Mom swiftly agrees. “I had to do it when Uncle Bud and Aunt Sue got married.” She shrugs. “It’s bad luck if you don’t.” She narrows her eyes at her daughter. “Lord knows you don’t need any more of that.”

My family may not have had a thing to do with the planning of this impromptu wedding, but apparently, they’ve taken it upon themselves to infuse a little Cajun culture at the expense of my sister, and I’m here for it.

“Fine,” Liz grumps, snatching the broom from our grandmother’s hand. “But I’m choosing the song.” She gives Grandma Joyce a haughty glare over her shoulder as she turns to storm off.

“None of that bumping and grinding music,” the old woman warns.

“S’cuse me.” Liz pauses mid-flight. “Who’s the one dancing? Me or you?”

Grandma plants her hands on her hips and scowls.

“That’s what I thought… Just remember, this was your idea.” My sister leaves us with a wink before proceeding to sashay over to the DJ booth with the devil gleaming in her eye.

When I hear the words “Cash Money Records taking over for the ’99 and the 2000,” ring through the speakers, I picture my sister’s middle finger rising into the air and cackle.

There must never be a dull moment with those two head-strong women living in the same house. Thank God I don’t live there.

“I need a new mommy,” Annabelle says, appearing at my side. “This is embarrassin’.”

“Oh, she’s fun,” Sammi argues, shaking her ass beside me while cheering her best friend on. It’s crazy how close the two are, considering they’re five years apart. That hasn’t always been the case. But a lot has changed since I went away. These two are thick as thieves these days.

“I can’t believe you married her, Uncle Lyle. She’s embarrassin’ too!” She throws both arms out like she’s ready to just give up on life.

I choke. “But she’s really pretty,” I say, loud enough for my bride to hear.

If her answering smile is any indication, my message was received.

“I guess,” my niece grudgingly admits, folding her arms across her chest.

“And she’s a great cook,” I point out, continuing to sing my bride’s praises.

“Her spaghettis are pretty yummy,” she agrees, then squeals and slaps a hand over her face when her mother starts twerking on the broom handle.

“Where’s Pastor John?” my grandmother screeches. “Someone find that man and tell him to come douse this girl in holy water.” She snatches Annabelle’s hand, leading her and her brother away from the spectacle their mother is making of herself.

By the middle of the song, Sammi and her bridesmaids have joined Lizzie out on the dance floor and that broom is the envy of damn near every man in this room.