A/N: Modern drabble this time. Dedicated to all those who have been privileged enough to attend a playground wedding; or its hilarious and almost inevitable sequel, the playground divorce.
Playground
'I'm sorry, Em. It was rotten of him to ditch you like that, just before the wedding.' Six-year-old Jack's sympathy was evident in his eyes.
Five-year-old Emma shrugged, not unduly bothered. 'I was thinking of cancelling the whole thing myself; even though he's Fred Churchill, he's still a stupid boy.' Jack listened without protest, knowing by now that statements like these from Emma always excluded himself.
She sighed. 'Still, it would have been nice to have a playground wedding.' She could picture it now: rings made of twisted blades of grass, daisy chain bracelets, bridesmaids perched on the monkey-bars, groom waiting by the swings, and herself the bride, making her grand entrance down the slide…
'Maybe – maybe there can still be a wedding,' Jack said suddenly, and she looked at him in surprise and dismay. She knew Hayley had been hoping for a playground wedding of her own, and the other girl's idea of prospective groom had deeply disturbed her.
'No!' she cried immediately, stomping her foot and pouting heavily. 'I don't want you to– I don't want there to be a wedding.'
'Oh.' He looked down at his Thomas the Tank Engine trainers, looking so disappointed that Emma couldn't bear it.
She relented almost instantly, slipping her hand into his. 'Okay, fine, get married.' She couldn't prevent the note of bitterness from creeping into her voice. 'At least make me a bridesmaid, won't you?'
He looked at her in disbelief. 'Em, I want you to be the bride,' he said slowly.
For a moment she simply goggled at him, stunned, but then she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so tight he couldn't breathe.