Aunt Maxine took great pride in her annual Fourth of July party and pulled out all the stops to make sure it was fantastic. We spent the next two days deep cleaning her house, even the porch, and she hired gardeners and pool maintenance workers to spruce things up.
On the Fourth of July, I woke up to half the house already decorated in splashes of red, white, and blue. Aunt Maxine was wearing her usual outfit of blue jeans and a white shirt, but that day she also wore red lipstick and an American flag bandana around her curly white hair.
“Good morning, sunshine. Happy Independence Day!”
“How long have you been decorating?”
“Paula and some friends got here about two hours ago to help me get started. People will be here around one, so we have to hurry. Would you rather help cook or decorate?”
“Cook.”
“Great! You get the great honor of making red, white, and blue fruit kabobs and brownies. Think you can do it?" She winked playfully.
“I won’t let you down.”
“That’s my girl. I have to help Johnny and the boys hang the outdoor stuff,” a rapid knock on the door slowed her steps. “Now, who could that be?”
She bustled over to the door and called out in surprise, “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Laughter and muffled voices floated around the corner to me as I wondered who Aunt Maxine was so pleasantly surprised to see.
“Riley, what on earth are you doing here so early, honey?”
“Paula was telling me yesterday that she and some other people from church were helping you set up for the party and I volunteered. After so many years of just attending, I figured it’s about time I came to help.”
“Aren’t you sweet, and on your birthday too. Well, you can help Emily in the kitchen. You can make pigs in a blanket. Holler if y’all need anything,” Aunt Maxine said as she rushed out the door.
Riley and I said hello to each other as I fumbled with the skewers.
“Did I hear that it’s your birthday?”
“It is. My parents always used to bring me to Maxine’s Fourth of July parties as a way to celebrate my birthday. Who could blame them? She knows how to throw one heck of a party.”
I waved my watermelon, feta, and blueberry skewer at all the decorations. “Oh, she definitely knows how to party.”
We both laughed and shared a knowing smile.
“I hope I have as much energy as she does when I’m her age. I’m forty-two today, but I don’t feel it. I think my internal age is still . . . twenty-three or so.”
“You’re forty-two? I would’ve guessed much younger.”
Her round cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink. “Aren’t you sweet. Sarah tells me you’re from California — must be pretty different from East Texas, huh?”
I took the hint to change the topic and talk about myself, so I told her all about how different it was and why I had to come spend the summer with a great-aunt I’d never met until just two months before.
She gushed over how wonderful Aunt Maxine was and shared how happy she was that Sarah and I were becoming friends. We had such a nice time talking to each other that I hadn’t even noticed I’d made three dozen fruit kebabs, or that the brownies in the oven were dangerously close to being burnt. We finished cooking and spent about another hour helping Aunt Maxine with tasks before being allowed to go get ready.
Up in my room, I pulled on jean shorts, a red tank top, and my white flip-flops. I glanced at the mirror briefly, reminding myself not to be so worried about how I looked.
The grandfather clock in the hall struck one, and right on cue the first of many vehicles parked in the grass outside. I made my way back downstairs to join Aunt Maxine in greeting everyone.
It didn’t take long for the party to get into full swing once people started arriving. Kids swam in the shallow end of the pool while nervous mothers watched from afar with blinged-out red, white, and blue shirts. One of Aunt Maxine’s ranch hands had brought his huge grill, and he and two other men were diligently serving up hamburgers and hotdogs for people.
Several older men sat under the shade of oak trees and drank beer while talking about past Fourth of July adventures and how much the world had changed in their time. Young married couples sipped mixed drinks while playing cornhole and washers.
And there was Aunt Maxine, standing on her porch surveying it all like a proud artist who’d just completed a massive mural.
She smiled and waved to the kids in the pool, called out to the old men and asked if they needed more beer, and chuckled at the teenagers who talked in excited whispers and laughed at everything on their phones. There was no hiding the fact that this was Aunt Maxine’s favorite event every year. Her smile hadn’t left her face all day, and she seemed to glow like the dozens of sparklers that would float through the air that night.
I threw my arm around her shoulders. “Aunt Maxine, you know how to throw a party.”
“Why, thank you. I’m so glad you’re here for it. Come on, let’s go get some homemade ice cream from inside.”
We weaved through the pockets of people to get to the wooden churner in the kitchen that had been spinning vanilla ice cream all day.
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