Then He Happened

by Claudia Burgoa

  “I'm dictating a text to my brother,” he answers. “His girlfriend has connections. Maybe we can get a slot for that day to get these two hitched. You think your sister would change her mind about the day?”

  I laugh. He hasn’t spent enough time with Charlie, but I bet that by the end of this affair he’s going to stay at least a town away from my sister and our entire family at all times.

  “Like my sister would care about changing her date,” I say trying to control the laugh. “She said May twenty-seventh and that would be it.”

  “So, there’s no room to negotiate?”

  “Any time would really work,” I tell him. If there’s something I’ve learned after all these years, is to work with loopholes. “Regardless, we’ll have to make sure everyone who comes from out of town makes it on time.”

  “Your parents do a lot for her, don’t they?”

  I don’t answer.

  He puts the car in drive, peeling back onto the highway. “Okay once we have the venue, what’s next?”

  Checking on my journal, I say, “Charlie’s working on the guest list. Thank fuck she gets that we can’t invite more than a hundred people...”

  “I hear a ‘but’, Eileen,” he says with a voice akin to a sports announcer.

  “Well, Jason,” I say, matching his tone. “It’s still anyone’s guess if she’ll actually stay under a hundred people. Let alone how many people she’ll try to squeeze into her bridal party.”

  We’re still heading in the direction of Boulder. There’s a shop that does custom wedding invites that Charlie “has” to have.

  Clouds roll by overhead, dwarfing us with their shadows. Jason goes back to comfortably dangling his left hand out the window. I don’t say, I told you so, but it feels good to be right.

  It isn’t until we get off the highway that I realize I messed up by adding Save the Date. There’s no fucking way we can send the cards.

  I text Charlie, asking if she wants to create an event online instead.

  Eileen: Do you want to create a Save the Date online?

  Charlie: Dang, That's a little tacky, don't you think?

  No, I think that’s the only way I can get it done on time, but I don’t type the response.

  Charlie: Is there any way that we can send them tonight instead?

  Before I can answer, another text pops with yet another ridiculous question.

  Charlie: When are you guys organizing the engagement party?

  My jaw drops. My stomach is churning. She’s on my last nerve and this wedding is just getting started. I try to keep my anger at bay.

  “She wants an engagement party,” I announce, baffled, angry, and yet sounding flat.

  “Seriously?” Jason says as he parks in front of the card shop.

  His phone buzzes and a message appears on the screen of his dashboard.

  Jack: If you can be at the Broadmoor Hotel within the next couple of hours, they might be able to find something for you.

  Jason: Why a couple of hours?

  Jack: The event coordinator leaves at three.

  “It’s one,” I say staring at the message on his dashboard.

  “Well fuck,” he says. “Shit. Okay, let’s go in the shop, ask for what’s on your list and then leave. Ten minutes, tops.”

  “Cool,” I say as casually as possible.

  By the look on Jason’s face, it isn’t reassuring to either of us.

  11

  Jason

  It’s a perfect day to take one last trip to Steamboat before the season closes.

  But where am I?

  Racing from Boulder back to Colorado Springs to look at a wedding venue for my cousin and his high-maintenance fiancée. Marek fucking owes me. Way to ruin my weekend, buddy.

  When I heard they would extend the ski season this year, I was so excited. But look how well that worked out. Saturdays are supposed to be fun days.

  I don’t ask for much. I just need a place, a plan, a beautiful companion, and a bottle of liquor.

  See? Straight forward, nice and easy. That keeps me satiated for an entire weekend. It really doesn’t take much to keep me happy and satisfied.

  What’s abso-fucking-lutely not satisfying, is touring the grounds of the Broadmoor to scout the perfect place for a shotgun wedding.

  “So, what’s wrong with Vegas again?” I suggest, half joking.

  Eileen shrugs. “Nothing. It’s a great town. Lots of movies take place there. I don’t know why people hate on it so much.”

  “But for a shotgun wedding or maybe eloping?” I clarify. “My assistant can make the reservations. I’ll get a plane. We’ll be there before six. There are plenty of venues. We could probably pick one on the spot.”

  She laughs. Like seriously laughs for about a minute like I just said the funniest, most amazing joke in the history of jokes.

  When she finally sobers up, she asks with that curious voice, “Did you run that idea by Charlie already?”

  I rub the back of my neck sheepishly. “No.”

  “Well if you do,” she says excitedly, and that excites me too. Finally, I found the solution to end this madness. “I want to be right there. I’ll have my camera ready.”

  Is she mocking me?

  I shoot her an unimpressed frown. “I’m not joking.”

  “Me neither.” She shakes her head, laughing once again. “She’ll try to kill you right on the spot. That’s worth taping.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s a great idea,” I insist.

  “You’re talking about my sister,” she says, waving the wedding journal in my face. “She thinks the only wedding worth having is a wedding that’s as glamorous as a royal affair.”

  “We could make Vegas glamorous,” I grumble.

  “Mom wouldn’t like it either,” she continues citing the faults of my awesome idea. “What about the guests? Would you fly all of them, pay for the accommodations and their expenses?”

