Page 44 of Father of the Bride

The sunset cruise had been canceled at Brooklyn’s behest—she had to make sure Davion was nice and calm—but she’d insisted they still go through with the bonfire. Daisy was skeptical, but they didn’t pay her the big money to argue, so naturally, she did what the client wanted.

She prayed nobody got to fighting out there.

Indeed, the tension from their earlier game night still hung in the air like a storm cloud. Except for the boys. They seemed oblivious to anything but their phones.

The chefs had already set up a large grill and were hard at work preparing platters of skewered shrimp, lamb, buttery corn, and roasted vegetables. The wine was chilled, old-school R&B music was playing, and a large fire crackled at the center of it all, its flames licking up toward the darkening sky.

Brooklyn stared into the flames, digging her bare toes into the cool sand. Her mother loved these bonfires. Memories flooded her mind—her and her brothers running around the fire with sparklers in their hands. The fireworks her father commissioned at random times of the year because he knew how much she loved them. The night swims.

She stared down at her toes, wiggling them as her eyes filled with tears.

“Hey.”

Davion hugged her from behind. “You okay?”

“Areyouokay?”

He kissed the side of her neck, pulling her in tighter. “Yeah, you got me together.”

She chuckled at that. “Sex always gets you together. The question is, how long will it last?”

He breathed in deep, exhaling in her ear. “I said my piece. I’m good.”

Her eyes went to Orion, who had taken up a spot on a log with a bottle of rum in his hands.

“Today was a lot,” she said. “You handled it well. I’m proud of you, babe.”

“’Preciate it.” He nuzzled her neck with his nose. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

She blew out a sigh. “I miss her.”

“I know you do.”

“I’m okay,” she said softly. “Just feeling nostalgic.”

“As you should,” he said. “Baby, you can feel however you wanna feel. There’s no timeline for emotions.”

She smiled. “I see you’ve been doing your homework assignments.”

Pastor Bell’s pre-marital workbook was due on Saturday morning. Completed, he said, or there would be no wedding. It was a non-serious tradition every couple he married took very seriously.

“You ready to eat?” she asked.

“Not yet.” “He tightened his hold. “Let me just be here with you for a minute.”

She closed her eyes, bringing her hands to where his were locked around her waist. Together, they swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the waves and Luther Vandross’ voice, which seemed to be synced, at least in her head.

This was one of life’s beautiful moments.

A few feet away, Mark watched the couple, grateful that in the midst of the earlier foolishness, they still found a way to be present with each other. He turned up the last of his bottle of Budweiser, then plopped it in the sand at the same time his little sister plopped down on the log next to him, a glass of red in her hand.

“How you holdin’ up?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “I’m good. Ain’t my wedding.”

Mishon pursed her lips. Tight.

“You know what I mean.”

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