The Firework Exploded (The Holidays #3)(37)

A short distance away from where the ceremony will take place, white tents have been set up with round tables underneath, each one covered in red linen with red and white roses nestled in square silver containers in the center of each one. A wooden dance floor has been installed in the middle of the all the tables with a giant letter “S” next to a giant letter “N” painted in the center of the floor, the letters in Ohio State block shape, in scarlet red lined with white.

“I know you said no ice sculpture, but that’s one decision I had to veto,” my mother says, coming to stand next to us as she points at a table with a red cloth draped over the top under one of the tents.

Sam and I turn our heads in that direction, neither of us saying a word.

“That’s going to be the dessert table and since I ordered two hundred homemade buckeyes from those nice ladies at Seduction and Snacks, we needed something to keep them from melting,” she explains. “Your father tried to make an O out of the ice blocks I ordered, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get it to not look like an oddly-shaped boob.”

“They were NOT oddly shaped; they were spectacular ice boobs!” my father argues.

My mother sighs before continuing.

“Anyway, I found a local company who could do an exact replica of the O and they’re going to drop it off tomorrow morning. We’ll spread the buckeyes all around the base and they’ll keep cool all day. I’ve also made a sign letting people know they will be removed from the premise if they pee and or try to stick their tongue to the ice.”

My mother barely finishes her explanation when I pull out of Sam’s arms and launch myself against her, giving her a tight hug.

“It’s perfect, Mom. I love everything,” I whisper as she runs her hand down the back of my head.

“I love it too, Bev. You did such an amazing job,” Sam agrees, moving in to join the hug when my mother lets go of me with one of her arms to hold it out to the side, inviting him in.

“Good, I’m glad the two of you like it and you’re happy. Please remember this feeling when I tell you what I’m about to tell you,” my mother says, dropping her arms from around us and taking a few steps back.

“I thought you were going to wait until tomorrow for this?” Aunt Bobbie asks, walking over to us with her hands linked through Nicholas and Alex’s elbows.

“I was, but I just got a text and circumstances have changed,” Bev tells her, giving Sam and me a worried look.

“Mom, what did you do?” I ask softly, trying very hard not to ruin the euphoria I’m feeling about how great the yard looks and knowing how perfect tomorrow will be.

“Remember when you explained to me why I couldn’t invite so many people because Sam doesn’t have anyone, and you didn’t want him to be sad when we had a bunch of people sitting on our side of the aisle and he didn’t have anyone?” she asks.

Sam leans down and kisses the top of my head as I try to think back to that night I drank my weight in vodka and what I may or may not have drunkenly slurred to my mother.

“I love you so much,” he whispers into my ear, making me momentarily forget that my mother is about to drop a bomb on us.

I turn my head to look up at him, taking in his full lips, the dimples in his cheeks, and his blue eyes as they stare down at me, knowing without a doubt that no matter what my mother says next, I’m putting an end to this no-sex interval. As soon as Scheva gets here later for the rehearsal practice, her number one duty as my maid of honor is going to be figuring out a way to sneak Sam into my old bedroom window tonight so I can bang the hell out of him. It’s the least she can do now that I can no longer stomach the sight of butter. My morning coffee and slice of toast has been sad, plain and pathetic since Buttergate 2016.

“Well, what you said about Sam not having anyone got me thinking and you’ll be happy to know I fixed the problem and now no one will be sad,” my mother continues, forcing my gaze away from Sam’s mouth to look at her.

“HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY, MOTHER FUCKERS! ’MURICA!”

The shout from the side of the house has all of us turning in that direction to see a man walk into the backyard.

“Surprise,” my mother announces weakly.

Sam drops his arm from around me and curses under his breath as I try not to stare at the guy. He’s wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts, much shorter than the ones I’m wearing and so miniscule that the pockets of the things hang down below the frayed edges. His knee-high socks have American flags on them, partially hidden behind the tall, tan unlaced work boots on his feet that clunk all around as he waltzes toward us.

“I brought the good stuff, Sam! Who’s ready to drink some Natty Light?!” he asks with a smile, lifting the case of beer above his head when he stops a few feet from us.

Unfortunately, this motion causes the tight t-shirt he’s wearing with a bald eagle printed on it, that was already showing off his bulging gut due to it being hacked off unevenly across the middle, to rise up above his unnaturally large nipples and abundantly hairy chest.

“Sammy, you crazy-ass mother f*cker! I can’t believe you’re getting hitched,” the guy says with a smile and a shake of his head, tearing open the case of beer and taking out a can of Natural Light before setting the box down in the grass by his feet.

He looks over at Aunt Bobbie and gives her a wink.