Eloise didn’t close it. She turned, squinting. “It’s June twentieth. That’s still spring.”
The argument began, as most did in the Fowler household, with a thermostat. is june spring or summer
Tom pulled out an ear of corn. “Think about it. June pretends to be summer—the long days, the heat, the peonies. But June still has spring’s anxiety. The first week of June, you’re still jumpy about a late frost. You don’t trust the warmth yet. July never worries. July is pure, stupid summer. June is the dress rehearsal.” Eloise didn’t close it
Margaret’s needles clicked in disbelief. “June is June. June is roses and fireflies and the last day of school. That’s summer.” Eloise didn’t close it. She turned
“It’s summer, El. Close the door. You’re letting the cold out.”