Lochlan laughed at me when I struggled past him dragging a lawn chair. Where you going, Peanut?
I'm setting up for the Perseids, I remind him.
Duncan jogs past. Hey Bee, what's for dinner?
Pop-tarts, I call back and he stops in his tracks.
Seriously?
The meteor shower is tonight!
So why didn't you trade nights? (my turn to cook)
I tried and no one would trade. Can one of you help me with these?
Sure, why didn't you ask?
I've been asking for a week now.
They look suitably chagrined. Guilty. But it's true. And now I'm left with five hours to spare having to do it all myself.
Here, Bee. Give it over.
Got it.
Grab that end?
I watch them whip into action to set up a viewing station that will see us through a twelve-degree night with wind but clear as a bell and the telescope is ready, the pile of blankets is folded and sitting on the rock wall and my plan is to bring the firepit down but put it back behind us so those who want to can have have hot dogs and s'smores but those who want to watch for shooting stars won't be bothered by the light. There's a cooler full of beer and one of the heaters down there too. I'm kind of ready. Surprise.
It works and they get excited.
Got the good buns?
I'll go bring out the mustard and chips.
Is this enough blankets?