Blow This Popsicle Stand Novels & Stories

“We have to wear it for the rest of the day!” They laughed at what she said. “Well, I was thinking we offer free services in a stand or something. I take free photos and they buy the shirts.” Colleen grinned widely. “That’s a brilliant idea, Toby. And maybe I could offer some fruit juice on the side. I make some pretty good orange juice and lemonade.” “Then, it’s settled,” he said, lifting the bag to his shoulder. “I’ll go set this at a perfect location downstairs. Think you can handle getting us that stand?”

The scent of popcorn and cotton candy hung in the air. And the people. There were so many people. Entire families exploring every corner, kids running from ride to ride, parents snapping photos, grandparents smiling. Exactly how it was meant to be, how I had dreamed it. "Look," Marcus said quietly, pointing. I followed his gaze and saw the Kensington stand set up near the entrance, elegant and eye-catching. Bottles of wine were arranged artfully beside bottles of grape juice, all labeled Celebration in gold lettering. A partnership that sealed the union of our families, our legacies. And for once, we truly had something worth celebrating.

“He’s gonna kill him!” And then I see him. Dante. Towering in front of the destroyed popcorn stand. The cart’s toppled. Steam rising from the kettle. Popcorn everywhere like confetti at a massacre. He’s got the vendor by the throat. The poor man’s feet aren’t even touching the ground. He’s choking, clawing at Dante’s wrist. People are recording with their phones. Others are screaming. One woman’s crying. Kids are hiding behind their parents. And Dante—he’s not human right now.

I find myself rolling my eyes, annoyed with her attitude. “Come on, ladies. Who’s up,” a partially drunk Adam throws his arm around Shaina’s shoulder, distracting her from the conversation. He looks at me, beer haze clouding his focus so he squints. “I know you?” I wave lamely. “Piper.” “Oh. That’s right. You’ve got to try the keg stand.” “Um. No,” Paisley says, making the universal cut sign with her hand across her throat. “Forget what she says,” Adam replies. “You have to do the keg stand. It’s a party must.”

While I was silently grateful when she removed the slip, I knew it was a double-edged sword. Finally standing on the beach while the sun began its slow descent, we carried out one of our many traditions and worked at our popsicles. We had done it since we were young kids, and it was nice to share it with our wives. Standing some distance away with the popsicle stick clenched between my teeth, I watched as Maria sucked on hers, taking the opportunity to do so as provocatively as she could without garnering anyone else’s attention. She even looked at me and smirked in between wrapping her perfect lips around that popsicle.

“Hotdogs?” “Yes.” “Popcorn?” “Yes.” “Painted photo walls?” “Yes, Maya.” Her scream echoed through the phone. “CARNIVAL WEEK IS BACK, BABYYY!” I laughed, the heaviness inside me finally dissolving. “I swear, the principal must have been possessed by fun.” Maya giggled. “We need outfits. We’re doing themes. I’m not negotiating.” “I literally already made a list,” I confessed. “Of course you did.” “And I already called dibs on the neon glow booth,” I added. “And the cotton candy stand. And the ring toss. And the—”

I point out. In a matter of seconds, it seems as if Aiden, Kol, Ethan, Justin, Kyle, and Lucas immerse themselves in some kind of weird manly stare-down. "Or sure, continue to mad dog each other while you guys mentally size each other up," I sigh as I put the keys in my pocket, then grab the pieced-apart sweet treat stands from the table. "This is a school public event, so as long as you guys don't actually measure each other's dicks in public, I guess I'll just go put this away and come back."

They might be big, scary Xeviers with enough raw power to flatten a wall, but sometimes they were just toddlers in disguise. Since I had already taken a shower, I figured I might as well take control of something productive. I moved and decided to make a small snack station. Complete with: bowls of popcorn, pretzels, chips, and a few candy bars scattered artfully around the coffee table. Bottles of soda stood chilled in the cooler, ready to be opened at a moment’s notice. Everything was arranged, neat and perfect for movie night. I took a step back, surveying my work with quiet satisfaction.

"Custom design. I want a lion, but cute. Not a scary lion. A friendly, approachable lion." "I'll handle the cake," Aria said. "Before you order a sculpture made of fondant that scares the children." "Entertainment," I continued. "I hired a bubble artist." "A what?" "A guy who makes giant bubbles. Kids love bubbles. Emma loves bubbles. It's a slam dunk." "Okay," Aria conceded. "Bubbles are good." "And a photo booth," I added. "With props. Safari hats. Binoculars. I want memories, Aria. High-resolution memories."