This Was Not the Plan

by Cristina Alger

  “Of course I do. You’re already a mom, Zadie. You’re raising my son for me. He’s the most precious thing I have. You think I’d let just anybody do that?”

  “With you.” She smiles. “We’re raising Caleb together.”

  “That was beautiful, man,” Buck says, pounding his heart. “Aw, screw it.” He opens his arms for another hug. “Let’s hug this out again.”

  “I’m really happy for you guys,” Moose says. He lets out a loud sniff. “Really, really happy.”

  “Come here, you big goofball,” Zadie says. She wraps her arms around Moose’s waist. “You’re the best, Moose. Thanks for taking such good care of my brother.”

  “We all need a little help sometimes,” Moose says, blushing.

  “We better get down there,” I say, checking my watch. “You ready?”

  Zadie walks over to the mirror, looks at herself, and yelps, “Oh, good God. Just give me two minutes in the bathroom.”

  “Okay,” I nod. “Let’s all freshen up real fast. And then we’ll meet out in the hall in five, all right?”

  “Sounds good,” Zadie says, already wiping at her face with a tissue.

  “Good. Because I, for one, am ready to celebrate.”

  • • •

  “You think I’m good to go?” I say to Moose, straightening my shirt and jacket after the door is closed behind us. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself again.”

  “You’re fine, bro. Just lay off the booze.”

  “I can’t believe she’s pregnant.”

  “I know. It’s great.”

  “It really is.” I pause. “Moose, what am I going to do about this toast?”

  “You’ll do just fine.”

  “Unsurprisingly, I have a mild-to-moderate fear of public speaking.”

  Moose breaks into a wide grin. “Shit, dude. If you give a toast that’s one-tenth as moving as the speech you just gave in there, you’re going to win a fucking Oscar. Just do your thing. No one wants to see you reading some canned speech off an index card, anyway.”

  I let out a long breath. He’s probably right. Maybe, for once in my life, it would be better to just wing it.

  “Thanks, Moose,” I say. I reach into my pocket and crush the index card into a ball. “I mean it. You saved me from myself back there.”

  “Ain’t no thang, jellybean,” he says, and punches me lightly on the shoulder.

  “You boys ready for this?” Zadie emerges from behind the door. She smiles, her eyes bright again. In a flowing white dress and heels, her hair swept elegantly off her face, Zadie looks beautiful. I feel a surge of brotherly pride.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I say, and offer her my elbow.

  The Toast

  The rain clears by noon, leaving the trees sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. After a round of “Should we, should we not?” Zadie decides she wants to move the ceremony back outside. It takes Buck, Moose, Ives, and me nearly two hours to reposition the chuppah and all the chairs, but the end result is worth it. Buck and Zadie are married on the dunes overlooking the ocean, the sun fading behind the horizon line as they say their “I dos.”

  As the guests filter into the tent for another round of celebratory cocktails, Moose snags me by the arm.

  “You guys need a family photo,” he insists. “Now—while the sky still looks like that.”

  We turn and look out over the water. The sunset is incredible, a tapestry of pinks and golds and burnt orange. Down the beach, someone is shooting off fireworks one by one.

  “Good idea.” I nod. “We didn’t hire a photographer, but I’ll go get some shots of her and Buck.”

  “No. You need to be in it. Julie’s a photographer. Well, a photographer’s assistant, but whatever. Let me get her. You go round up your family.”

  “Thanks, man. This is great.”

  “I got you covered, bro.” Moose winks and then lopes off, looking for Julie.

  “Goldwyns!” I call out. “We’re doing a family photo in two minutes!”

  Zadie and Buck, who haven’t come up for air since their first kiss as husband and wife, finally surface.

  “I need a mirror!” Zadie laughs. “Buck smeared my lipstick!”

  “I need a hairbrush,” Madison says, patting her perfect blond waves.

  “Here you go, ladies,” Shelley sings, and opens her purse. “I always come prepared.” Zadie and Madison both peer inside, snatching up compacts and lipsticks and mascara.

