“Your death wish,” Ashton jokes, and I hear the phone switch hands.
Zeke is making sounds beside the phone, making it harder to hear Harper. “I need some information for the prescription,” I say.
I have her walk me through the details as I fill out the form at the pharmacy counter. It takes longer than it should, and while I know Dante has a supply of drugs and medications in case of emergency, I’m not sure Zeke’s sore throat classifies.
Not to mention the prescription is an oral solution, not a pill.
Unlikely he has the right dosage and medication for Zeke.
She takes a photo of the prescription card and sends it to me. The lady at the counter is less than thrilled, but when I explain we’re newlyweds and our son is sick, she seems to be a little less heartless.
Twenty minutes later, I’m leaving with the prescription, and I grab a box of fruit-flavored popsicles for Zeke. They might melt on the way home, but at least they’ll numb his throat and maybe quiet him down so we can drive back to campus tonight.
When I get back to the house, I hand over the bag of medication to Harper along with the popsicles.
“For Zeke,” I say.
She opens the medication bag and administers the orange liquid to Zeke. He willingly takes it without too much of a fuss.
“Do you want a popsicle, buddy?” I ask, showing him the box with lots of colors and flavors. I let him point to the color on the box that he wants, which happens to be the hardest one to find, blue.
I tear off the plastic wrap, and he reaches for it, but so does Harper, holding onto the stick.
I have a feeling she’s going to end up wearing most of it.
“Are you ready to head back home?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’d like to put him down to bed,” Harper says.
“Let me find Ashton. Meet me at the front door in five.”
I wander through the house, finding Ashton in the library seated with Dante.
“We’re heading home,” I say, interrupting their discussion.
Dante sighs. “How’s Zeke?”
“He’ll be fine.” At least I hope he will. “We should get him to bed, though.”
“This weekend, bring Harper with you. We’re going to need wedding pictures. I also need you to sign this document,” Dante says and gestures toward the table.
It’s the marriage certificate.
Harper has already signed it.
Ashton has signed it as a witness, as has my mother. Dante signed it as the officiant.
Turns out, I’m the last to sign it.
My father shoves a black pen at me.
“Same as I told your wife, you’re not leaving until the document is signed.”
I scribble my signature and drop the pen on the marriage certificate.
“Happy?” I glower at him.
“Not particularly,” Dante says. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a cell phone. “Your wife’s phone that she left on the bus.”
