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“If anyone asks, I am not glowing. I am sweating," Belly announced, aggressively chopping watermelons into the shapes of shark fins. "There is a distinct, unglamorous difference."
Laurel, who didn't even look up from her methodical assembly of a massive charcuterie board. "You look beautiful, honey. But if you slice those melons any harder, you’re going to dent the countertop. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Belly lied, shifting her weight. "It's just that Jamie turns five today, which means I've been a parent for half a decade, and my best friend is about to arrive with her perfectly behaved children while mine is currently upstairs trying to see if he can fit a whole Lego astronaut up his nose."
Right on cue, the front door banged open. Steven walked in first, already carrying a cooler and looking obnoxious in a floral Hawaiian shirt. Behind him was Taylor, effortlessly wrangling their three-year-old, Penelope, and seven-year-old, Abigail.
"Happy birthday to my favorite nephew!" Steven boomed, immediately stealing a cube of watermelon.
Belly hit his hand with the spatula. "Don't touch the inventory, Steven. Go outside and help Conrad. He’s supposed to be supervising the bouncy house setup."
Taylor dropped a massive bag of pool toys on the floor and immediately came over to hug Belly, avoiding her bump, “Oh, honey. You look hot. And I don’t mean attractive, I mean like you’re about to ignite-hot. Where’s the iced coffee?"
"In the fridge. Please save me," Belly muttered.
Through the kitchen window, she could see the neighborhood kids already arriving in a swarm of neon swim trunks and floaties, running wild over the grass. Abigail and Penelope immediately kicked off their sandals and sprinted out toward the pool.
Everything was going exactly to schedule. The food was ready and some of the guests have already arrived.
And then Belly saw Conrad.
He walked through the back door, looking entirely too attractive in a damp navy t-shirt and his signature blue Knicks hat pulled low. But it was his face that gave him away. It was the exact face he made whenever he realized he’d left his keys inside a locked car.
He walked straight toward her, completely ignoring Steven, who was trying to offer him a beer.
"Hey," Conrad murmured.
He reached out, his hand instantly finding the small of Belly's back, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle through her sundress. "You look incredible."
"Hmmm," Belly said, her spatula hovering mid-air like a weapon, "Why do you look like you just committed a white-collar crime?"
He sighed, his eyes looking deeply apologetic, "Don't scream."
"That is the worst possible opening line. What did you do?"
"I forgot the bouncy house," he whispered.
Belly froze. The spatula slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the cutting board.
"YOU WHAT?!" Belly whisper-yells.
"The bouncy house," Conrad repeated, his hand shifting to nervously grip the back of his neck, tilting his hat back. "Jamie asked for the big blue castle one. I thought I clicked 'confirm' on the rental site last week. I just checked my email. I didn't click confirm. I left it in the cart, Belly. It's still sitting in the cart.”
"Conrad! He’s been talking about the castle for three weeks!" Belly hissed in a harsh whisper, trying not to alert her mother, who was a known critic of logistical failures. “He told the neighborhood kids there was going to be a 'jump-fortress'! What are they going to do, just swim? Like peasants?!"
"Hey, swimming is a highly respected aerobic activity," Conrad defended weakly, though a self-deprecating smirk was already fighting its way onto his face. He stepped closer, effectively pinning her against the counter, using his massive frame to shield their argument from Taylor and Steven. "I fucked up. I know. I’ll fix it. I’ll go to the garage and pump up the giant inflatable alligator. It has a high bouncing capacity if they jump near the tail."
"An alligator is not a fortress, Fisher!"
"Sweetheart, please," he murmured, his eyes dropping to her mouth, his tone shifting into that heavy, effortlessly flirtatious way he always used when he was entirely in the wrong and knew he could charm his way out of it. He slid his hands down to her waist, his palms warm against her skin.
"Look at me. I'm a doctor. I handle emergencies. I will personally stand in the yard and let ten five-year-olds use me as a trampoline if it keeps the peace."
"Don't threaten me with a good time," Belly laughed, a sudden wave of pregnancy giggles breaking through her panic. "But seriously, if Jamie cries, I’m making you wash the dishes for a month.”
"Fair," Conrad grinned, leaning down to plant a fast, breathless kiss on her lips that tasted like the lemonade he'd been sneaking. "But for the record? You're incredibly cute when you're managing a crisis…the anger, uh, makes the color of your eyes pop."
