Lily notices the message too late to pretend she hasn’t seen it.
“See you at the parade later! We’ll save you a spot!”
She stares at her phone.
“We’re… apparently going to the carnival parade,” she announces to the kitchen.
Ben looks up. “Did we agree to that?”
“I am not sure,” Lily sighs.
An hour later they are walking into town, Lily wrapped in mild reluctance and a scarf, Ben carrying the general optimism of someone who suspects snacks may be involved.
Their friends spot them immediately, cheering like Lily and Ben are long-lost parade royalty.
Within minutes, Lily is handed a paper mask. Then a plastic cup of something fizzy. Then, inexplicably, a small flag.
“I didn’t agree to participate,” she whispers to Ben.
“You’re holding a flag,” he whispers back. “You’re already in.”
The parade rolls in with music loud enough to reorganize internal organs. A float shaped like a giant cake passes, followed by dancers in neon wigs and a brass band that plays every song slightly too fast.
Lily tries to stay politely amused.
That lasted until a man dressed as a chicken trips, recovers dramatically, and bows to the crowd like he’d rehearsed it for years. She laughs. Loudly. Unexpectedly.
By mid-afternoon they are clapping along, debating which float deserves an imaginary award, and accepting handfuls of candy from a pirate.
At some point their friends insist on “just one drink” at a nearby café.
That turns into two drinks, shared fries, and a long discussion about which costume would win.
When evening falls, the lights come on, the music softens, and the crowd shifts into that chaotic happiness that only happens when no one plans to stay this long.
Lily leans back in her chair, cheeks pink from laughing. “You know,” she admits, “I really didn’t want to come.”
On the walk home, Lily finds glitter on her sleeve and a paper mask tucked in her pocket.
Tell me — what’s the last thing you almost skipped… that turned out to be unexpectedly fun?
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