Ryan is crouched down next to the grill, changing out the tank, and when he turns and sees the carnage I watch his face go through about seventeen different emotions in the span of two seconds. Shock. Confusion. Horror. Pride. Resignation.
"That's... that's great, sweetheart," he calls back, standing up and brushing off his hands. "But, uh, maybe we should talk about the flower girl thing and what it means again."
I put the container of steak seasoning down and step out onto the deck, trying very hard not to laugh. Rory is wearing her favorite dress—the one with the unicorns that she insists on wearing at least four times a week—and her blonde curls are escaping from the ponytail I put in this morning. She's got dirton her knees, a smudge of something on her cheek, and she's holding another fistful of flowers like she's about to commit horticultural homicide.
"I know what it means, Daddy! Auntie Jamie said I get to throw flowers!" Rory announces, beaming at Ryan. "So I practicing!"
She tosses the flowers toward him, giggling with glee as they land in front of him.
Ryan walks over them, his expression a perfect blend of patience and mild panic. "I know, baby. But the thing is, you're not supposed to pull the flowersoutof the pots. You're supposed to?—"
"But how else do I get the flowers, Daddy?" Rory asks, looking genuinely confused.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Ryan catches my eye and gives me a look that sayshelp me, but I can only shake my head because I am seconds away from laughing out loud, which will make it worse.
"Well," Ryan says slowly, kneeling down so he's at her level. "The flowers you throw at Auntie Jamie's wedding are going to be special flowers. They're already picked. You just... sprinkle them on the ground as you walk."
She frowns. "But these are special flowers. I pick them myself."
"You did. And they're very special. But maybe we should leave the ones in the pots alone, okay? They need to stay there so they can keep growing."
Our daughter considers this for a moment as she looks around at the flowers she threw "Oh. Okay." She nods as she wipes her dirt-covered hands on her dress. "Can I have the special wedding flowers now?"
Ryan glances at me again, and I can see him trying not to laugh. "Not yet, sweetheart. The wedding isn't on top of us yet.”
"But I need to practice, Daddy!"
"I know. I'll figure something out, okay?"
Rory nods, momentarily satisfied, and runs off to investigate something in the grass. Ryan stands up and walks over to me, shaking his head.
"She just destroyed that massive pot of flowers in less than a minute," he says.
"I saw."
"I don't know how to explain the concept of a flower girl to a three-year-old."
"Clearly."
He laughs and pulls me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. "This is going to be a disaster, isn't it?"
"Probably," I admit. "But it'll be a cute disaster."
"Jamie's going to kill me if Rory shows up to her wedding with a fistful of dirt and stems."
"Jamie will think it's hilarious. You know she will."
Ryan sighs, but he's smiling. "Yeah. You're right. She's a menace too. She encourages this craziness."
I laugh because it's true. Jamie adores Rory and all her silly behavior.
I lean into him, watching our little girl chase a butterfly across the yard. She's so full of life, so fearless and funny and completely her own person. And Ryan—God, Ryan is the best father I could have ever imagined. He's patient and kind and endlessly creative when it comes to solving the daily crises of toddler life. Watching him with her makes me fall in love with him all over again, every single day.
The next day, Ryan comes home with a bag from a craft store. "I have a solution," he announces proudly, setting the bag on the kitchen counter.
I'm sitting at the table with Rory, helping her color a picture of a unicorn on her little wipe off board. "A solution to what?"
"The flower girl situation."
