Thick paper and plastic whispered under Jazz's fingertips as she stroked the edges of the pages. Every so often, they would catch the edge of a photograph, a crinkle-cut decoration, a pattern pressed in washi paper. The spine creaked as she turned the page.
There were so many memories in this scrapbook. So many triumphs. So many moments of embarrassment. So many moments of peace, or disaster, or humor, or surprise. She turned to the front. Some of these, she'd begged off Sam. Who would have thought they'd have a hobby like this in common?
Not Jazz, that's for sure.
But it was a good thing. Mostly.
She looked down at the copy of the last picture of Danny as a fully human being. He looked like such a dork, standing there with the white jumpsuit that looked incredibly wrong after getting used to the black one. It even had their dad's face on it.
If things had gone… worse than they had, this could have been the last picture of Danny. Period.
Things hadn't gone wrong. Gosh, why was she even thinking about that? That was sad. And not relevant. Not today. Not ever. Because it hadn't happened.
Besides, she was preparing for a happy day. Not that today wasn't happy enough as it was.
She flipped through the book to a happier story, a better, more appropriate anecdote.
"Hey, Jazz?"
She looked up. "Yeah?"
"Which do you think looks better?" Her little brother (not so little now) held up two pale swatches of fabric.
"For Sam?" she asked, incredulously.
"No, Sam's going to wear a black dress. With lace, apparently. Very gothic. Tucker said it looked nice. These are for me."
"Uh," said Jazz, putting the scrapbook to the side and getting up to take a closer look. "Did you talk to Sam about these?"
"She's the one that brought them over," said Danny. "A whole box of them for me to choose from."
"Ah," said Jazz. "That's good. So, a white tux, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess so. It's a suit, anyway? I'm not great when it comes to types of suit, apparently, haha. Unless, you know, it's hazmat, I guess?"
"Yeah, we've got experience in hazmat," mumbled Jazz. "I think I'd need to see the cut of the suit to start to have an opinion about what it would look better."
"Hm," said Danny. "Sam has that picked out, too. I don't know where she finds the time for it. All this planning, I mean."
"While you're ghost hunting?"
"She's out there with me."
"Maybe Pamela helps?"
"Yeah, it could be that," said Danny. "But she's never exactly been enthusiastic about me and Sam—Not to mention Tucker—so that'd be a real change."
"But not impossible." Unlike a lot of things in their lives.
"Not impossible," said Danny, smiling. "It'd be nice if that was what was happening, wouldn't it? Seeing as she's going to be my mother-in-law and all. I'd like to not fight." He sighed, wistful.
"Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be fine," said Jazz, patting his shoulder. "Maybe we should make sure Sam isn't overextending herself, though, yeah?"
"Yeah," said Danny, quickly, putting down the fabric swatches on the coffee table, a risky proposition, considering the things that were often placed on that table. "I'm going to go do that."
Jazz sat back down and reopened the scrapbook as Danny retreated from the room. She had to get back to planning her speech.