Then He Happened

by Claudia Burgoa

  When I check the caller ID, my smile flattens. It’s my dad, who never calls for anything. My blood runs cold as I pick up the phone.

  “Hey—”

  “Your sister’s been hospitalized,” he says.

  I don’t pay much attention at the rest of the conversation. Just this vague idea that I repeat what he says to Jason, who takes the phone from me.

  “Yes, sir,” Jason says. “Littleton Adventist, I got it.”

  “We have to go,” he tells me, moving the hair away from my face. “She’s going to be okay.”

  I’m not sure how I get out of the house. I even wear shoes, who knows how I put them on—or when. There’s a lot of white noise. I’m sure Jason speaks to me, but I can’t think straight. My stomach is turning upside down.

  Your sister is in the hospital is all I hear running through my head. It’s just like the time she was in a bus accident back in sixth grade. Nobody could tell us where she was and if she was okay. I remember my mother’s screams and my father crying.

  “Everything will be fine,” Jason whispers, squeezing my hand as we get into his car.

  The street lamps flicker as we pass them driving through town. It’s a dream, I try to rationalize to myself. Charlie’s irresponsible but not reckless. Nothing could have happened to her.

  Unless some freak accident happened.

  The music playing in Jason’s car is low enough that I can ignore it but loud enough that I don’t have to exist in silence. I think some Tears for Fears plays at one point. How appropriate.

  I shudder when he nudges me.

  “I got you,” he says quietly, opening the car door. “Just take my hand, okay?”

  I trail behind him through the hospital. It’s a blur of bright fluorescent lights and the disgustingly strong scent of antiseptic. He squeezes my hand every so often. Somehow, that reminds me to breathe.

  In hindsight, I think he told me to do that—breathe whenever he squeezed.

  We find her at some point, curled up in a hospital bed. She has an IV in her. She looks so gaunt with those bags under her eyes. I can’t tell if they’re from crying or lack of sleep. Maybe both.

  My dad says some things. The doctor says some other things.

  My mom glares at me. I must be crying or something. I don’t know. She looks upset at me. But what did I even do? Fucking nothing.

  Jason squeezes my hand. “It’s fine, just breathe,” he repeats in a low voice that only I can hear.

  “We just need to keep her for observation,” the doctor continues. “but we’re strongly suggesting she stay on bedrest for the next few days.”

  “So she’s okay? For the most part at least?” Jason asks. “And the baby?”

  “Just your standard dehydration,” the doctor explains. “But as I pointed out, she is a bit anemic which likely complicated things. The baby is fine, but she has to change her diet. We’ll have to keep an eye on that.”

  My shoulders relax, and I finally let myself breathe deeply.

  “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Mom asks Charlie.

  Charlie shrugs listlessly. “My wedding’s ruined.”

  What? What is she even saying? Is that really what she’s worried about right now?

  “She’s fucking kidding, right?” Jason mutters. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  Maybe she is doing that Charlie-thing where she projects what she’s really scared of onto something more trivial.

  I’ve never seen her look so sick and miserable before. This is terrible.

  My mom glares at me again. Oh, maybe she was waiting for me to fix this.

  I go to Charlie’s bedside. She’s always been taller than me. But right now, it feels like I’m towering over her. It makes my skin crawl.

  My hand rubs her arm gently.

  “Don’t worry, this wedding is going to go off without a hitch,” I say reassuringly.

  “Eileen, it’s hopeless,” she whispers. “I can’t put together a wedding in this condition.”

  I ignore the impulse to remind her—newsflash, you’re not planning this wedding anyway. Jason sighs behind me. I know he’s thinking the same thing.

  But this isn’t the time for a reality check. This is my sister and she needs me.

  Instead, I hug her carefully. “We’ll take care of everything, okay? I promise this’ll be the wedding of your dreams. Just relax.”

  She hugs me back tightly, sobbing into my shoulder. It reminds me of when we were kids and I could rely on her. When all I had in the world was a sister who would kill for me, and that was plenty.

  This is a no brainer. I’ll do anything to make my sister happy.

  “Let’s take you home,” Jason says around two in the morning.

  I look up at him and smile. “You’re still here.”

  He hands me a Styrofoam cup. “Who else would be handing you an endless supply of caffeine?”

  I take a sip of the cup and glare at him. “This is tea.”

  “It’s late,” he informs me. “I’m cutting you off and driving you home.”

  “Mom and Dad left her.”

  “Marek is with her,” he reminds me while he’s looking toward Charlie’s hospital room. “Only one person can stay. Let’s go home.”

  “Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

  He gives me a patient look before sighing. “As long as she follows the doctor’s instructions. Who diets while pregnant? Your sister has a lot to learn and too little time before she has to become a responsible mother.”

  I nod. The doctor gave her a lecture once she told him what she’s been eating—or not eating—so her dress would fit.

  “Let me take care of you for a change,” he offers and extends his hand. “For once, let someone else worry about the weight of the world. Take a leap of faith and begin by believing that you can change the way you live your life.”

  But then what’s there when my family can’t depend on me?

