The smell of ocean salt and fresh breeze of the Hampton's makes me feel like I'm a kid again. The seagulls caw in the back and they fly around, some landing and some stealing food from unsuspecting beach-goers. I get out of the cab and head into the trunk to get my bags. After we all get our bags, the cab drives off. I set my bags down and grab my hair tie from my wrist and tie my hair up into a quick side braid as my parents get out of their cab.
"None of the family is here yet?" I ask my mom.
"Doesn't look like it," she replies as she walks over to us while my dad pays the cab fare. She gives me a small nod and I turn to Shawn, placing my hand on his forearm as I stand on my toes to reach his ear.
"We have time to help you avoid the family." I say in his ear. I stand back and he gives me a look of confusion.
"Shawn, just follow me inside." My mom says. She extends her hand onto his shoulder and they both walk into the house.
It was our old summer home. Every summer since I was five, we came and vacationed here. It was where I first learned I could do a split. Where I learned to play volleyball each time the college kids would vacation for spring and summer vacation. The boys would always play from early morning to late night, and they would teach me while my mother watched from the dock with my father in tow. The same vacation house where I would sneak out at night with Chandler or Selma and watch as the stars sparkled against the waves, or go with our flashlights and shine it through the water as we searched for clams or sea shells.
The house was the same rustic, white with light brown and dark green trimming. The same glass windows with the white curtains on the inside and the white wooden railing around the patio of the house. The house was two stories, but three if you counted the one room on top that was just wicker seats, a small coffee table, and the glass doors that revealed that fantastic view of the room. I walked up the steps and pushed the brown door open.
Inside was the same. The light pencil marks of Chandler and I's heights over the years. He grew each time we came, but I remained the same height as I was in the ninth grade - 5'0. Shawn and my mom sat on the brown leather couch in the living area. She explained to him how to avoid the seven family members and what not to and what to say to them. As she talks to him, I head back outside and grab my bags. I return into the house and drag my luggage - my heavy luggage.
"Do not mind me, for I am tiny, yet fragile at five-feet, carrying this heavy luggage up the steps." I say. "Keep talking."
Shawn and my mom look at each other and then back at me. "Okay," Shawn shrugs as he goes back to talking to her.
I pick up my bags. "That's it. I take back my love confession, Shawn, effective immediately."
"You barely told him you loved him?" My mom asks me.
"Gotta blast," I say, quickly walking to the staircase.
Shawn grabs one of my cases and I walk ahead of him. He waits until we're up the stairs to slap my butt. I quickly put my hand over where he smacked and gasp in slight pain and shock. "What was that for?"
"Your mom was teaching me very important things to help me survive this trip, you ass," Shawn whispers to me.
I slap his butt back, placing my hand on my hip as he stares at me. "Did you just slap my ass?"
"Yes, you ass. That hurt!" I reply.
I walk ahead of him and start walking down the hall. "I kinda liked that," Shawn jokes. I laugh as I stand in front of my old door. The door was white and decorated like Boo's from Monster's Inc. "Is this like Boo's?"
