AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The answer of course always changes; however, the excitement to tell a story never does.
Funny enough, his favorite tale tohearover and over and over again is about me and Tucker’s wedding day.
It was…quite a weird event. We rented out an art gallery – and by we, I mean Tucker’s mother, aunt, and grandmother of course – had photos of our adventures displayed in frames alongside prints by our favorite artists. I wore a dress that was traditional white yet lacy and open with a subtle nod to Greek goddesses while he wore white, loose fitted clothing and a quirky, thrift shop purchased fedora. We swapped flowers for bubbles – machines, small wands, and giant ones. We ate different styles of pizza – some more conventional than others – at tables decorated inTeenage Mutant Ninja TurtleandOne Punch Manmemorabilia. We even set out a space for Tucker’s father to “sit” on the other side of his mother, which was Rich’s idea, and made a sake toast instead of a champagne one to honor the trip they never got to take. Our music consisted of both a live bandanda DJ with the music selection sounding like someone’s first time ever building a playlist. Rather than a guestbook we had canvases for people to decorate and a photo booth as well as Polaroid cameras to both capture our moments and any moments, they wanted to take with them. Many of the photos that didn’t end up in our albums ended up on the walls of our home or have been workedintoother pieces by my husband, which is why our son requests to hear the story repeatedly.
Our wild, mesh of an experience also set an accidental precedent inbothour separate family lines to have a day that means somethingto youversus what you think is expected.
Dakota totally took this to heart during herStar Warsbiker wedding where her Princess Leia buns were probably theleastunusual thing about the event that my parents could hardly fathom was happening. Tuck tried to reassure them at the rehearsal dinner that the Misfits – no matter the chapter – were decent people; however, it’s hard to gauge just how soothing his words were considering my mom’s meltdown over Dakota’s decision tonotfinish her degree in order for them to travel around the country in the hopes of shifting from nomads to established chapter members.
As for the Frost side of things?
Brandi loathed both Brent and Bennett’s color palettes for their events but enthusiastically enjoyed that each ceremony had an artistic spin proving that in spite of their sports choices, creativity runs in the bloodline.
I cannot be more grateful that Lo gotthosegenetics.
I hope baby number two does too.
Perhaps he or she will also inherittheircoordination skills.
Our arrival lakeside occurs a few strides later and the sight of other families loading into brightly colored canoes has me begrudgingly crossing off possibilities for what we’re about to do.
See.
IknewI should’ve used my sexual charm to get him to tell me about this beforehand.
I haven’t exactly had the best track record with boats.
I’ve fallen out of almost every boat we’ve ever been on.
Pretty sure I’ve been secretly banned from company related yacht parties because of it.
“There you guys are,” Fynn warmly exclaims beside his own family. “Just in time to play Duck, Duck, Goose.”
“Duck, Duck, Koose!” Lo can’t control his excitement. “We playin’ Duck, Duck, Koose?! Koose Koose is here?! Koose Koose magically appeared?!”
“Goose,” my gentle correction is attached to an even more gentle hand squeeze. “And no, Koose Koose is not here. He didn’t magically appear.”
“That would’ve been a great trick!” Our son sighs in defeat.
“…Koose Koose,” Torrance quietly repeats under her breath as if trying to process the statement.
“Our pet goose,” I answer without waiting for a question.
Fynn cocks a crooked grin. “You have a pet goose?”
“Two,” Tucker lightly laughs on a one shoulder shrug. “And a few more whenever they pop out babies.”
“We’ve got snails,” Torrance speaks up, attempting to reassure our pet choice isn’t as weird as it sounds.
Lo dramatically gasps prior to airily squawking, “You have snails?”
“Ja!”Fynch, their three-year-old son replies. “So many!”
“For eating?” My youngest curiously inquires.
“No…” Fynch’s face scrunches in disapproval. “No people eat snails.”
“Okay before we get intothatconversation,” Fynn swiftly segues, “how about we get back to today’s activity? Duck, Duck, Goose.”
