Free Beach Season by Lisa Jackson Page A

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    August is an accountant for our parents’ company. She went to college, then graduate school, was hired at a major corporation, but the corporation snuffed out “my Scottish Highlands soul.” She finally gave in to our parents’ pleading and now runs their books. After work, August is August: unconventional, wild, sweet, and plays in a band called Ladies Loo Loo and wears leather.
    She met a man named Ben online. One thing they have in common is that both families hail from Scotland and are into their genealogy, tartans, kilts, and all things Scottish. In fact, his grandfather was born there. The families are from different clans, however.
    “Do you know what time it is?” I groaned.
    “Yes, it’s time to be up. Rise and shine, June, and help me! Help me! I’m getting married and we’re about to witness the total breakdown of Scottish-American civilization on my wedding day.”
    “What’s the problem, hysterical bride?” I propped myself up on a pile of pillows. Anyone getting up earlier than 7:00 is almost committing a crime, as far as I’m concerned. It’s uncivilized to be up before then. “Do tell.”
    And there she went, whooshing into orbit. My liberal, free-thinking sister was petrified to death of her fiancé’s family and they were all flying in for the wedding. Even Grandma with her pearls and her blue bloodline, and the stern and gruff grandfather who owned companies and the sisters who always had perfect hair all piled into a chignon and high heels and top-of-the-line fashion. “Their faces never move. They’ve been Botoxed to death. They’re always composed. Intimidating. Cold. Brrrr ... ”
    “At least they’re Scottish,” I mocked.
    “They make me want to swim in a whisky bottle.”
    “You don’t drink, August.” I held my hand to my head. Hardly any sleep. Again. I would probably melt from exhaustion. I thought of Reece. Ah, I would take any opportunity to melt on him... .
    “They don’t spit watermelon seeds.” She released an anguished cry.
    “Uncle Taylor won last time,” I mused. We have a family watermelon-seed spitting contest every time we’re together. Not just the six of us, the whole MacKenzie gang. “Remember it made Aunt Mary so mad she accused the judges of cheating. The judges were her own children.”
    “And what about the scavenger hunt with the crystal fairy wands!”
    “They might like the wands. They’re shiny.”
    “And all our wild cousins and their parents are coming, June! Who knows if the twins will dress up as monster twins again with those vampire teeth. And I bet Cousin Carrie will insist on doing a Ouija board with them, and I hear that Uncle Sal is into witchcraft now. Witchcraft!” August shrieked. “I told Auntie Debbie she had to make him not do it at the wedding, but she said, ‘Honey, it’s better than his voodoo doll stage. He was mad at your father once and your father had terrible gas all year. Don’t knock the witchcraft.’ She actually said that to me, June!”
    “Don’t forget that a whole bunch of our family will be in kilts and tartans.”
    “I know, freak me out, and Ben’s family will be in three-piece suits. Prissy and buttoned up ...”
    “August, this is one day. It’s at Mom and Dad’s. It’ll be a gorgeous day, the tents will be up, and the families will only be together for a few hours. The attention is on you, August, and mildly, on Ben. Be yourself, loving and kind, and funny. This is the day you don’t worry about anyone else—”
    “But what about Grandpa Bill! You know he says that all MacKenzie weddings should have a three-gun salute and he and Bill Jr. and Mack are going to bring their .45s and shoot them into the air in celebration—”
    I groaned and scrunched back into my blue crocheted comforter as August continued her harangue for ten more emotional minutes.
    “But I love my wedding dress, June. It’s Scottish and American and so me. Thank you so much. And I love the bridesmaids’