"Get out of my kitchen, you giant child." Belly ordered, pushing against his chest, though her cheeks were burning bright red. "Go inflate the reptile. And if Greg asks where the castle is, tell him it was a supply chain issue… from rubber crisis… uh, shortage."
"On it," Conrad said, snatching his hat, flipping it backward, giving her a quick kiss and sprinting out the back door before her mom could ask why the bouncy house truck hadn't arrived.
Taylor walked over, sipping her iced coffee, watching Conrad run toward the garage. "What did he do?"
"He forgot to confirm the bouncy house," Belly sighed, picking up the spatula and wiping it down.
Taylor let out a loud, snorting laugh that made Steven look over. "Classic. Well, at least he looks good in shorts while he's failing. Remember when Steven almost forgot to buy the actual birthday cake last year, and he did it while wearing cargo shorts.”
“There’s a hierarchy to these things, B. Conrad’s failure has aesthetic value and that guy…”, her lips pointing to Steven who’s busy refilling beers in the cooler, “just looked liked a sad dad at a hardware store." Belly snickered.
Meanwhile, outside the safety of the air-conditioned kitchen, Conrad Beck Fisher was entering a state of clinical triage.
He pulled out his phone, his thumb flying across the screen. The digital cart on Bounce-A-Lot Rentals was indeed still holding the 'Blue Regal Castle (Size Large).' Below it, a flashing red banner read: UNAVAILABLE FOR TODAY'S DATE.
"Dammit, Fisher," Conrad muttered to himself, pacing back and forth. He pulled up Google and typed in: Bounce house rental immediate delivery near me.
The first result was Jumpin’ Joey’s Inflatables. He called. A voice that sounded like it belonged to a teenager who had been awake for approximately four minutes answered.
"Yeah, Jumpin' Joey's."
"Hi, I need a bounce house delivered immediately to my house," Conrad said, his professional, authoritative 'doctor voice' taking over.
"I don't care about the theme. Princess, monster truck, pirate, a giant literal potato. I just need it inflated in the next thirty minutes."
"Uh, bro, it’s July 6th," the kid muttered, cracking a energy drink can over the receiver. "It's peak graduation and birthday season. Everything we have is currently deployed in the field. I got a giant wet-and-dry slide, but it requires a dedicated generator and a three-man crew, and they’re currently three towns over dealing with a rogue yellowjacket nest inside a clown fish bouncy."
"I'll pay double," Conrad offered, his eyes scanning the yard where Jamie was currently showing his friends how he could do a belly flop. "Can't do it, man. No bodies to drive the truck. Good luck though."
Click.
Conrad swore under his breath. He dialed the next number. Party Animals LLC.
"Sorry, sir, we are completely booked until late September."
Next number. King of the Castle Rentals.
"We have a tent. Just a giant white tent. You can't bounce on it, but it provides shade."
"A tent is a funeral for fun," Conrad said and hung up.
He tried Craigslist. He tried Facebook Marketplace. He searched for bounce house for sale immediate pickup, ready to spend a thousand dollars just to buy a commercial-grade piece of vinyl if it meant he wouldn't have to face the disappointment of his five-year-old son and more importantly, the terrifying wrath of his pregnant wife.
Thankfully, he finally found a listing.
Slightly used bounce house. Pink princess theme. Has a small patch near the door where a goat chewed through it, but holds air for at least two hours before needing a top-off. Pickup only. Bring a truck.
Conrad looked at his clean, pristine SUV. He looked at the time. 1:15 PM. The kids were going to want to bounce by 2:00 PM.
"Hey, Con-man!" Steven yelled, strolling out of the house to the pool deck with a beer in each hand, looking entirely too relaxed for a man whose clothing choice was a visual assault. "Belly looks like she's about to perform an unanesthetized appendectomy on you. What's the status of the jump-fortress?"
"The jump-fortress is currently a myth," Conrad said, running a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in wild spikes. "I’m looking for an independent supplier. Steven, I need your truck."
"My truck? My pristine, newly detailed baby?" Steven clutched his beer to his chest. "No way. What are you hauling? A goat-chewed princess castle?"
Conrad blinked. "How did you know it was goat-chewed?"
"I didn't, but the fact that I guessed correctly means you are in desperate, subterranean levels of trouble," Steven laughed, thoroughly enjoying his brother-in-law’s rare descent into logistical chaos. “You can ask Taylor for permission to use my truck… if you can.”
Conrad looks back to the kitchen and sees two pairs of eyes eyeing him suspiciously from the kitchen counter, “Yeah, no thanks.”
