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“I think maybe your dad doesn’t hate me as much as he hates Justice right now,” I whisper to Kelly, keeping her against my side.
She leans forward and grabs a running Hazel by her waist to pull her into us. “Oh probably. He’sneverliked Justice.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And he’s liked me before?”
“Maybe once or twice.” She props Hazel on her hip. “Hey, sweets. Where’s your brothers?”
With chocolate all over her face and what looks to be dirt all over her dress, she shrugs and attempts to get her hair out of her eyes. “I not know.” And then she wiggles to get down. “Let me down. I gotta go. I’m it and if they catch me, they eat me for dinner.”
Kelly looks around. “Who?”
“Them boys!” She squeals and flips her hand behind her, smacking me in the face.
Kelly sets her down and she takes off running.
Our kids are all over the place, running wild with the other little ones, except for Oliver. He’s eating cake pops. I’ll pause here because there’s a story behind it.
My Aunt Dee is a God-fearing Christian so Mom thought putting her in charge of making the cake pops would be a good idea. In theory, great idea. Except, Aunt Dee, she’s crazy. Don’t let the “good Christian woman” vibe fool ya. She cusses like a sailor and can drink most men under the table—which also explains the events about to take place.
A little background leading up to this. Aunt Dee made the cake pops for each guest at the wedding. Keep in mind these are not just any cake pops, butrumcake pops. I’ll let that soak in for a moment. Like the rum did into the cake pops.
Now proceed with this in mind and know that Aunt Dee shouldn’t be trusted.
Just wait. It gets better. I don’t know how familiar you are with cake pops. Did you know they’re made with rum? I didn’t at first.
“These are really good,” Kelly says, handing me one.
I eat one because I’m starving myself. They’re delicious. Frosting, sugar, rum… I’m man enough to admit I like fruit with my alcohol sometimes. No judging. To give you an idea of these cake pops, they’re not like the ones you find at Starbucks covered in sprinkles. Nope. These are like the size of a child’s fist elegantly wrapped in fancy ribbon and shiny plastic.
“Can I have another one?” Oliver asks my mom, and then takes one from the table before she has a chance to tell him no.
“We should have him eat something,” Kelly tells me, taking the empty cake pop stick Oliver tosses on the table. “All he’s had is junk food all day.”
I fix him a plate of food while Jonas returns to the house. All hell breaks out around him and his groomsman as to where his soon-to-be wife is, as if they’re still getting married. Honestly, I’m confused and also don’t give a shit.
Fast forward about thirty minutes, still no Justice or Kelsey. It’s like a hostage situation up there and Oliver is slumped across the table with his head supported by his hand.
“What’s up, dude?” I ask, taking a seat next to him.
“The music is too loud!” he shouts, glaring at me. “I hate it here. Can I leave?”
I push a plate toward him. “Eat something.”
“I’m not hungry,” he grumbles, flipping the plate over. Little shit.
You know in theBeauty and The Beastmovie where the beast hands Belle food and she refuses it? Thanks to Mara and now Hazel, I’ve seen that movie entirely too many times. But when Oliver says he’s not hungry, I fight the urge to scream back at him, “Fine! Then go ahead and starve!” just like the beast. I doubt it will have any effect on him though, so I refrain. Someday I’ll get to use that line with one of my kids.
After dinner, Oliver’s really starting to fade. He’s under the table complaining the music is too loud, and he wants to go upstairs. Lifting up the tablecloth, I reach under the table and pull him out. “Stop it. Just sit here,” I tell him, propping his floppy ass up in the chair. Immediately he slumps forward and nails his head on the edge of the table.
Kelly takes one look at him and knows somethings up. “What’s wrong with him?”
Lifting his head up, I press my hand to his forehead. He’s not warm, says his stomach is fine, he’s just really tired and the music is “too damn loud,” and he wants his bed.
“Come on, bud. Let’s get you some fresh air.”
“It’s an outdoor wedding,” Hazel snickers, really loud in Oliver’s ear.
“Go away!” He slaps her shoulder, stands, and covers his ears. “Stop talking.” Then proceeds to fall face first in the grass.