phone. Food . . . I’ll rent out the finest Italian restaurant for the day so they can cater the wedding. Decorations . . . totally an Archie job, but if he needs a spare pair of hands, Kaede can help. Flowers . . . Abi, of course.
Beyond her family, a lot of her stress is in the length of the to-do list and the short time frame. And I’m not too proud to throw money at it if it’ll help, and for so many things on the list, it will. If that’s all it takes to make this the wedding of Violet’s dreams, I’m happy to do it.
As she wraps up, I can tell that some of the weight is lifting off her shoulders. “You’ll really help with all that, Ross?” she asks uncertainly.
“Of course,” I reassure her. “Also, I think we should hire a wedding planner.” Her mouth is already arguing against it, but I steamroll right over her. “Not because you can’t do it all, but because you need someone to delegate to so you can keep all the balls juggling. And on our wedding day, while you’re getting ready, you need someone who knows your vision inside and out to keep it running smoothly. They will do exactly what you tell them to, Control Freak.”
She pinkens but shakes her head finally, agreeing. “Fine.”
That was easier than I expected. We’re doing better. “But there is one thing.”
I take the ice cream and spoon from her hands, setting them on the coffee table as she protests. “What are you—”
I set my notepad down too and reach to the floor beside the couch, coming back with an elegantly wrapped box, complete with a fluffy bow, which I hand to her.
“What’s this?” she asks. I don’t answer, instead getting up to take her ice cream to the kitchen. She opens it slowly, like she’s afraid snakes are going to jump out of the box and scare her.
But when she spreads the layers of white tissue apart and sees what’s inside the box, her brows knit together in confusion. “What?” she asks again, her eyes jumping to me.
“You seemed uptight. Thought you could use a little bit of fun,” I explain.
And then, faster than a flash, I pull out my own Nerf gun and blast off a round her way. “Gotcha,” I yell before the soft bullet even lands. “Bullseye!” It hit her right in the cheek next to her gaping mouth.
“Are you serious right now?” she shouts.
I’m off, ducking around the kitchen counter and hiding behind the dining room table, definitely signaling that I’m deadly serious. This is war . . . Nerf war.
“Oh, it’s on like Donkey Kong!” Her voice is already lighter, brighter than the overwhelmed and stressed Violet she was just a moment ago. Those issues are still looming, her Papa and the wedding, but that doesn’t mean we can’t take a break to just let loose a bit.
And we do, foam bullets flying as we talk smack to each other, running and diving to hide from incoming blasts, and taunting as shots go wide and miss completely.
It’s ridiculous, it’s hilarious, it’s . . . fun.
From somewhere in the foyer, I hear her call out. “Where’d you get this idea, Andrews?”
Oh, we’re going for last names now, are we? “Saw it on YouTube and it looked good, so here we are, Russo. With you about to lose to me all over again! Just like old times!”
That’s the truth. It was just a silly video I saw on YouTube after watching a TED Talk, but it had sparked an idea in me. That I needed this, that Violet needed this, that we needed this. A silliness reminiscent of our younger days, but without the hurtfulness of the way we used to interact.
“All right, all right. I’m out of bullets and don’t have any close by to scavenge. I surrender. You win,” she says, but now it sounds like she’s back in the living room.
Victorious, I come out of my hiding spot, cockily swaggering toward her. “Guess that makes me the champ—” I start to say, but as I get close, a bullet hits me squarely between the eyes.
“Bullseye! Can’t believe you fell for that!” Violet taunts.
I see red. Not the angry kind, but the flash of her cotton nightgown, and I give chase. She screams, scrambling to run from me, laughing the whole time. I think I even hear one of her cute snorts.
I tackle her, turning so