driver got lost twice because you live in such a confusing neighborhood. Open the side door so we can start unloading the folding tables. The cake is in the air-conditioned back of the van, but it’s starting to sweat.”
I kept walking, my keys dangling from my right index finger. I wore my navy nursing scrubs—I hadn't even bothered changing—and my sneakers were scuffed with hospital floor polish.
“Mom,” I said, stopping at the foot of my porch steps.
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me right now, we have thirty-seven people arriving in staggered groups because of the parking restrictions, and you aren’t even dressed!” Diane marched down the sidewalk, her silver-rimmed glasses flashing in the sunlight. “Where are Noah and Lily? I told you they needed to be out by eight this morning so Tessa could set up the photo booth in the living room.”
My father joined her, crossing his arms over his protruding stomach. “And where are Ethan and Tessa’s suitcases? They’re in the van. I told Ethan to bring them up right away so we could claim the master bedroom before it gets cluttered with your things.”
Across the street, Mrs. Gable, our elderly neighbor, peered through her living room sheer curtains with intense, undisguised neighborhood fascination.
I looked past my parents at the massive passenger van idling against my curb, exhaust pumping gray fumes into the morning air. Then I looked at the crowd of church ladies assembling on my front lawn, eyeing my hydrangeas like they were property of the parish.
“You’re standing on my grass,” I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it carried a strange, flat stillness that made my mother pause mid-sentence.
“What did you say?” Diane blinked, adjusting her cardigan.
“I said, you’re standing on my grass. And you’re parked illegally in front of a fire hydrant.” I pointed a finger toward the yellow curb ten feet down. “If that bus isn't moved in two minutes, the city parking enforcement will tow it. They ticket this street every Saturday morning.”
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Silence fell over the front yard for three full seconds. Even the cousins stopped unfolding the collapsible lawn chairs they had pulled from the back of the van.
Ethan stepped forward, looking uncomfortable. “Come on, sis. Don't be like that. Mom said you were cool with it. We just need the house for the weekend. And obviously, we’re moving in tonight. I already told my boss I’m working remote from your spare room starting Monday.”