  Well, I can’t argue with that. I shrug. She smiles and looks back at the horizon. “I think either here or the Mountain View Terrace.

  So, we’re back to planning the event. “What are you thinking?”

  She hums. “I think the Mountain View Terrace would be perfect at sunset. Especially if we take this place up on that discount for doing Friday morning instead of that evening or Saturday.”

  That sounds reasonable. “Okay, but will her royal obnoxiousness, Princess Charlie, agree to that?”

  Eileen snorts. “As long as it looks amazing on her Instagram account, I’m sure she’ll agree to that.”

  She seems so sure of herself. But with all the bullshit we’ve been through and all the crap her sister’s put her through, I don’t want us to fuck this up.

  “But is this the place?” I ask earnestly.

  She looks around for a bit. Her eyes comb over every inch of this place so meticulously.

  “What do you think?” I ask again, while she studies the landscape and compares it with the pictures.

  She stands in the middle of the gazebo and looks left, then right, toward the mountains.

  “Does it make you want to say I do?” she asks curiously.

  I shake my head. “There’s nothing that would make me stand up in front of a bunch of people and say ‘I do.’”

  Again, I don’t say.

  “So, a smaller setting?” She doesn’t even look at me as she talks. She’s admiring the mountain view. “This isn’t too big. They said up to a hundred and thirty guests. We don’t have to invite everyone to the ceremony. We’ll take whatever they have for the reception.”

  It’s still too many people, I think.

  She turns back to me as if reading my fucking mind. “You’re being weirdly quiet. Still deciding about your ideal wedding?”

  Instead of responding, I ask a question of my own. “Does this place make you want to tie your life to another person?”

  She squints, craning her neck to look up at me. For a few beats, she remains quiet.

 
“I don’t know if this is the place,” she answers. “First I’d need the right guy. I’m not getting married to just anyone.”

  “So, you’re still looking for him?”

  She turns to look at me and flashes the smile she has on her face so fucking often. There’s such tenderness in those eyes. Her face, and that smile, just soothes me.

  “I’m too busy to get a haircut let alone date someone who isn't worth my time,” she says with a soft voice. “But you know, I wouldn’t marry someone just because of a broken condom.”

  “Like your sister,” I say what she’s trying to avoid.

  She shrugs.

  “I look at her and Marek, and I’m just not feeling it” she says, taking the scene in one more time before walking toward me. “Wouldn’t you want to organize the most important day of your life?”

  “I think they're busy trying to score a house,” I say, knowing they were with Jack and Emmeline earlier today.

  Marek is visiting everyone who would be willing to listen to him. I just don’t think he’ll find what Charlie is looking for. A brand new four-bedroom home—free of charge.

  “When I find a guy worth shit,” Eileen says. “I don’t want to be worried about a wedding or where we’re going to live.”

  The air is thin here. It goes well with the crisp afternoon air. Eileen is cool but calloused when it comes to love. I wonder if it's a family trait and she's just a gold digger.

  So, I prod a little. “What if he can only afford a studio, doesn’t have a car, and can’t afford to pay for the wedding of your dreams?”

  “Maybe that’s why fifty percent of marriages end up in divorce,” she answers. “People get married all the time for all the wrong reasons. You do it because you’ve come to realize that someone cares enough to see your bullshit and love you anyway. If you’re too concerned about her looks, her job, where she lives... you're wasting your time.”

  She sighs. “I don’t think that many weddings are about love. They're a convoluted status symbol. If you want it so badly, just elope.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. Well fuck, I wasn't expecting that. “What if you can afford the wedding of your dreams?”

  She gives me an impish smile. “Then, I’ll think about inviting a few people and do something small. Ten, fifteen people from each side of the family. You seem like the kind of guy that would let her do everything, and pay for it. You like to please people.”

  Now she’s analyzing me. Sweetheart, you don’t know me at all.

  “And why the fuck would I do that?” I ask defensively.

  That last statement doesn’t sit well. We don’t know each other, and she just assumes—not that she’s wrong about it.

  “Middle child,” she responds. “We have the tendency to make everyone happy, right?”

  Well, she got me there, didn’t she?

  “Maybe I would help her organize it.” I let my gaze wander around anywhere but in her direction. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “Come on,” she says inviting me to stand right by the gazebo. “Let’s try this out.”

  “Try it?”

  “Duh, we need to test drive this place.” She extends her hand wiggling her fingers as she calls me to her. “What do you think?”

  I take her hand. It's warm. Her grip soft, yet firm. She feels so familiar. I don’t know what it is that I’m waiting for as I stand right in front of her. She squeezes my hand, kinda like she's saying “chill the fuck out.”

  Reluctantly, I take a deep breath. This place smells like pine with hints of hazelnut and cherry? Warm and bright, just like her. Her eyes stare at me curiously. Then, she nudges me to stare at the horizon again.

  “Could you?” she whispers with a chuckle. “Doesn’t it make you want to fall stupidly in love?”

  The sky goes on forever. Just like her laugh. My breath catches. I almost forgot what it’s like being up here, waiting for something that’ll never come to pass.

  I swallow thickly, terrified of how she made my heart beat faster. “Yeah.”

