“Semantics?Really? This is a party, not a thesis defense, Koala Bear!”
“Absolutely not.” Cas wore his zero-chill face like it was custom-made. “Neither of those.”
“Fine!” I spun around, spreading my arms wide in frustration. “What brilliant suggestion does the committee have?”
“Seripalooza?” Ko offered with a slight smile.
“Seripalooza.” I tested the word, letting it roll around my mouth. “That’s actually not terrible.”
Cas merely raised an eyebrow, which I took as his tacit approval. Or at least, the absence of outright rejection.
“Seripalooza it is!” I declared. A quick paint job would fix the banner right up. “But the dress code remains ‘ethereal and/or unhinged.’ No arguments.”
The location, our lake with its covered dock, had been my choice from the start. The energy was epic. Open enough for giant inflatable swan floaties—because I wasneveragain touching a live waterfowl—and for the games and challenges I planned, yet serene enough for conversations and dancing.
“The cake arrived.” Ko consulted his clipboard again. “Mrs. Wentzel outdid herself.”
I rushed over to the dessert table. The three-tiered masterpiece was decorated with buttercream swirls in shades of blue, with “You Did It!” piped across the top in elegant script. Mrs. Wentzel had incorporated edible gold leaf and tiny sugar moons around the edges.
“It’s exquisite,” I breathed, already imagining Seri’s face when she saw it. “Did you get the playlist sorted out?”
“Loaded and ready to go.” Ko nodded. “I still think the transition from aggressive pop remixes to string quartets is going to give everyone emotional whiplash.”
“That’s thepoint! Life isn’t a straight line of emotions! It’s a zigzag of highs and lows and unexpected beats. The playlist is ametaphor!”
“A metaphor for your attention span, maybe,” Cas muttered.
Pooh-poohing him, I moved on to my next masterpiece: Hand-painted party hats shaped like crescent moons. I’d stayed up until three this morning finishing them, and they were glorious, each one decorated with tiny stars and personalized with the wearer’s name.
“These are mandatory,” I announced, placing one atop Ko’s head. To his credit, he wore it with dignity, adjusting it slightly so it sat at a better angle on his samurai top knot.
I tried to place one on Casimir’s head next, but he dodged.
“No,” he growled, checking that his hair was still perfect.
“C’mon, Cas! It’s for Seri!”
“I will do many things for Seri. Wearing a fang-rotted party hat is not one of them.”
I knew when I was fighting a losing battle. Instead, I focused on setting out the rest of the hats on a table with a prominent label of “REQUIRED ATTIRE” in glittery letters.
Koa, meanwhile, had been busy with his own contributions to the celebration. He’d worked with Mrs. Wentzel to create custom cocktails and mocktails with names that made me snort with laughter. Siphon Slayer, Moonbound Bliss, and my personal favorite, The Darkling’s Regret.
He’d also set up what he called a “memory tree,” a small willow at the edge of the lake where guests could hang written notes for Seri. It was sentimental as hell, but I had to admit it was a nice touch. I’d already secretly written three notes, one heartfelt, one hilarious, and one that would make her blush to the roots of her honey hair.
Koa had prepared a toast, too, because, I mean,Koa. He never missed an opportunity to emotionally devastate a room, but always in the best way possible.
Cas’ contributions were harder to spot, but no less significant. He’d been lurking in the background all day, his face set in an expression that revealed nothing. He only intervened when I got too close to creating an actual fire hazard, which, to be fair, happened more often than I’d like to admit.
But I’d noticed the extra staff, the attention to detail in the table arrangements, the subtle security measures that ensured the celebration would be both safe and flawless. I’d bet Beatrice, my motorcycle, that he’d secretly paid the entire staff double to ensure everything met his exacting standards. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t mention it. That was our dynamic: I created beautiful chaos, and he made sure it didn’t burn down the world.
“You should get ready.” Cas raised an eyebrow at me. “Foster will be back with Seri soon.”
He was already dressed in a white button-up, and Koa in a black one. They looked like gods. I, in only a pair of cut-off sweats, looked like a dishwasher.
“All right, but while I’m gone, don’t try to tone down my artistic vision. We aren’t exercising any restraint. We have officially pulled that muscle.”
I raced back to the house, had a quick shower, and donned a white lace shirt, left unbuttoned of course; I didn’t have washboard abs for Seri not to see them. Whipping on a pair of shredded white jeans, I finished the look with the pièce de résistance: My silver sneakers with LED lights in the soles. Looking in the mirror, I nodded with satisfaction. Ethereal enough to pass muster, unhinged enough to be true to myself.