Steven laughs, "Look, man, I love you, but Taylor will murder me if I get mud or goat saliva on the truck. Why don't you call Jere?"
Conrad paused. Jeremiah. Jeremiah was currently living about forty-five minutes away, working in real estate, and more importantly, he owned a massive, rugged pickup truck that he regularly used to haul everything from staging furniture to jet skis.
Conrad speed-dialed his brother. Jeremiah answered on the second ring, his voice booming and full of life.
"Hey Con! Happy birthday to the little man! I’m on my way over in a bit, just finishing up a client call. What’s up?"
"Jere. I need a massive, life-altering favor," Conrad said, his voice dropping an octave. "I forgot to confirm the bouncy house. Jamie is expecting a fortress. Belly is twenty-two weeks pregnant and currently holding a chef's knife."
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the loudest, most obnoxious burst of laughter Jeremiah had ever produced. "Oh my god. You forgot? The golden boy? The guy who color-codes his medical journals? You forgot the one thing the kid wanted?"
"I thought I confirmed it, okay? Jere, please. I am begging you. I will wash your truck with a toothbrush. Just help me."
"Alright, alright, calm down, Dr. Fisher," Jeremiah chuckled, his competitive nature instantly kicking in. "Where is the nearest available bounce house?"
"There's a guy named 'Big Mike' on Facebook Marketplace who has one about twenty minutes from you. It's pink. It has a patch from a goat incident. But he says it holds air."
"Say less," Jeremiah said, the sound of his truck engine roaring to life in the background. "Send me the address. I’ll text the guy, buy it off him in cash, and haul it over. But Con? You owe me. You owe me so bad, I want front-row seats to watch you explain to a bunch of five-year-olds why they’re bouncing in a pink princess castle with goat damage."
"I'll fucking wear a tiara if I have to," Conrad sighed with immense relief. "Just get it here."
Back in the kitchen, Belly was trying to distract herself by arranging cupcakes into the shape of the number five. It wasn't working. Her mind kept flashing to the image of her son's little face falling when he realized there was no castle.
Jamie was the perfect mix of both of them. He had Conrad’s deep, intense eyes and quiet thoughtfulness, but he had Belly's complete lack of coordination and absolute, chaotic enthusiasm for life. He had been practicing his "bouncing flips" on their living room mattress for weeks in preparation for today.
"B, stop staring at the cupcakes like they insulted your ancestors," Taylor said, leaning against the counter and sliding a fresh glass of ice water toward her. "Conrad’s on it. You know how he gets when he has a mission. If he has to physically blow up a replacement castle with his own lungs, he will. Jamie is getting that bounce house."
"You don't understand, Tay," Belly groaned, as she takes a sip of water. "The neighborhood kids have expectations. Linda’s kids are out there. You remember Linda from the TK field day last year? The one who tried to give my child non name-brand fruit snacks? Her twins are out there right now, wearing matching designer swimwear, probably waiting for us to fail so they can report it to the HOA."
"Oh, please. Linda is a tyrant who smells like low-fat yogurt," Taylor scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "If she says anything, I’ll tell her your pregnancy hormones are highly unstable and that you’re prone to throwing heavy objects. Speaking of which, how is the little princess doing?" She nodded toward Belly's bump.
A soft smile broke through Belly's stress. She placed a hand over her stomach. "She’s active. Mostly when I’m trying to sleep. I think she’s going to be just as stubborn as her father."
"God help us all," Steven chimed in from the doorway, having returned from his brief stint outside. "Another Fisher with an attitude. The world isn't ready."
“Also, your husband just sped out of the driveway like he was trying to beat a land-speed record. He told me to tell you he was 'consulting a specialist.'"
Belly sighed, shaking her head. "If he comes back with a bouncy house, I might actually let him choose the middle name for this baby."
"Don't do it," Laurel called out from the dining room. "That’s how you end up with a child named after a Radiohead song or a New York Knicks player."
At exactly 1:45 PM, a loud, rumbling engine echoed down the street. Belly walked to the front window, Taylor and her mom hovering just behind her.
Jeremiah’s massive, lifted black pickup truck pulled up to the curb, tires screeching slightly for dramatic effect. Sitting in the truck bed was a massive, crumpled mountain of bright pink and purple vinyl, tied down with an excessive amount of yellow ratchet straps.