  “You women.” Dad clucks at their preening, but I can tell he is thrilled to be surrounded by so much beauty.

  Caleb tugs on my sleeve. “Daddy, I want to look pretty for the photo.”

  “You look great, bud.” He does, in fact, look great. He’s sporting a tiny suit—his first—with the purple Converses that match mine.

  Caleb nods, unsure.

  “Hey, how about this,” I say, and pluck my boutonniere off my lapel. “Want to wear my flower?”

  Caleb beams. “Yes,” he says, “I do.”

  “Cool.” I kneel down beside him and take my time affixing the small spray of lilac to his jacket. It’s hilariously large on him, and there’s no way to make it stand up the way it’s supposed to.

  “It’s beautiful, Daddy,” Caleb says, staring lovingly down at it. “It matches our shoes.”

  “Well, it’s not on right. It’s crooked somehow.”

  “No. It’s perfect,” he says.

  “Hey, buddy?” I say, clasping his shoulder. “You know how proud I am of you, right?”

  “Sure,” Caleb replies.

  “You’ve taught me a lot of stuff over the past few weeks. About how important it is to just be myself.”

  Caleb flashes me a confused smile.

  “Like these shoes, for example,” I say, pointing to my Converses. “They look really cool. And I never would have bought them if it weren’t for you.”

  “They do look pretty cool.”

  “Remember how in the car we talked a little about your mom?”

  Caleb bites his lip and looks away.

  “Well, you remind me so much of her. You have all of her best qualities. Your mom was confident and independent and kind. She was funny and smart. She had a totally unique and awesome sense of style. So whenever you feel like you’re forgetting what she looked like, just look in the mirror, bud. Because you will see her looking right back at you.”

  I take a deep breath and blink back tears. Caleb is staring off at the ocean. His face is still. A light breeze ruffles his hair. I wonder for a minute if he’s listening to me, if he understands what I’m saying. Maybe he’s too young.

  Then he turns his face to mine and a shiver runs through my body. He smiles that crooked, knowing, dimpled smile that reminds me so much of Mira.

  “Okay, Dad,” he says, and reaches for my hand. As I take it, he squeezes it three times, just the way she used to do.

  “I love you,” I say, and squeeze it back.

  “Picture time!” Julie calls out, and we all snap to attention. “Hurry, hurry, before we lose the light!”

  “Where do we stand?”

  “Zadie in the middle?”

  “Someone grab Norman. Norman! Over here! Good boy.”

  “Are we standing in one row or two?”

  “Do you guys want me in this?” Madison steps back. “Or should it be just Goldwyns?”

  “Oh, yes, should we sit out?” Shelley says, joining Madison.

  “Or do you guys want to do one together, and then Charlie and me in another one?” Zadie asks.

  “Shut the hell up, everybody!” Dad bellows. “Now get in one goddamn row like one goddamn family or we’re going to lose the light!”

  • • •

  “Beautiful picture.” I hear her voice before I feel her fingers graze my arm.

  I turn; there she is, her silvery-black hair glistening in the twilight.

  “Hi,” she says.

  “Hi.”

  “I’m here.”

 
“I can see that,” I say, not sure whether or not I’m angry or relieved that Elise has finally turned up without much of an explanation. Maybe a bit of both. Between the excitement of Zadie’s pregnancy and the ceremony itself, I had managed to push her out of my thoughts. Now, just as I’m starting to enjoy myself, she has to turn up looking more beautiful than ever. “I’m glad you made it.”

  “Hey, Elise. Charlie, we’ll meet you down at the party, okay?” Zadie strides by, grabbing Caleb’s hand as she goes. At first it annoys me that she doesn’t stop to greet Elise properly, but then I realize that she’s just giving us our space.

  Elise and I watch as Zadie, Buck, Caleb, Dad, Shelley, and Madison make their way into the tent. Someone inside shouts, “Announcing the bride and groom!” and wild cheering and clapping ensues.

  “You ready for the toast?”

  “Right, the toast. Still not sure what to say. Thought you were supposed to help me out, given all your maid of honor experience.”

  “I’m sorry, Charlie.”

