“Aw, what if we’re super fast?” Cameron begs. “Pretty please, Daddy?”
And of course Jules is onboard with my eight-year-old’s shenanigans. Of course she is.
She starts pleading, too. “Yeah. Pretty please…Daddy?” She pushes her bottom lip out, pouting as she shifts in her seat toward me.
Sudden warmth rushes to my crotch. “Jules, stop it,” I growl lowly, squirming in place.
“You aren’t taking me on a honeymoon. The least you can do is get me and Cameron some ice cream,” she persists.
Cameron is now bargaining, making a list of all the chores he’ll do if he gets dessert. "I'll vacuum the stairs! I'll clean under my bed! I'll never complain about helping with the dishes again!"
I know that Jules is only joking about not going on a honeymoon, but I feel her comment deep in my soul. She deserves more than this. She deserves a real honeymoon.
A real wedding night.
A real husband.
And Cameron deserves a dad who makes him feel special.
I can’t help but wish I was doing all of this the rightway.
Without warning, I whip the steering wheel to the left and make an abrupt U-turn. My tires squeal in protest.
“Whoa!” Cameron screams at the top of his lungs.
He and Jules hang on for dear life as they make the dizzying turn with me. When they see where I’m going, both start cheering and bouncing in their seats.
I laugh, shaking my head. These two are going to cause me so much trouble. The kind of trouble that feels like being alive for the very first time.
I whip into a parking spot and grab a shopping cart. “Climb in,” I command, gripping Cameron by the armpits and hoisting him inside the big basket.
Jules is doubled over laughing as my son protests about being too old to sit inside the cart. Without warning, I swoop her off her feet, plopping her into the shopping cart right alongside Cameron.
The two of them are giggling uproariously as I roll them through the grocery store’s automatic doors. I know I look ridiculous with my over-excited eight-year-old and my leather-wearing bride stuffed into a grocery cart, but I can’t bring myself to care.
After all the turmoil that led to this moment, we all deserve to have some fun, dammit.
Amused eyes follow us as we head straight for the ice cream aisle. Surprisingly, Cameron and Jules easily agree on French vanilla, so we grab a big tub.
Instead of heading for the checkout counter, I make a detour through the snack aisle. We stock up on chocolate chips, sourgummies, pretzel pieces, whipped cream and even a box of marshmallow cereal to serve as toppings.
The cashier blinks at us with wide eyes and I pretend not to notice. After paying for our haul, we grab some spoons from the prepared foods section of the store and we set up an impromptu picnic at one of the tables outside under the stars.
People stare at us in our fancy clothing as we dig into our sundae, but we don’t pay them any mind. Even though we need to get home soon, I take a couple small bites, and then I happily sit back to watch Jules and my son enjoying their impending sugar coma.
An older couple exits the grocery store, entertained smiles instantly appearing on their faces when they take in the mess that we are. When they realize that I’m trying to snap a picture of Cameron and Jules sitting across the table from me, they offer to capture some shots of all of us together.
Opening my phone to the camera app, I hand the device to them. Then I shift over to the other side of the table. The three of us grin at the camera with reckless abandon as shutter snaps fill the quiet air around us. I thank the couple for their help, and as they walk away, I scroll through the pictures, smiling to myself and reliving the night.
“This is so good, Daddy. Thank you! I’ve never ate so much ice cream before,” Cameron says, his mouth full of cereal and whipped cream. His little teeth are chattering and I drape my tuxedo jacket around his shoulders.
Jules nods, moaning as she swallows a bite and digs her spoon back in for another. “Brownies and sour gummies are the perfect pairing. Who knew?”
Melted chocolate and ice cream mush drip onto Jules’s off-white wedding dress. Instead of getting mad or freaking out like the typical bride would, she just laughs and takes another bite.
And I just stare.
Absorbing the happiness on my son’s face. Basking in the warmth of Jules’s giggles. Noticing the off-beat rhythm of my heart.