A second later, Conrad’s SUV pulled up right behind him. Conrad jumped out of the driver's seat, looking completely disheveled, his t-shirt now sporting a mysterious dark smudge across the front, his hat turned completely backward. Jeremiah hopped out of his truck, wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
"The cavalry has arrived!" Jeremiah shouted toward the house, giving a theatrical bow.
Belly opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch. "What is that?"
"This, my dear sister-in-law," Jeremiah said, walking backward toward the tailgate, "is the Princess Palace of Ultimate Destiny. It was owned by a man named Big Mike who live-tracks hogs for a living. It has character and history. And most importantly, it was available."
Conrad walked up the porch steps, looking like a man who had just successfully performed a miracle in the middle of a wilderness camp. He stopped right in front of Belly, his eyes searching hers, a breathless, triumphant smile on his face.
"It holds air, Belly," he said. "I tested it in Big Mike’s driveway. The goat patch is secure. We used heavy-duty gorilla tape and three layers of industrial sealant. It’s fully operational."
"It's pink, Conrad," Belly pointed out, though her heart was doing a stupid, familiar little flutter at how hard he had fought for this. "Our son wanted a blue medieval fortress."
"We'll rebrand it," Conrad said instantly, stepping closer, his hands coming up to gently cup her face. His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, his touch cool against her flushed skin. "It’s not a princess castle. It’s a... a highly classified cotton-candy training facility for the future elite dragon warriors. Jamie will love it. I promise."
"You are completely insane," Belly whispered, leaning into his touch, her hands coming up to rest on his forearms. "I'm efficient," he corrected, his lips brushing against hers in a slow, lingering kiss that ignored the fact that her entire family was currently watching them from the doorway.
"Do I get that middle name vote now?"
"Don't push your luck, Fisher," Belly laughed against his mouth, pushing him toward the truck. "Go set up the cotton-candy warrior facility before the children start a riot."
The next hour was a masterpiece of masculine chaos. Conrad, Jeremiah, and an incredibly unhelpful Steven dragged the three-hundred-pound mountain of vinyl to the back lawn. The neighborhood kids gathered around in a semi-circle, watching with wide, judgmental eyes.
"Why is it pink?" asked Liam, a kid from down the street who was known for being a tattletale. "Jamie said it was gonna be blue."
Conrad didn't even look up from connecting the massive yellow air tube to the commercial blower motor. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, his expression completely serious. "It’s pink because it’s stealth technology, Liam. Blue is too easy to spot from the air. The pink will confuse the enemy radar.”
Liam’s jaw dropped. The other kids immediately began whispering in hushed tones.
"Is it really?" Jamie asked, his eyes wide with pure wonder as he looked up at his dad.
Conrad dropped to one knee, pulling his son close, his hand resting on Jamie’s small shoulder. "Absolutely, buddy. And look right here," Conrad pointed to the massive square of black gorilla tape covering the lower corner near the entrance. "See that patch? That’s where a rogue dragon tried to bite through the perimeter wall. We neutralized the threat, but we kept the scar as a warning."
Jamie’s face lit up, "Whoaaa... a real dragon, daddy?"
"Yep, a real one," Jeremiah chimed in from the side, giving a thumbs-up. "Your dad fought it off with a stethoscope and a dream, kiddo."
“What’s a… ste-nope?” Jamie asks, curious.
“It’s your daddy’s version of a sword, kiddo. It can swing really far… hit me with it once actually.”
“Yeah, and I’m gonna do it again if you won’t help me with this.”
Conrad flicked the switch on the blower. The machine let out a loud, deafening roar, and the crumpled pile of pink vinyl slowly began to cough to life. It shifted, groaned, and began to expand, rising into the sky like a giant, neon marshmallow. Within three minutes, a massive, towering pink castle stood proudly in our backyard, complete with four purple turrets and a slightly wrinkled entryway that smelled faintly of industrial adhesive and livestock.
It was hideous but it’ll do.
"Go ahead, birthday boy," Conrad said, patting Jamie’s back. "Lead the charge."
With a collective shriek a dozen kids stormed the castle, throwing themselves through the flap door and immediately began to bounce.
“Do you think it will hold up?” Jeremiah asks as he picks up a cupcake from the food table.
“It better.”
“Alright, circle up!" Steven yelled, banging a serving spoon against a salad bowl to get the attention of a dozen damp, exhausted five-year-olds. "Cake time! If you don't sit down, Uncle Steven eats all the frosting!"
Laurel carried out the cake; a massive, slightly lopsided chocolate creation that Taylor had sprinted out to buy at the local bakery to compensate for the bouncy house drama which included five, flickering brightly colored candles.