  21

  Eileen

  Eight days until the wedding

  The fourth priest we’ve seen today walks us out of his office, shakes our hands warmly, and tells us, “I wish you luck on this journey.”

  This wild goose chase is growing desperate and nearly impossible. No one wants to officiate the last-minute wedding of a couple with a baby on the way. If by some miracle they agree to it, they get put off when they hear the bride and groom don’t have time to meet with them.

  They think it’s weird when Jason goes to meet with them by himself, and they think it’s sad—pitiful, I guess—when I go. In conclusion, our divide and conquer strategy didn’t work one bit.

  Our joint adventure hasn’t proven to be more successful, however.

  “At least he had the decency to be nice about saying no,” I offer to Jason. “This one didn’t lecture us about not having sex right as we enter his office.

  He snorts as we walk briskly through the church. When we finally get in the car he sighs, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

  “Sure, that guy was nice, but his ‘house of God’ was creepy as shit,” he says.

  I cross my arms, smirking. “You know, for a guy who isn’t religious, you’re pretty scared of churches—”

  “They have dead people buried underneath them, and parts of dead people in glass displays, and sometimes the dead people are built into the walls!” he exclaims frantically. “How is that not terrifying?”

  “This is a new church; I doubt there are people buried underneath,” I correct him. “You watch way too many movies and documentaries.”

  “Still, churches are imposing, and they scare the fuck out of children,” he says as he turns on the engine.

  “Point taken,” I concede.

  We drive in silence for a while. Our next destination is an hour north of the city at this tiny little chapel. Huey Lewis and the News keep us company. Today’s one of those rare overcast days that’s whispering snow is coming.

  Perfect. The last thing I need is Charlie fretting ove
r her wedding getting ruined by the May weather. Mom already had to take a few days off from work so she’d calm down. And as if I had called her, she suddenly texts me.

  Mom: Did you find a priest?

  “Does it matter if this minister’s Catholic?” Jason asks when we’re a few miles away from our destination.

  I groan and look at my phone.

  Eileen: We’re on it.

  “Not really,” I admit because at this point anyone would do it. “As long as they’re religious and not too eccentric. I personally don’t care.”

  Jason nods as he puts on his turn signal.

  I continue, mostly to fill the silence. “It’s for my grandparents’ sake more than anyone. They’ll get over the shotgun wedding as long as it’s legitimate.”

  “Because being legally married by a legal minister is fake?” He burst into laughter.

  What’s with this guy and not taking anything serious?

  “In their eyes, yeah,” I admit.

  He doesn’t say anything. I think that’s for the best. Regardless of how I feel, I know what my family is like.

  “What if we make up a story?” I suggest, as Jason parks in front of the chapel.

  He glances at me and arches his eyebrow. “Like what?”

  “Like he just came back from the Peace Corps or she’s gotten a job overseas—”

  “Or they’re both dying of cancer,” he proposes.

  “What the fuck? That’s crazy.” I glare at him.

  “Newsflash, Eileen. That’s exactly what you sound like—crazy,” he gives me a little reality check.

  I groan. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize lying to a minister to get them to officiate this shit show of a wedding—”

  “If it’s such a shit show, what are you doing here? Why are you still help—”

  “Because you’ve seen those idio—”

  “Don’t you dare call my sister an idiot,” I shout.

  Jason sags. He takes a deep breath and crosses his arms.

  “Okay, I’m sorry,” he says. Getting out of the car he speaks again as he opens the passenger door, “That was...maybe uncalled for. But what is this, Eileen? You’re killing yourself over finding the right minister to make your grandparents happy.”

  I open my mouth to talk, but he lifts his index finger. “If it’s not your sister, then it’s your parents. Now we’re up to your grandparents. When does the people pleasing end?”

  I clench my jaw, trying to breathe.

  “Does it ever end?” he asks quietly.

  My eyes feel so hot and wet and uncomfortable. He doesn’t get it, but how could he? Even I know this is too much.

  “You saw how she was,” I say finally. “How miserable she looked in that hospital bed. She needs help—”

  “Hey, of course I did,” he says as he loops his strong arms around my body. And suddenly, I feel safe.

  I feel like I can breathe again and I’m strong enough to continue with this chaotic wedding.

  “And she does need help,” he mumbles not letting me go. “Weddings fucking suck to plan. All pregnancy complications not included.”

  His hug feels familiar. He must’ve done it back at the hospital.

  It feels so strong, yet soft. I could bury my head in his chest and never leave. He smells like sandalwood and pine. Not the cheap body spray kind either, just like he’s made out of timber and the mist of a forest.

  I guess that makes sense. He’s pretty magical as it is.

  “But she needs a lot more help than getting this wedding planned,” he says. “It’d help her a shit ton if you were more honest with her about how many hoops you’re jumping through to get this done. Maybe she’d back off or even, I don’t know, pitch in a little?”

  I shake my head. “That’s never going to happen.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it,” I say.

  He shrugs, trying to play it casual as he lets go of me. I know he’s disappointed, though. It’s okay, I think I’m a little disappointed in me too.

