The morning of our wedding, I stood outside Jules’s bedroom—James’s old room—listening, a breakfast tray in my hands. The door was cracked just enough for me to see Jules lying on her side, wearing leggings and a T-shirt. Weston jumped up and down on the bed until he fell over onto his back.
She dove into his belly, blowing raspberries.
He shrieked.
“Now, listen,” she said once he’d settled down. “You have to be a good boy while Mommy and Daddy are gone this week, okay?” She tickled him, and he squealed. “We’re going on our honeymoon.”
“Hunny-mo,” Weston tried.
“Very good.” She brushed his bangs to the side. “I’m going to miss you so much, but your Grammy Lemon and Bampa Silo are going to take such good care of you. They’ll feed you chocolate ice cream and chicken nuggets, and you can suck all the ketchup off the French fries and throw them on the floor, and they won’t even care.” After another raspberry, Weston shrieked again. “And Bampa will take you on horsey rides.”
“Hosies!” Weston yelled.
“Yes, horsies. But remember. You have to be very careful today when you carry the rings on your pillow, okay? Don’t worry, though, Daddy will tie them down.”
“Dada, wings,” Weston said.
“That’s right. You’ll carry the rings. And I’ll carry my flowers. And Dada will stand at the front by Funcle Ford?—”
“Func Fo,” Weston tried.
“Yes. Funcle Ford is officiating. So he’ll stand at the front, and Dada will be next to him with all his groomsmen. And when Dada sees us, he’ll smile his best smile—like we are the two best things that ever happened to him.”
I nudged the door open with my foot and came in sideways, keeping the tray level. “Youarethe two best things that ever happened to me.”
“Dada!” Weston squealed.
“There’s my handsome man.” Juliette beamed—that smile, the one that had destroyed men on all seven continents—aimed entirely at me. “Did you make me breakfast in bed?” she asked with a sigh.
“I did. Now scooch up by your pillow and let me pamper you properly.”
“Yes, sir.”
While she settled against the headboard, Weston jumped up and down, arms raised for me to pick him up.
“Hold on, buddy.” I leaned down and put the tray across Jules’s lap. While I was there, I pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then I yanked Weston into my arms, making him lose it.
“Crepes?” Jules asked with a gasp. “Did you make these?”
“Sophie might’ve helped.” I bounced Weston in my arms.
“Sophie made everything but the chocolate sauce,” my sister called from the kitchen. “Griffin did that.”
“Everybody knows the chocolate sauce is the most important part,” Bowen hollered.
“Exactly,” I said.
“More important than the crepe itself?” Sophie said to Bowen. “Yeah, no. Also, you get no say because you helped make nothing. As a matter of fact, hand over your plate. What are you even doing here? Go home to your wife.”
“Hey, give that back!” Bowen shouted. “Magnolia’s sleeping in, and I’m hungry.”
“What do I look like?” Sophie yelled. “The little red hen? If you want the food, you gotta show up to help make it. Otherwise, starve.”
“Jules didn’t help, and she’s eating crepes,” Bowen protested.
“Jules is getting married today. She gets a pass. You’re just being a nuisance. And a pig.”
“I’m a pig?” he asked. “Whose pants are getting too tight?”
