Edelweiss Pirates Excerpt

So many women think rain is romantic. There’s nothing romantic about the rain, really, when you think about it.  I’ve heard so many women talk about how they dream of being kissed in the rain. Dancing in the rain. Having someone confess that they love them while they’re being completely soaked by an absolute deluge.

These women have clearly never done the aforementioned activities. A high school boyfriend of mine, Dan, took me for one of those romantic rain things one summer. I guess his sisters subscribed to the “rain is so romantic” philosophy and told him to take me out in the rain or something. Anyway, we went for a walk, and kissed in the rain, and he told me he loved me. And it was sweet and all, but it wasn’t really that romantic. Less romantic than it would have been if he had just told me in his living room, like he had for the first time. Because the rain just made things kind of awkward. Kissing is so unromantic when there’s water dripping down your faces. Hugs are awkward when you’re both covered in sopping wet cotton. And sure, the smell of rain is nice, but the smell of rain-soaked cotton is not what I like to snuggle into when I hug my boyfriend.

But the worst part was the talking in the rain thing. I loved that he loved me, but honestly, it would have been a lot better if we hadn’t both been blinking as fast as we could, making the world look like a strobelight was on. But with this water falling from the sky, what else can you do?

Don’t get me wrong, I do love the rain. It’s just not romantic to be out in it.

Do you know what is romantic? To be sheltered from the rain, snuggling with your sweetheart, watching the storm. Sitting outside on a porch, a blanket wrapped around you, leaning into the man of your dreams, who doesn’t smell like wet cotton, but smells like himself. It’s romantic to just sit there, the two of you, watching the sky pour down liquid life into the world around you. It’s romantic to go outside for the first time all summer, because it’s finally cool enough to go outside without roasting. That’s romantic.

And that’s what Ryan and I were doing. His mom came outside and watched with us for a few minutes, but she’s seen plenty of rain in her time. I guess Ryan had as well, but he was humoring my amazement at just how long and how hard the rain could come down.

This is something the rest of the Pirates don’t understand. Sure, the mountains are beautiful, wonderful, majestic, glorious, everything that we say they are. But there’s something to be said for the quiet of the rain, falling into the trees that are all around. The rest of the Pirates have never seen a rainstorm go on for hours like this, except for those times in London, Seattle and Tokyo. But it’s not the same, even then. Those times, the city bustled all around us, and the rain was just an inconvenience, not a beauty. We couldn’t exactly have taken time to just sit and watch the rain when we were on tour, and that was probably a good thing. But if we had, maybe the rest of the Pirates would understand just how wonderful the Louisiana summer rain is.

Ryan’s fingers began tapping on my arm. I don’t think he even realized that he was doing it, it was so natural to him. They started out at a decent speed, and then slowed as he dramatically struck chords on keyboard keys that weren’t there. I gave him ten seconds before he jumped up to find a piano, counting down in my head.

Ten. Nine.

I heard Mrs. Waterbury yelp as some pans clattered in the kitchen.

Six. Five. Four.

The pans finished clattering, and I could hear John laughing.

Two. One.

Predictably, Ryan startled and moved to get up. I slid away from him so that he could, and he turned to me, still dazed by the musical idea in his head. “I need a piano,” he said unnecessarily.

“Go,” I bade him cheerfully. “I’ll go see if your mom wants help with dinner.”

Ryan nodded and darted back inside the house, fingers tapping the empty air now.

I sighed happily. I couldn’t help it. I was in such a lovely place, with Ryan’s family, who all liked me, and I liked all of them. Everything had gone splendidly, and there wasn’t a single thing about my life I wanted to change.

But such happiness cannot be kept to oneself, I have found, so it was only a moment before I found Mrs. Waterbury and John and Erika in the kitchen. Mrs. Waterbury had three pots on the stove, and was checking the oven for something else. She had Erika chopping vegetables on the counter, and John was doing his best to annoy her while he rummaged in the pantry for something.

“Do you want some help, Mrs. Waterbury?” I asked, trying not to giggle at John’s frantic head shaking behind his mother’s back.

She returned to one of the pans on the stove, facing me. “Call me Helen, dear – Mrs. Waterbury is my mother in law!”

I cringed. “Right. Sorry. I forgot.” I was not remotely used to the idea of calling someone as old as Mrs. Waterbury – er, Helen – by their first name, but I supposed I’d have to make an effort. “Do you want some help, Helen?” The name felt funny in my mouth, but Mrs. Wate – er, Helen – accepted it happily.

“I’d love some, dear. Could you help Erika with the salad? There’s a good paring knife in the drawer to the left of the sink.”

“Sure,” I nodded. I found the knife, and sat on the stool next to Erika, who slid the cutting board over towards me so that we could share it and nodded towards the pile of vegetables to be cut. I picked up some tomatoes and began slicing.

John gave a cry of triumph and emerged from the pantry, a bottle of reddish stuff in his hand. “Found it!”

“Great,” replied his mother, who beckoned him over, and the two began discussing how much of the mystery substance to put in some other mystery substance. Erika rolled her eyes at them and turned towards me.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “It’s great to finally balance out the men and women.”

That confused me. Why did their male/female ratio need balancing? So I asked her. “Um, why do the men and women need to be balanced?”

Erika chuckled. “Well, before you, Waterbury family gatherings were great, but a lot of times the numbers just didn’t work. Like any time we wanted to play something in teams. Or when the boys went off to be boys, it was a little weird to have it be just me and Helen. But mostly when Simon and Helen and John and I were having our couple time. Poor Ryan was just kind of left there, all by himself. Fifth wheel, kind of.”

“But not anymore?” I asked tentatively.

She smiled. “No, not anymore.”

I tried not to smile too widely as we cut the vegetables, but I couldn’t help it. Just thinking about Ryan made me happier than anything ever. I must have looked ridiculous, grinning like an idiot with a knife in hand, because Erika glanced over at me and giggled.

What? I asked, already knowing that she would laugh at my silly young lovesick self.