A small stampede ensued. Jamie, still wearing his neon blue rash guard and smelling faintly of pool chlorine, scrambled onto the bench right next to Belly. Conrad immediately stepped in behind them, his large hand coming down to rest securely on Belly’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing against her collarbone.
"Don't lean too close to the flames, buddy," Conrad murmured gently, leaning down over Jamie’s shoulder.
"I'm gonna blow 'em all out in one puff, Dad," Jamie declared, his little chest puffing out with absolute confidence. "Just watch."
“I believe you," Conrad smiled, looking up to meet Belly’s eyes.
Jeremiah leaned against the doorframe, aviators tucked into his collar, raising a solo cup. "Alright, on three! One, two, three..."
The deck erupted into a loud, incredibly out-of-tune rendition of Happy Birthday, which to everyone’s dismay Steven sang entirely too loud while the neighborhood kids mostly just yelled the words while eyeing the chocolate frosting. Belly leaned her head back against Conrad’s chest, feeling the deep rumble of his voice as he sang along right next to her ear. Below the table, the baby girl gave a sharp, perfectly timed kick against Belly’s ribs, as if demanding her own slice of cake.
As the song ended in a chorus of cheers and applause, Jamie leaned over the cake, his hands gripping the edge of the table.
"Make a wish, sweetie," Belly whispered, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his temple.
Jamie closed his eyes tightly for a split second before he took a massive, dramatic breath, his cheeks ballooning out, and blew. Four of the candles went out instantly. The fifth one flickered dangerously, held on for a second, and then died under the collective extra puff supplied by Conrad and Belly on either side of him.
The room erupted in cheers again. Jeremiah let out a loud whistle, and Steven immediately started cutting massive, uneven wedges of cake.
Jamie spun around on the bench, immediately burying his face in Belly’s side. "I did it!"
"You sure did, bean," Belly laughed, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as the baby bump allowed.
Conrad reached down, picking Jamie up effortlessly and hoisting him onto his hip. He looked at the chocolate smudge Jamie had already managed to leave on his grey tank top, then looked at Belly, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with a wicked, happy smirk.
"Happy birthday, big guy," Conrad said, kissing the top of Jamie's head before looking at Belly. "Now, let's get you some cake before your sister decides to start kicking Mommy again."
By late afternoon, the party was in a perfect rhythm. Kids were alternating between the pool and the pink fortress, the cake was gone, and Steven hadn't burned the hot dogs.
Belly was sitting on a shaded lounge chair, a mocktail in hand, finally relaxing. Conrad walked over, carrying a plate of food he’d fixed for her. He had changed into a clean grey tank top, though the Knicks hat was still backward. He sat on the edge of her lounge.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, his eyes dropping to her stomach before meeting hers.
"I am one hundred percent very appreciative for your quick thinking," Belly said, taking a bite of a strawberry.
"I told you I’d handle it," Conrad said, a genuine smile breaking across his face. He leaned forward, resting a hand on the side of her chair. "Can't have my wife thinking I can't handle a pediatric crisis."
"Oh, a pediatric crisis?" she teased, tweaking the brim of his hat. "I thought it was just a husband trying to avoid sleeping on the couch."
"A little bit of both," he admitted. He reached out, his long fingers gently spreading across the curve of her pregnant belly. He held still until a sharp, distinct kick hit right against his palm.
Conrad’s smile widened, his eyes softening completely. "Hey there, little girl," he murmured, his voice dropping into that gentle tone he only used with their kids. "You being good to your mom?"
"She's not. I had to pee 20 times today." Belly complained, though she was smiling so hard her cheeks ached.
Conrad shifted upward, his lips finding hers in a slow, sweet kiss.
"Get a room, you two! There are children present!" Steven yelled from the grill, waving his tongs.
“Daaaaddy! Uncle Jere said there’s a dragon under the castle. He says we have to flip it to find it.”
“What? Jere!” He yelled across the deck.
“Jesus Christ, I genuinely think we’re taking care of 3 children with how Jeremiah acts.” Belly lets out a snort. He gives her a quick kiss, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go make sure my brother doesn't convince our son to try to flip the cotton-candy training facility."
“Yeah, good luck with that.” Belly watched him walk away toward the chaotic pink castle.
“Oh, hey babe?!” Conrad yells, “Yeah?”
“Can we have Jalen as the baby’s middle name?”
“Fuck no.”