  “Come on, Eileen,” he says. “Let’s see if this next one’s willing to work with us.”

  “Well, my schedule is open for the twenty-seventh, fortunately,” the third minister we’ve visited in the past couple of hours says after hearing the dates and logistics of the wedding.

  “That’s great news,” I say, letting out a breath I must have been holding since yesterday.

  “And I’m sure if your sister and her fiancé are every bit as well matched as you two,” he pauses looking at our linked hands. “They’ll have a very long and fortuitous marriage.”

  My brain grinds to a halt. He thinks Jason and I are together? Why would he say that? Shit, what do I say to that?

  “Thanks, your holiness,” Jason says as he releases my hand and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “We’re not exactly there yet, but we appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  The minister smiles serenely. “I do have one observation that I think is important to address.”

  I swallow thickly. Shit, this is it, another rejection. “Yes?”

  “This wedding is a week away,” he says. “Did something happen to your last officiant or is there a special circumstance I should be aware of?”

  I open my mouth to give whatever lame excuse my mind can muster up when Jason opens his big mouth.

  “The answer’s quite simple, your godliness,” he says. “They’re just two crazy kids madly in love with each other. I’m sure you understand this, being a man of God yourself, but their love goes deeper than the superficial junk everyone’s into these days.”

  Great, he’s going to start cursing and fuck our chances with this minister. Are we going to have to drive to New Mexico and kidnap some minister?

  “Love isn’t about the big, swooping gestures,” Jason says. “It’s about waking up just a little bit earlier to get coffee while they watch the news together. It’s about trading off on the chores and responsibilities they hate and rewarding each other with smiles. It’s about the conversations, compromises, and adventures that make their lives worth living. Love is about finding someone who wants to go on that crazy journey of life together so you can support each other every step of the way. And once you’ve found who you want to go on that journey with, it seems wrong to waste another moment apart.”

  My jaw drops.

  Who is this man and what happened to Jason Spearman?

  I had no idea he had something like this in him. I’m blown away. My head exploded, and so did my ovaries. Wow, that was one big speech, and I’ll remember it for my entire life.

  Who knew this guy felt anything or even thought that much about love? I’ve never seen him look so serious, or somber, before.

  The minister seems to be just as pleased. He nods, offers us both handshakes and says, “Then I can’t wait to officiate for such a thoughtful couple.”

  He confirms a few more details, reminds us to have the marriage certificate ready for the ceremony, and wishes us a good day.

  When we get out of the chapel, I have to ask. “Where did that come from?”

  “What?” Jason gives me a side glance before opening the passenger door. He waits until I am seated to close the door and walk around to the driver’s side.

  He gets in the car, turns on the engine and before pulling out he says, “The lovey-dovey crap?”

  “Uh, yes,” I confirm, waiting anxiously for his answer. “Where’d you learn to wax poetic like that?”

  He shrugs, refusing to look me in the eye as we head back toward Denver. The silence is so fucking uncomfortable on the way back.

  It’s not our normal, companionable silence. He wants to say something; I fucking know he does. Every so often he’ll look over in my direction, mouth opening hesitantly before snapping shut... again, and again, and again.

  Finally, he says something, “I didn’t come up with that on the fly, okay?”

&
nbsp; “So, you just had a romantic speech prepared,” I say. “I carry hand sanitizer wipes; you carry your own lectures for all occasions.”

  He shrugs and mutters, “They were part of my wedding vows.”

  I sit up straight. Jason doesn’t wear a ring. He’s never mentioned a wife or a girlfriend. He sure as fuck acts like the kind of guy who would never get married.

  So what’s the fucking deal here?

  I say as much out loud.

  “I had a wedding, once,” he says stiffly. “Didn’t get married, have never been married.”

  Without thinking, I squeeze his shoulder. “Wanna talk about it?”

  Jason shakes his head, laughing shakily.

  He starts talking anyway.

  22

  Jason

  Ten Years Ago

  As the Black Eye Peas blare on the speakers with their usual nonsense lyrics, I walk toward Greta, my beautiful girlfriend, who seems to be having a blast tonight.

  “You know I have to admit,” she says. “This party is pretty great.”

  Okay, I know most guys hype up their partners, but fuck. I have the best girlfriend in the world.

  She spelunks in her free time. She runs the social media for the local dog rescue because she had extra time in her schedule. Plus, she’s smart as shit, graduating top of her class with a degree in poli-sci. She knows how to handle social situations the way my older brother wishes I could.

  “Oh, if you have to,” I say jokingly, “Then I guess I should’ve ordered those flying unicorns after all.”

  She laughs, swatting my arm playfully. “Stop, I just mean this is nice…”

  “But?”

  “A little much for a graduation party, don’t you think?” she contemplates the house.

  I look around. Maybe the chocolate fountain is overkill, but she deserves the best. Champagne, her favorite food from the Italian Bistro down the street, and a frozen yogurt machine to give her unlimited supply of tart flavored ice cream with her favorite toppings.