Eloise and Margaret both turned. That was the kind of thing you said when you were an English professor.
Eloise smiled. She drank the lemonade, which was cold and sweet and perfectly in between. Outside, the hydrangeas didn’t care what she called it. They just kept blooming. is june spring or summer
Margaret snorted. “That’s not an answer.” Eloise and Margaret both turned
Eloise frowned. She liked her father’s metaphors, but they didn’t settle the score. “So is it spring or summer?” is june spring or summer
The next morning—June twenty-first, the solstice—Eloise woke to find a glass of lemonade on her nightstand. Beside it, a sticky note in her grandmother’s neat hand:
Margaret’s needles clicked in disbelief. “June is June. June is roses and fireflies and the last day of school. That’s summer.”