“Rosie,” I say, holding out my arm. “Slow down before you take someone’s hair with you.”
“I have to practice.” Maceo sets her beside my hip, but she barely pauses before pointing the magazine at my chest. “Daddy, your tie has to match my crown.”
I touch one of the pink plastic points sitting crooked in her hair. “My tie is silver, sweetheart.”
“Then it needs pink too. Grayson said everything has to look like it belongs together.”
Grayson smooths his hair back into place. “I said the flowers and ribbons should look like they were chosen for the same ceremony.”
“That’s what I said.” Rosalie looks at me as though Grayson has confirmed every part of her argument. “Your tie needs pink.”
“I’ll let Grayson add something to it in the morning.”
She studies my face long enough to decide whether I’m taking the matter seriously. Once she’s satisfied, she climbs over my legs and starts another walk.
Across the bed, Samuel leans over the velvet ring cushion while James keeps it balanced on both palms.
“Are the rings heavy?” Samuel asks. “And is carrying them an official job?”
“It’s two jobs,” James says. He lifts the ribbon to show Samuel the loops beneath it. “You have to carry the cushion, and you have to make sure the rings stay tied.”
Samuel’s eyes widen. “What if they fall off?”
“They won’t if you hold it straight.” James turns the cushion sideways to show him the bottom. “There are loops under here, and the ribbon goes through them before it goes around the rings. I tied it twice, but not too tight because then the rings won’t come off when they need them.”
Samuel takes the cushion when James offers it, gripping both sides.
“No, not like that.” James adjusts his fingers. “If you squeeze the corners, it bends. Hold underneath.”
Samuel changes his grip.
“And don’t tip it.”
“I won’t.”
“You just tipped it.”
“I barely tipped it.”
James takes the cushion back and demonstrates again, explaining where Samuel’s thumbs should go, how slowly he needs to walk, and why turning too quickly could make one side dip. By the time he finishes, Samuel’s excitement has settled into visible concern.
“I can walk slow,” Samuel says when James returns the cushion to him.
“Very slow,” James reminds him.
Samuel settles against Grayson’s legs with the cushion balanced rigidly in his lap. Grayson slides one arm around his middle before he can lean too far forward.
“You look like James just handed you a live animal,” Grayson says softly.
Blake laughs, the sound easy as Samuel stares down at the cushion with renewed suspicion. He’s propped against the pillows with his cane resting beside the bed where he can reach it. Nobody stops the moment to ask whether he’s tired, and nobody studies his face for signs that the laughter cost him something.
Rosalie plants herself in front of him. “Do you think Daddy needs pink?”
Blake considers me with more seriousness than the question deserves. “I think Grayson can add one pink ribbon without ruining his dignity.”
I look down at the crown pressed crookedly into Rosalie’s hair. “The silver tie can survive one pink ribbon.”
Grayson reaches across the blankets and touches one of the plastic points. “I have enough left from her crown. I’ll add it in the morning.”
