For one perfect, silent moment, the awkwardness was no longer his alone. It had become a shared deluge. And he laughed.
Not a drizzle. Not a summer sprinkle. A torrent —the kind of rain that bends trees and turns lawns into instant lakes. Everyone screamed, grabbing cushions and phones. Marcus didn’t move. Within seconds, he was soaked. But so was everyone else. The kiddie pool overflowed. The Band-Aid washed onto a rose bush. awkward. torrent
He looked down at his neon swim trunks, now legitimate attire. He looked up at the soaked, shivering partygoers clutching half-melted cheese plates. For one perfect, silent moment, the awkwardness was
Then, the sky broke.
He stood at the edge, holding a bag of chips, as eight other guests in linen shirts and sundresses sipped rosé on lounge chairs, fully dry. His toes curled over the concrete. Awkward was a gentle word for this. Not a drizzle