“My gremlin.” She gives me a look. “Do you really believe I’d have a good time calling florists, venues, and delegating out every last inch of a party? No, that you got from your father.” I’m intrigued. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m more like him and a little less like you.” “You’re not more like him.” She sounds resolute. Definitive. “He’s hardly the type to celebrate love, let alone organize a party around the concept—unless it involves the very few people he does love.”
