Inside the barn I find one kid feeding Timothy apple chunks from her palm. Lo and three other kids are petting the goats and the Quack Pack under Amber’s supervision. Thelma and Louise wear party necklaces around their necks—an addition by their father early this morning—and streamers and party decorations are hung all over the barn and fences.
It takes considerable effort to convince everyone to leave the inflatable obstacle course and animals and come to the porch for birthday cake and presents. But once the stragglers hear Jonah strum his guitar and play a few riffs, they’re racing to join, their eyes wide and gap-toothed smiles bright.
He plays “Happy Birthday” whileeveryone sings, and I capture the happiness of a ten-year-old on camera, including the blush spreading across her face as she tries to hide behind a party hat.
People devour cake and ice cream in minutes before Delta shreds her presents. Her friends ooh and ahh over everything. After all the presents are opened and fawned over and stacked in a heaping pile on the table, some kids race for the outdoor activities again.
“Hold up,” Jonah shouts. “Everyone come back here! I got something for you!”
What did he do now?
He pops around the corner with a massive box before opening it with a flair. “Everyone gets a Nerf gun! Go go go!”
I can’t hold back my laughter as all the kids grab a new, preloaded plastic gun and leap for the backyard.
“Come on,” Jonah yells, grabbing one for himself, tossing one to me, and shoving some into the hands of parents. “Scatter!”
I’m too caught up in his rally cry and the thrill of a chase to guard my emotions. Foam bullets whiz past me as I aim at any kid in range. Everyone’s running around like gas molecules when an idea strikes.
I jump inside the unoccupied inflatable and scale one obstacle shaped like a triangle. From up here, I have a perfect vantage point and pop one kid in the back. He doesn’t feel it, but the tiny victory issooosatisfying.
When I pull the trigger on Delta, nothing shoots out, and I curse.
“Looking for this?” a familiar voice asks. Jonah runs over the unstable floor and falls over with a laugh before throwing a magazine of pink bullets at me. “Reload, soldier!”
He hops up on the triangle behind me, mirroring my position on the west side, and unleashes his toy weapon with a maniacal laugh. “Happy birthday, ya filthy animal!”
We shoot off round after round until we exhaust our supply.
“We need more ammo,” he says.
My heart is pounding as I look around for a solution. “There!” I shout. “On the floor!” Like scuba divers sitting on the edge of a boat, we fall backwards and land softly among stray bullets. Of course, the floor is made of air and plastic, and with each other’s weight counteracting the other’s stability, we’re falling over at every attempt to stand. I’m laughing so hard I’m in danger of peeing my jumpsuit, and Jonah’s in no better shape.
At the same moment, we realize there aren’t enough bullets for both of us to reload. Kids giggle and shriek outside our walls as we tear through every nook and cranny for spare ammo. When I spot three lonely rounds in the far corner, I lunge—and so does he.
“Oh, no you don’t,” I cackle, sharper than I mean to. But the usual patient, sweet Jonah is gone; in his place is a chaotic, competitive gremlin, and he’s ready to throw down.
We collide before either of us can claim victory, tumbling in a ridiculous tangle of elbows and determination. Our combined weight plummeting into the bouncy floor causes the three precious Nerf bullets to go flying, then reappear in Jonah’s fist as if he manifested them by sheer competitiveness.
“Unfair!” I gasp, scrambling after him. He rolls, I roll after him, and we’re a whirlwind of limbs, laughter, and way-too-serious grunting for a fake foam-dart apocalypse.
He clamps his hand tighter around the three bullets. “Mine,” he declares, breathless and triumphant.
“Over my dead body,” I snap back.
I lunge, trying to pry his fingers open. He’s stronger. He’s faster. He’s smug. And I realize I’m officially out of moves.
On pure impulse, I do the most ridiculous, desperatething imaginable.
I kiss him.
It’s quick—just a press of the lips—but the effect is nuclear. Jonah goes completely still, like someone yanked his batteries out. The tension in his hand releases and the foam bullets slip.
I’m frozen too, because I absolutely, definitely did not think this through.
Our eyes are wide and unblinking.
“Uhhh…” I manage to say.
