Then He Happened

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Antique shopping?” I frown.

  “Yeah,” she says, releasing my face and pulling her journal. “Charlie said she wants some ‘rustic’ decorations... which we probably can’t afford, but if I get some reference photos, we can make a few things.”

  So, if it weren’t weird enough that she knows a tailor named Seamus, she just happens to have a regular antique shop she frequents, owned by a woman named Maria.

  “Ay, amor,” Maria says. “What are you looking for today? Another watering can for your sculpture?”

  Another watering can? And a sculpture?

  “Not today, Maria,” Eileen answers looking around. “I had to put that project on the back burner. But if you have any old copper wire—”

  “Say no more,” Maria exclaims. “I’ve been saving some for you. I’ll have Reginald get it out of the back.”

  Okay, this brings up a lot of questions. Mainly what is the copper wire for? How often does Eileen come here? Who the fuck has a favorite antique shop? And when the fuck does she have time to breathe if she’s been doing school and work and elaborate art projects for years?

  And when was the last time she went on vacation? Or a date?

  Then again, it’s not really my place to ask. Talking about places, this isn’t my place to be at—an antique shop with a woman.

  Just as I’m thinking about how to get out of this place, I receive a text from Jack.

  Jack: We’re back in Denver. Emmeline wants to know if you need any help?

  Thank you for nothing, I think.

  Jason: We got everything under control.

  Jack: We?

  Jason: Eileen, the sister of the bride, and me.

  Jack: Em wants to know what you’re doing at an antique shop?

  I look around, what the hell?

  Jason: I missed her so much, I had to go somewhere that reminds me how much I don’t like her.

  Jason: Seriously, how does she know?

  Jack: Jossie told her. She’s working at the office.

  I run a hand through my hair. These women are driving me fucking insane. After this wedding, I am leaving for some tropical island and I’m not coming back until I exorcize… Eileen comes to stand right next to me and shows me an old crate.

  “We’re here for that old thing?” I scrunch up my nose. “We can get them at Michaels.”

  “No, this is for me,” she says. “Maria, do you have any more of these?”

  “Maria,” I sing under my breath. “I just met a girl named Maria.”

  Eileen hip-checks me. “Knock it off.”

  “Oh, come on, Eileen,” I say. “Don’t go lame on me. You’re the only fun person in this crazy mixed-up world of ours.”

  She blushes. Shit, what did I—

  Huh, maybe she thought I was flirting with her.

  It’s true, though. She’s the only person I’ve ever met that’s worth a damn, comedically at least. Which, granted, is probably far more important to me than the average guy.

  We wander around the shop for a while. She stops every so often to take a picture, say a few things about some object she’s found. I’ve been writing notes down in my phone for later.

  “What I’m wondering,” I say once we’re further into the store. “Is if you’re an artist—”

  “Was an artist,” she corrects.

  “—How did you end up in physical therapy of all things? Isn’t there, I don’t know, art therapy or something?”

  “That was the plan,” she says, placing an old hat on top of my head and snapping a picture. “Or at least the back up to being a muralist. But you can’t get a Master’s in Art Therapy if you don’t have a BFA in art.”

  “And your parents—fuck, that’s shitty,” I say.

  “It was,” she surprisingly agrees. “But physical therapy still does a lot of good. And sometimes I can get away with art related activities depending on the patient’s needs and interests.”

  I nod impressed by her make lemonade out of all the lemons her family has been throwing her.

  “Theatre doesn’t have to be your career to make you happy, right?” she says suddenly.

  “That was random.” I rub the back of my neck. She’s right though.

  Eileen shrugs. “I was just thinking, you can act for fun. You don’t have to give it up.”

  “It doesn’t really matter,” I say. “That’s who I was, not who I am now.”

  “And you reciting lyrics from West Side Story is what exactly?” she says as she walks backwards through an aisle of lamps.

  Fuck, she knows this place too well.

  “I’m not totally heartless,” I say.

  “So you admit you’re depriving yourself of your greatest joy in life,” she says. “Singing, dancing, and acting on a stage.”

  “Words in my mouth much?”

  She’s so invested in this. Why? Why does it matter if I go after my childhood dream? Who cares?

  Eileen stops walking. She looks at me intently.

  “You deserve to be happy too, you know,” she says softly.

  Which— “I know,” I say.

  “Do you?”

  “I am,” I counteract.

  “Are you?”

  She says it so patiently and with this fucking kindness—what is her deal?

  Eileen’s out here plucking at my heartstrings, trying to get me to care about, what, exactly? My self-fulfillment? My happiness?

  Who gave her any right to barge into my life like that?

  “Why do you even care?” I say quietly.

  The conversation fucking dies right then and there. Eventually she shrugs and we move on with our lives, but I still don’t get it.

  Why does she have to be so considerate and caring? Why does everything she does have to be delightfully odd? Why does she have to be so fucking smart and funny and perfect—

  It hits me like a ton of bricks.

  Fuck. She’s perfect.

  Eileen McBean is my fucking dream girl.

  I guess I don’t have a wedding fetish.

  27

  Jason

  It’s her.