  “No, it’s fine. Everyone seems tipsy already, so I have that going for me, at least.”

  Elise nods. We stand for a second in awkward silence, not quite looking at one another. The last of the guests have found their way to the tent; it’s just us now, alone beneath the electric blue sky.

  Elise shivers in the breeze. She pulls a wrap around her shoulders.

  “Look, I know I owe you a call,” she says, not quite looking at me. “I’m sorry I went radio silent last week.”

  “It’s really no big thing.” I shrug, trying to sound far more nonchalant than I am.

  “J. P.—my ex—well, you probably heard what happened.”

  I cock my head, confused.

  “No,” I say, because I haven’t. “What happened?”

  “Oh.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “He was arrested. For taking bribes from lobbyists. It was kind of all over the press.”

  “Oh my God,” I say, stunned. “I haven’t picked up a paper all week.”

  “That’s why I had to go into the city. To meet with our lawyers. We’ve known about this for a while, but it’s hard to prepare yourself for when it actually happens.”

  “I’m so sorry, Elise. Are you okay? How’s Lucas?”

  “He’s okay,” she says, but her bottom lip quivers as she says it. “It’s been hard to explain it all to him.”

  “Come here.” She presses her head against my chest, and I fold her up in my arms. My chin fits neatly on the top of her head. I close my eyes, feeling her body shudder with tears. All I want, I suddenly think, is to protect this woman. “I had no idea you were going through all this,” I whisper to her, my lips grazing her skin.

  “It’s okay,” she whispers back. “Or it will be, anyway.”

  “It will be,” I say, and kiss her on the top of her head.

  “I know this must all seem trivial to you. You’ve been through so much.”

  “Yeah, when it comes to suffering, don’t try to compete. I got you beat, girl.”

  It takes her a second to realize I’m kidding, but when she does, she bursts into laughter. It’s a messy laugh, all tears and snot, the kind that happens between friends.

  “I’m so sorry I kissed you that night, Charlie,” she says.

  “Please don’t apologize for that.”

  “But I am sorry. I really don’t want things to get weird between us. They aren’t weird, right? Please say they’re not, because I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

  I pull back from her and hold her firmly at arm’s length.

  “Elise,” I say, looking her straight in the eye, “there’s nothing you could do that would ever make me not want to be friends with you. Okay?”

  “Well, there’s probably something,” she says, looking relieved.

  “How do you feel about dancing?”

  “I feel good about dancing.”

  “How do you feel about dancing with me, right now, to whatever song comes on next?”

  I tilt my head towards the tent, which is currently quiet. Then a strumming guitar begins to reverberate, and the sound of the White Stripes singing “We’re Going to Be Friends” fills the air.

  “Works for me,” Elise says. Her eyebrow is cocked, a single question mark. “If it’s okay with you?”

  “It’s perfect,” I say, and offer her my hand.

  • • •

  An hour later, we’re still on the dance floor, swaying to Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic.” While I originally eschewed my sister’s decision not to hire a band, I have to admit now that the music has been pretty stellar. We’ve been dancing so hard for so long that I’ve lost my tie and Elise has ditched her shoes. All around us, couples are swaying and laughing, even carrying plates of cake onto the dance floor so that they won’t miss a minute of the action.

  “I love this song,” Elise sighs, and nestles her head against my shoulder. “We used to listen to this album over and over when I was in prep school. We’d all be in pajamas and fuzzy slippers and we’d drape our arms around each other and stand in a big circle in our common room and just sway.” She laughs. “God, it’s been a long time since I thought about that.”

  “It’s been a long time since I danced with someone like this,” I say, pulling her close. I can feel her breasts pressed against my chest and her fingers laced firm in between mine. As I rest my cheek against the top of her head, her familiar smell fills my nostrils. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling content.

  “Charlie.” My eyes pop open. There beside me is Shelley.

  “Hey, Shelley,” I say, trying not to sound irritated. Elise stops and our bodies pull apart. “What’s up? Are you cutting in?”

  “I need you for a minute.”