  12

  Jason

  Twelve days until the wedding

  “I understand, thanks,” I grumble as I hang up on yet another wedding planner.

  Deep breaths, I tell myself. Jossie cut me off after two espressos this morning so I’m left nursing a pitiful, decaf latte.

  This ranks top of the list of “shittiest ways to spend my morning.” I’m scrambling for a new wedding planner. I asked Jossie for help, but she has too much real work to entertain my personal affairs. If she wasn’t such a life savior, I’d be firing her sassy ass right about now.

  Charlie’s friend is charging us double because we canceled on her yesterday. The ones I’ve called either laugh in my face or ask me for more money than the entire wedding budget combined. Maybe, I should just go ahead and pay them.

  I really just want out of this fucking mess. Weddings are my kryptonite, and no one seems concerned about my well-being. My last resource is my younger brother, Alex. He might take pity on me and take over this mess.

  “What can I do for you?” he says cheerfully after the first ring.

  Have I mentioned how much I hate morning people?

  “Why am I the one dealing with a fucking wedding?” I ask instead of greeting him. “Shouldn’t it be June, Jeannette, or you?”

  “Sure, throw your kid brother under the bus,” he says.

  “Better you than me.”

  “You skipped Jackson,” he complains. “And Emmeline is the queen of organization. This would be right up her alley.”

  I sigh as I go back to googling “cheap wedding planners near me.” I have another tab open with the search results for “how to bail out of a wedding you agreed to pay for,” a third one with “how to not fall into the web of sweet, cute, sister-of-the-bride” and “how to make yourself repulsive to someone else.”

  “She offered to help me with a few things,” I tell him. “But they’re both out of the country for the next week. If not, I would’ve added them to the mix. Or better yet, shoved this off to them.”

  “Just stop enabling Marek,” he says. “I never saw you do that for me when I had my accident.”

  Last year, he was in a car accident. At some point, the doctors mentioned that he wouldn’t walk again. His X-game career ended that day. He walks with a limp, and I swear that I tried to be there for him. But he really didn’t need me as much.

  “You had Mom and the girls fussing all over you,” I remind him. Our sisters mothered him to death while he was recovering. “The point is, I can’t do this. Everyone knows it and no one fucking cares.”

  “We care, but you should be over it,” he says. And then the fucker asks, “Do I really have to be there for the big day? We know how this is going to turn out, don’t we?”

  “And they say I’m the cynic of this family,” I respond, resigned that this asshole isn’t going to help me.

  This isn’t worth my time. Marek won’t even appreciate it. It’s just going to be yet another disaster wedding I’ve lived through. And an unhappy marriage I have to witness. Until he asks for money to pay for a divorce lawyer.

  “What do you need help with?” he asks in a resigned tone.

  “Just about everything,” I answer. “Fuck. I’m sick of all of it. Bridezilla is so fucking incompetent. Marek isn’t any better. And don’t get me started on this fucking chick—”

  “There’s a chick involved?” he asks, amusement in his voice.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Sister of the Bride.”

  “So, she’s hot?”

  I think about it for a second. Sure, Eileen’s pretty. Her voice is sweet but confident. She’s fucking smart as shit and has a mouth to match. She’s cool but not in an obnoxious know-it-all kinda way. She’s hilarious and charismatic.

  Sometimes I catch myself holding my breath when she watches me. She gets this look on her face sometimes like she’s waiting for me to spill my guts. I feel as if she can read my mind and even touch my so
ul with her sweet gaze.

  I had to stop myself a couple of times yesterday from telling her my walrus joke. Last night, I wanted to hear her voice before I fell asleep. And I almost called her this morning to say maybe I should bail on planning this wedding. Hoping she’ll convince me otherwise.

  I never call women. Well, except for Jossie—but she doesn’t count.

  “Uh ,you know,” I say casually. “I don’t think so... haven’t really had time to get a good look at—”

  “Wow, you’ve got it bad,” Alex declares as if he knows better than I do.

  There’s a knock at the door. I check the monitor. The first thing I spot is that bright smile and those crinkly green eyes. She makes me smile against my better judgment as I open the door.

  “Uh, I gotta go,” I tell Alex.

  “Let me guess, it’s her,” he says flatly.

  “Yeah, sounds great,” I say as I hang up on him.

  “It's you,” I say, as I usher her in. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Marek told me,” she explains walking into my house and looking around. “I thought it was easier to come over than go to my parents’ house to make a call.”

  I stare at her dumbfounded. This is the last place I expected to see her. In my house. How can I avoid her if she just saunters into my domain looking all hot with those skinny jeans and the loose white blouse?

  “Do you know there are really no payphones anymore?” she asks.

  Payphones?

  What is she talking about? I blink twice rewinding the conversation. What did I miss?

  Was she going to call me?

  “How did you get my number?” I question. “And more importantly, where the fuck is your phone?”

  “Charlie and Marek paid me an early visit,” she clarifies.

  I check the time, nine in the morning—what the fuck is wrong with people? It’s too early for a Sunday morning.

  “I can't find my phone,” she continues. “The last time I saw it was when we went to dinner. It might be in your car, honestly.”

  “How about the restaurant?”