Jonah opens his mouth to say something—or maybe to short-circuit like me—but before either of us can recover our brain cells, a volley of foam bullets patter against the walls.
We both jolt like we’ve been struck with real gunfire.
“Right. Battle. Birthday party,” I huff, clambering upright because apparently I process emotional shock by not addressing it at all.
Jonah blinks hard, shakes his head as if someone’s shoved his batteries back in, and then crawls toward the front flaps. “We should, um… secure ourselves.” His voice cracks, and it’s honestly adorable, which is a very inconvenient thought at the moment.
He reaches for the zipper, ready to seal us in, but before he can, the flaps are yanked open, and my daughters tumble in like tiny raiders in rainbow jumpsuits.
Seeing them is like a bucket of cold water has been poured over me, and I thank God they didn’t come in here ten seconds earlier.
Jonah’s eyes snap back into focus when he sees the spare magazines they each carry. “You’re on our team!” he announces, instantly slipping into battle commander mode. “Quick, get in and zip the door shut.”
Guess we’re ignoring that kiss. I mean, who has time to unpack that emotional load in the middle of a war?!
The girls struggle to balance atop the triangles, so Jonah kneels and perches a squealing birthday girl on his shoulder so she can peer over the wall. Inspired, I attempt the same with Lo, but we collapse in a puddle. She’s smiling ear-to-ear, racing to climb back on. I’m a little steadier this time, and she’s able to fire off a round.
When we exhaust the ammunition and use all the spare bullets that land inside our fort, I’m ready with a new plan of attack, but a loud voice booms from outside the walls.
“Attack!”
Suddenly our entire inflatable bunker is shaking as kids and parents climb over the sides and fall in like paratroopers.
“Stand your ground,” Jonah hollers. He takes a massive leap and bounces his full bodyweight a mere foot away from another dad, sending him flying back.
All three of us take his lead and slam into the ground to knock our attackers off their feet while Jonah collects their ammunition.
This chaos continues until every adult is dead tired and in need of a break. My legs feel like Jell-O, and it takes an alarming amount of time for the world to stop spinning once I’m on solid ground. The second before I fall into a bush, Jonah wraps his arms around me. I’m too delirious to hide my smile.
He leads me to the porch where I hold up a hand. “I’m okay, really.”
“You sure?”
“Yes,” I giggle. “Now leave me alone because I need to use your bathroom. Try and remember that I gave birth twice and was just jumping in a bouncy castle.”
He laughs so hard, he leans against the wooden porch banister, clutching his sides. I can’t wait for him to collect himself, so I sprint inside for the nearest bathroom. Even while I struggle to peel off this one-piece disco jumpsuit,my smile remains plastered to my face.
When I finish my business and wash up, I’m surprised by the woman staring back at me in the mirror. Fiery red hair down and crazed, some of it sticking to my face. My eyes are bright with joyous tears I have to wipe from the corners.
I chuckle when I discover lipstick stuck to my teeth.How long has this been here?
The adrenaline from our Nerf battle subsides and reality crashes into me.Why did I kiss him?I’m going to need a serious debrief with Amber later.
I spend a few extra minutes fixing my appearance so I look halfway normal—or as normal as I can look while wearing disco getup... on a farm.
A loud clanking sound alarms me before I step into the kitchen, only to find one of the goats has made her way into the house yet again. Judging by the plastic bowl of cheese puffs she’s knocked on the floor, I’d say she was counter-surfing.
“Louise! Bad girl,” I chide good naturedly as I attempt to shove her to the side so I can clean up, but she’s intent on “helping” me. I do my best to corral the cheese balls on the tile floor, but it’s a fight between us.
“Really, you old goat? Eating children’s snacks? Have you no shame? Just wait until I tell your father.”
My worry is temporarily abandoned as Louise and I pick up every apocalypse-surviving snack—but the cheesy crumbs on the floor drive me bananas, so I soak a towel under the faucet and wipe the floor.
“You certainly have a way with kids,” I hear someone say, just outside the open door a few feet away. It’s Zoey, Clementine’s mom. I can’t see, but I’d know that smooth, feminine voice anywhere.
“You think so?” Jonah asks. “I do take my role as Fun Uncle pretty seriously.”
“Would you like to have some fun with me?” Zoey asks,her tone flirty and seductive.