  “Um, can it wait?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s okay,” Elise says, though there’s a hint of disappointment in her voice. “I’ve been monopolizing you all night.”

  I check my watch. “Oh, right. I’m supposed to give the toast right now.” As I say this, my stomach lurches uncomfortably. Here goes nothing, I think to myself.

  “The toast has to wait. Your dad needs you,” Shelley says, her eyes wide with concern.

  “Go, Charlie,” Elise says, nodding.

  “I’ll be right back, okay?” I say to her. “Just give me a minute.”

  As Elise slips off into the crowd, I spin around, looking for Caleb. When I see him doing the twist with Zadie on the dance floor, I nod to Shelley. She takes me by the hand and leads me off in the opposite direction.

  “Where are we going?” I say as we exit the tent, but she doesn’t answer.

  The moment we set foot in the living room, I know something is really wrong. Dad is in an armchair flanked by Ives and Dr. Simms. All three turn when we walk in, their eyes wide, as though they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t be.

  Dad shakes his head, annoyed. “Shel, I told you not to bug him,” he says. His voice is strained, as though he’s having trouble breathing.

  I step closer. Dad’s skin is a strange bluish color and his face looks drawn and pinched.

  “What’s going on?” I say, frowning. “Dad, you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Go back to the party,” he says, and his throat sounds like it’s filled with gravel.

  “You’re not fine,” I say, looking to Dr. Simms for confirmation. From the look on his face, I can tell that I’m right.

  “He needs to go to the hospital,” Dr. Simms says in a low voice. “I’m worried it could be aspiration pneumonia.”

  “What’s aspiration pneumonia?” I ask, my pulse quickening. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It’s a swelling or infection in the lungs. It happens sometimes in Parkinson’s patients who have trouble swallowing.”

  “I’m not leaving in the middle of my own daughter’s wedding,” Dad growls. “Anyway, it’s too late. We can go in the morning, if it comes to that. Just get me antibiotics.”

/>   Dr. Simms bites his lip. “That may not be good enough. God forbid the infection spreads. We need to get a chest X-ray and a CT scan and a blood culture at a minimum. And I’d like you to be somewhere that has a ventilator on hand.”

  “We’re going right now,” I say, forcefully enough that it leaves no room for negotiation. “Ives, you’re driving. Dr. Simms and I will come with you.”

  “What about me?” Shelley asks. She looks visibly terrified.

  “Shel, you stay here, okay?” Dad says, in between coughs. “I don’t want you sleeping in the waiting room in that pretty dress of yours. Just make sure Zadie is happy. Tell her not to worry. In fact, make something up. Tell her I’ve gone to bed. I don’t want her thinking twice about me on her wedding night.”

  “Are you sure?” Shelley looks to me. “Charlie, I can go if you want to stay. You have your toast to give and everything.”

  I shake my head. “Please watch Caleb for me. I’ve got this one.”

  • • •

  Not wanting to attract attention from wandering wedding guests, Ives brings the car around back, and Dr. Simms, Dad, and I slip out the kitchen door. Getting Dad into the car is no minor task. Shelley hovers on the steps, anxious to watch us go.

  “I’ll have him back in no time,” I say to her, with as much authority as I can muster. Inside, my stomach is churning so fast I worry that I’m going to vomit. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Once in the car, Dad slumps back and lets out a groan. He’s in a lot of pain, I realize; he’d just been putting up a good front for Shelley. His breathing is sharp and labored, and his skin is a ghostly white. His eyelids flicker at half-mast, as though it takes effort just to stay awake.

  Even though it’s late, there’s still traffic on the highway. Ives is driving. I’m riding shotgun, while Dr. Simms sits beside Dad in the back. Every few minutes I glance back at him, scanning his face.

  “Dad?” I call out. “You okay back there?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I panic.

  “Pull over,” I say to Ives. “I’ll drive.”

  “There’s nothing to be done about this,” Ives says, annoyed. He gestures at the traffic. “It’ll just slow us down to switch.”

  “Fine,” I say, knowing he’s right. “But I know a back road we can take, at least.”