Page 37 of A Very Merry Matchup
“Hold on a second,” says Dad. “Let me grab the popcorn. This is turning into quite the show.”
“Do you want Beau and Ivy to be your special auntie and uncle?” Mom says to Mia and Felicity, who are already jumping up and down and clapping. Pretty sure that’s just because they heard the wordpopcornagain in addition to their current hot chocolate buzz.
“Hurry up and get engaged, you two,” says Janey. “My water’s about to break any second.”
The signaturewah-wahguitar opening to Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On” starts playing from the karaoke machine. Walter is smirking as he hands me the microphone. “Beau, is there something you need to ask Ivy?”
“Oh my goodness, you guys are unstoppable.” Ivy tugs her hand free so she can cover her face, which is redder than the Santa hat Dad’s still wearing.
“Ivy, my love—”
“Stop.” She peeks out from behind her hands.
I don’t stop. I lower down to one knee, holding the mic in one hand, grabbing back one of her hands with the other. “For the sake of my soon-to-be-orphaned nieces, will you marry me so we can get it on for the rest of our lives?”
“Can we just sing ‘Silver Bells’ and eat popcorn?” Ivy says when I lift the microphone to her mouth.
“Sounds like a yes to me,” shouts Mom.
Dad raises his hands. “Okay, everybody calm down. Cut the music. Good grief. Poor girl’s probably traumatized. Come with me, Ivy. I’ll save you.”
Wrapping an arm around Ivy’s shoulders, Dad leads her toward the kitchen. “The only thing you need to say yes to right now is popcorn and ice cream. Oh shoot, where’s my glasses? Must’ve left them in the other room. Wait here. Beau, help Ivy get some bowls down, will you?”
I’m no sooner standing next to Ivy in the kitchen doorway when I hear my dad say, “Uh-oh.”
Ivy and I both turn to see what the uh-oh is about. Did he sit on his glasses or something? But he’s wearing them and looking at us with a serious expression. “You’re both standing beneath the bell.”
The bell? I glance at the bell that’s dangling next to my ear. My parents have always hung bells on red ribbons in each of the doorways. I’ve hit my head on at least two of them just today. Hate these bells. “Yeah?”
“You know what the bell means,” Dad says, giving my mom a meaningful look.
“What’s the bell—oh, yes. The bell. I do.” Her eyes lightup and she starts nodding her head. “We all do, don’t we, Nana?”
“Absolutely. Everybody knows about the bells,” Nana says without missing a beat.
“Known about the bell since I was a baby,” says Janey.
“You don’t ever go against the bell,” says Walter.
Now everyone’s talking at once.
“Tradition.”
“Been around for centuries.”
“Never disappoint the bell.”
“Bells are made for kissing,” says Nana. “That’s all there is to it.”
“Ah. So in this family the bell is like mistletoe?” says Ivy, one of her brows lifting. “How convenient.”
“Only I’d say it’s more like a make-out bell,” says Janey.
“A matrimonial bell,” adds Mom.
“A Marvin Gaye bell,” says Walter as “Let’s Get It On” starts playing up again from the karaoke machine.
“I never should have straightened out that misunderstanding about you having a stroke,” mutters Ivy, ducking into the kitchen.