  No fucking wedding dress fetish.

  Eileen is flipping my world upside down. She makes me go against my better judgment. This is not the first time I tell myself to stay away from her and instead, what do I do?

  I invite her over to my house.

  Not only that, we brought Max along because the poor sweet cat has been neglected for the last couple of weeks. If Emmeline learns any of this, she’s going to give me shit for the rest of my natural life.

  And actually, I give zero fucks.

  So here we are, spending our evening working on signage for the wedding.

  They are rustic, classy, and made with love.

  Technically speaking, Eileen works on designing, sketching, hand lettering, and painting signs for the wedding. She’s the craftier of the two of us. I’m just the guy providing the snacks and switching cable channels every so often.

  “What do you think?” She asks when she finishes the last one.

  “They are pretty nice,” I say, admiring each one. “You’re pretty talented, woman.”

  She shrugs. “One more thing checked off of my list.”

  “You can’t take a compliment, can you?” I reach out for her hand and squeeze it. “It’s very simple. You just say thank you and be proud of your work.”

  “Thank you,” she mouths bashfully.

  I hate that she’s uncomfortable, and I’m afraid that she might grab her stuff and leave. I tilt my head toward the balcony.

  “It’s nice outside,” I say. “Why don’t we take a wedding break, grab a few drinks, and kick back on the balcony.”

  “Sounds nice,” she says. “Let me check on Max.”

  “He’s still on top of the cupboards,” I announce as I enter the kitchen. “He’s a climber that one.”

  She doesn’t respond. Grabbing a bucket with ice and a few beers, I head to the terrace where she’s already
sitting back and watching the city.

  “Mind if I put on some music?” I ask when I set the bucket on the coffee table.

  “I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” she jokes.

  The first thing my playlist lands on is some lesser known Culture Club song. She seems to like it though, judging by the way she starts swaying her upper body while holding her beer bottle.

  “I don’t know if this is a dancing song…” I say.

  “Any song’s a dancing song if you try hard enough,” she argues.

  “I don’t think that’s right, but I don’t know enough about dancing to undanceable music to dispute that,” I joke.

  She laughs, rises from her seat and holds her hand out to me. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  “Alright,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to be led.”

  She doesn’t really lead us so much as she leads until I’ve got enough rhythm that I can lead us myself. It’s a process, but it works.

  We’re traipsing back and forth, throughout my entire balcony. She’s graceful, but not in a dainty way. She reminds me of a gymnast or a ballerina, lithe but so fucking powerful.

  “Were you an acrobat in a past life?” I joke.

  She snorts. “Nah. But I used to climb.”

  “Climbing?” Shit.

  “Yeah, how else will I get around after the apocalypse?”

  She’s a climber, and she loves animals. And she’s hilarious. That’s just like—

  Maybe she isn’t perfect. She’s just familiar because I’m an idiot who’s still hung up on the idea of someone else.

  Guess there’s one way to test this.

  “You ever been spelunking?” I ask.

  She scrunches her nose. “Honestly, I hate caves. They scare the shit out of me.”

  “Same,” I say enthusiastically. “They’re so dark and narrow—”

  “And jagged and what if you get trapped in there—”

  “With the mole people—”

  “Exactly!” she says.

  “Everyone makes fun of me when I say that. They’re always like ‘You like climbing, what’s the difference?’ and as soon as I break out my mole people rationale,” she says as she winks at me, “I’ve lost them.”

  “The difference is you can see in front of you,” I explain logically. “And creepy shit is less likely to come up behind you and suck your brains out.”

  “You get it!” She claps and bounces on her feet a couple of times.

  Welp, she was right. I’m an idiot who needs to stop comparing women.

  She smiles at me like I’m a million bucks. Fuck, she’s just perfect, isn’t she?

  She gets all the weird shit that makes me, well, me. She gets the 80s music and quipping jokes at every hour of the day. We spent all of last night whispering back and forth in different accents. She’s practicing so when she can afford to travel the world, she can be a fake German tourist in Tokyo or whoever she wants to be that day.

  She’s just so—

  “Jason!” Emmeline’s voice causes all my dreams to come crashing to a halt. “I brought your records! Where are you?”

  “Who’s that?” Eileen asks.

  “A nuisance,” I say out loud, making sure Em listens.

  There’s no way I’m letting her come barging into my house, meeting my friends, and not giving her shit for it. What kind of future brother-in-law does she think I am?

  “Because giving your shit back is, bad?” Em, who has the hearing of a bat, asks.

  “No, no, this isn’t an innocent house call,” I say as I head back inside. “You’re snooping.”

  And wouldn’t you know—I find Emmeline in the kitchen looking at the paint drying on Eileen’s signs.

  “Gorgeous,” she says, examining them. “Who made them?”

  “Uh, me, duh,” I lie as I search for her other half. “Where is he?”

  Em shoots me an unimpressed look. I sigh.

  “Eileen, she likes your work,” I shout.

  Eileen comes running in. She slows down at the very last second when she gets in Em’s sightline. Trying to be casual, I can appreciate that.

  “Really?”

