The next thirty minutes, we spent forming hamburger patties, chopping fruit and veggies, and filling coolers with drinks. The cashier had made fun of me when I made my way out of Bi-Mart with five coolers. It wasn't easy.
"What is this?" Nola asked as she kept passing boxes of canned drinks to me.
"That's sparkling water."
"What is wrong with you?"
"What do you mean, 'what's wrong with me?'"
"Why would you drink this?" She held up the box of sparkling water and cocked her head to the side.
"Because it's good?"
"No! No it's not. It's uncommitted. It doesn't know if it wants to be water or pop, and it's taken the worst qualities of both worlds."
I laughed. "Okay, have you ever tried it? And it's called soda, not pop."
"Where are you from? The Boondocks?"
"Ha. Very funny. No. I just like to call things by their correct name. Pop isn't it."
"Have you lived in Oregon your whole life? Because I call it pop—or coke," she said.
"Who calls it 'coke’ unless they actually want a Coca-cola?"
She passed me another box out of the pantry, and I ripped open the box, dumping it into the cooler. She spoke with a twang, "It’s a southern thing, bless your heart."
"Woman, you're crazy," I said with a laugh.
She grinned and handed me one more box. "That's the last of it."
"Come on, we'll take our coke-pop-soda out there." I picked up the handles and carried one of the coolers outside. Nola came behind me, dragging one with wheels.
"You know what?" she asked.
I grunted as I set down the heavy cooler.
"I think we should put it to the vote. You know, like a game for everyone at the barbecue."
"Do I need to remind you what happened the last time we put things to a vote? I'm now the president of an HOA in a neighborhood where we don't live."
She waved a hand through the air. "Okay, it's not that bad. Really. I don't know why you're so stressed about it. In ten years, this house could be ours according to those squatting laws of yours."
"I still can't believe we're doing this."
"Well, we can always move on when your conscience gets the best of you. Has Mercier answered you yet?"
I shook my head. Countless emails and numerous phone calls, and I couldn't seem to reach Mercier. Our deposits still hadn't been returned and Chippy had turned off his cell phone.
"Then if he's not going to answer you about the deposits or the eviction, we can live here with a clear conscience. We've tried." She smiled and nodded at me.
"I don't think you and I follow the same logic patterns," I told her.
Her green eyes sparkled as she scowled at me. "Okay, Mr. HOA."
I sighed. "Touche. I should have kept my mouth shut."
"Yes, you should have, but this is so much more fun." She turned around to head inside. I followed, ready to pull out the rest of the coolers. "You're the HOA president. You could write in so many by-laws. Think of the fun you could have! Residents have to wear pink on Wednesdays. Blue on Tuesdays. Black on Mondays."
I laughed. "You’re the kind of person who abuses power, aren’t you?"
Her eyes twinkled as she nodded.
"I actually was reading the bylaws on this whole thing, and there are some crazy details in there."
She grabbed the platter of watermelon off the counter. "Such as?"
"Such as no towel sharing at the pool. Everyone must have their own towel. You can't borrow someone else's."
"Oh, my word. Doesn't everyone have their own towel, anyway? What a funny rule to add."
"I know. There are some other good ones. Did you know we're only supposed to mow the lawn on Thursdays and Fridays?"
"The horror! You mowed it on a Wednesday. You rule breaker, you."
She shook her finger in my face and gave me a stern look. I wrapped my hand around her petite finger. "There were several people mowing that day. I think there’s a quiet rebellion going on."
She wrapped her free hand around my wrist and raised our arms in the air. "To the revolution!"
Nola stood at my side placing hamburgers on buns after I pulled them off of the barbecue. She passed a loaded plate to each person who came through the line.
Everyone had brought folding chairs, and even though it was a large back yard, it was getting more and more crowded by the minute.
Several kids ran around shooting each other with small squirt guns much to the chagrin of their parents—and the adults who had to dodge a soaking.
Carol stopped on the other side of the barbecue, her scarily attentive eyes noticing Nola and my careful attention to avoid touching each other.
"How long did you two say you’ve been married?" She asked with her eagle eyes. I set down the tongs and slipped an arm around Nola’s waist.
"Feels like just yesterday."
Nola glanced up at me with a quirk of her brow as she passed off the plate she was holding to Marcia. "You’re so right, sweetie. And just look at you now. I didn’t know I was going to get a Mr. HOA when I married you."
I smiled stiffly at Carol, who was now busily glaring at Nola, as if Nola weren’t in the picture that I would somehow decide to pursue her instead.
Luckily Ian and Tori were the next in line. "Ian, how do you take your burgers?" I kept my arm firmly wrapped around Nola’s waist. She was my lifeline in Carol-infected-waters.
"Well-done." Ian ran a hand across his mouth but not fast enough to hide his grin. Tori visibly elbowed him.
"Tori, what about you?" Nola asked.
"You two just seem a little uncomfortable together," Carol interrupted.
I heard a hiss come from Nola before she answered, "It’s probably because we’re busy serving food right now."
Carol looked like she was about to go in for the kill, so I did the only thing
