It was my wedding day, and everything seemed perfect. My brother—and best man—Mason said he had a surprise planned to “add some fun” to the ceremony. That alone should’ve been a warning.
Two hours before the ceremony, one of Clara’s friends came rushing toward me, panic in her voice.
“Jace! Clara’s gone. And all I found in the bridal suite was this envelope.”
The message inside made my pulse spike:
*“If you ever want to see your bride again, bring a thousand bucks to Restaurant **. — Mason”
Classic Mason, I told myself. A prank. A dumb one, but still a prank. I grabbed my keys and sped to the restaurant, my thoughts ricocheting everywhere. What if Clara wasn’t in on it? Why wasn’t Mason answering his phone? Why today?
Inside the familiar restaurant we used to haunt in college, the hostess pointed me toward the private party room. The moment I opened the door, relief slammed into me. Clara was there—confused but unharmed, still in her robe and slippers. And Mason? Grinning like a fool.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped. “A ransom note? On my wedding day?”
Mason scratched the back of his head. “Okay, so the note might’ve been too much. But I brought you here for something special.”
He stepped aside, revealing a small setup against the far wall: restored arcade machines, boxes of old tokens, and a bright retro sign featuring a smiling pizza slice holding a joystick. My breath caught.
It was all from Dad’s abandoned dream—his arcade-pizzeria project. Before he died, he’d saved these pieces, hoping one day we’d continue it. Life had gotten in the way. But here it was again, restored and buzzing with 8-bit life.
“I found the machines in a storage auction,” Mason explained softly. “I fixed them up. I wanted to surprise you with something that honored Dad. A gift from him to you, to both of you.”
My anger cracked, then crumbled. Clara slipped her hand into mine, smiling gently. “This is actually…beautiful,” she whispered.
I sighed, overwhelmed. “This would’ve been perfect at the reception, you idiot.”
“Yeah,” he winced. “I messed up the delivery. No more ransom pranks—ever.”
We rushed back to the venue, still fielding frantic questions from family. A whirlwind of makeup touch-ups, tie-straightening, and deep breaths later, I stood at the altar.
At 2:05 p.m., the doors opened. Clara walked toward me in her gown, radiant and steady. The chaos melted away. I barely heard the guests or officiant—just the beating of my heart and her hand in mine.
Our vows included a teasing nod to Mason’s antics—“through every wild idea your brother throws at us”—and everyone laughed. We kissed, married at last.
That night, Mason rolled the restored Ms. Pac-Man machine into the reception. Guests lined up, cheering and reminiscing. And I realized that despite the madness, Mason had given us something unforgettable:
A reminder that dreams don’t die. They wait.
And now, Clara and I have a new dream to chase—one Dad would’ve loved.