  Em’s face does this thing. She looks us both over before saying “These signs are gorgeous. Did you do them yourself?”

  Eileen blushes. “Yeah I did, thanks.”

  “What firm are you with?” Em asks sliding into her professional mode.

  “Leave her alone,” I warn Em, the same time as Eileen asks, “Firm?”

  “She’s asking if you work for a graphic design or marketing firm,” I clarify.

  Emmeline clears her throat and crosses her arms.

  I roll my eyes. “Em, this is Eileen. Sister of the bride,” I introduce them. “Eileen, this is Emmeline. My brother’s…”

  “Girlfriend,” Em says. “Sometimes Jason likes me. Today... not so much.”

  “You sorta just let yourself into my home,” I remind her of this little thing called barging into my life because she’s too damn nosy.

  Em shrugs, basically ignoring me. She offers Eileen a handshake and says, “Seriously, this work is fantastic. I know some people who’ve been looking to hire a new designer.”

  Eileen blushes. “Thanks, but, it’s more of a hobby.”

  Em nods. “Well if you ever want to work commissions, let me know. I could get you a project or two. Jason can forward you my information.”

  “I will, thanks,” she says.

  They exchange a few more pleasantries, which is so fucking weird it makes my head explode. They’re just two different parts of my world right now. It feels like Eileen is being taken away from me.

  Which is stupid. I don’t own her. There’s just something special about us spending time together.

  Alone.

  Without either of our families in the way.

  It seems like they get along, though. It eases the tightness in my chest. But I just don’t want this to become the beginning of my family butting into whatever is happening right now. Whatever is happening right now between Eileen and me.

  I can see it already. June taking a flight from wherever she is in the world. Alex will RSVP for the wedding just to get a closer look. Next will be Jeannette, and my parents won’t be that far away.

  Nosy, meddling people who just can’t let me enjoy the moment. Still, I’m grateful for my flock.

  “Jason, walk me out, will you?” Em says a few minutes later.

  “She nice,” Em says when we get to the door.

  I step into the hallway, closing the door behind us so Eileen won’t hear.

  “Yeah,” I agree, shoving my hands in my pockets. “She is.”

  “And she thinks you’re nice,” Em continues.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  The fucking truth of the matter is, even if I’m willing to admit she’s something I didn’t know could exist—that doesn’t mean she’ll think I’m worth a damn.

  After all these years I can still hear those words, not with you. I’ve created a life for myself where I can be only for me. This is who I am, how I like to live my life. I don’t need to show anyone if I’m worth shit, do I?

  Em hums. “You’re an idiot.”

  I scowl at her. “Thanks, that makes me feel all fuzzy inside.”

  “This thing you call life is a journey,” she says. “It’s about growing and changing. You come to terms with your past, with who you were and what you are. You learn to let go and begin to love again.”

  And once again, Em thinks she’s the smartest person on the planet. Which… “Does your sage wisdom come with SparkNotes or do you get a kick out of being cryptic?”

  She smirks, crossing her arms. “A little, but what I’m saying is what if she’s actually the person who saves you from living alone for the rest of your life?”

  Fuck this again. “Could we have one conversation where you don’t act like I’m some sad charity case you have to fix?”

  “Maybe I’m just being selfish,” she cou
nteracts. “What if all this is just about making sure that my guy isn’t worried about his kid brother fucking around when he’s worth more than he thinks?”

  My jaw ticks. Her words sting.

  “You’re better than who you try to be,” she lets her shoulders fall dramatically.

  “So, what now? Will you hand me another fortune cookie to fix me?”

  Em sighs. “It’s up to you, Jason. You’re the only person who can make you happy.”

  She stares at my front door. “She could help you, though. If you let her.”

  I shrug, letting her walk off in frustration. I’m sure I’ll get a call from Jack later tonight about how I annoyed “the love of his life.” But I just don’t care right now.

  Em doesn’t get it. Then again, maybe I don’t either.

  28

  Eileen

  Two days before the wedding

  Rain pours down my face. Overhead, thunder roars. The wind knocks against my coat and bag as I run.

  I can’t anymore.

  I have to get away.

  This day has been the worst. Jason and I spent the entire morning running around, shuttling the wedding party to their hotel rooms and doing last minute outfit checks. Then we had to keep them entertained while also handling a catering snafu.

  Who leaves the seafood outside the refrigerator overnight?

  Mom blamed me. I hired the wrong caterer. If I had hired Amanda like Charlie had requested this wedding would be on track.

  It didn’t even matter that Charlie demanded peonies in the flower arrangements. Not just any peonies. White blush pink. Of course, she had to take my favorite flowers from me too.

  But it was fine because things were going smoothly.

  We were in the clear. Things were finally coming together. We sent the last of the party favors with the bridesmaids to finish. Thank fuck Charlie’s real friends are more reliable than she is.

  And then Jason had to open his big fucking mouth.

  “Your birthday’s coming up right?”

  That’s the straw that broke my fucking back. I’m so tired of everything—of my family shitting on me, of being overworked and underappreciated, and of nothing I do ever being good enough to make a difference. I’m so sick of living this shitty life where no one thinks of me, and I just have to take it.