No Day Like Today

by Amy Teegan

  Ian closes his eyes, trying to remember why the pillow smells like… He sniffs again. Scotch? He does not remember drinking Scotch. He can only be thankful he doesn’t smell vomit. Not in here, at least. He remembers coming in after midnight with the others already here. He remembers drinking some more. He remembers … Animal House?

  His soon-to-be brother-in-law Ryan raps the door quickly and peeks in. “Hey buddy. It’s almost 10:30. I guess we missed our tee time.”

  “Dude. Totally worth it.” Ian grins, remembering what he had been doing the night before, eleven hours earlier. He wonders if anyone knows yet. Rumors spread. None of the other guys had said anything about Ian coming in late last night. They were too deep in their poker game.

  “Ricky is already at the restaurant. We’re just waiting for Stu to come down from his room and then we’ll go get some food.”

  Ian nods, trying to decide if he’s ready to get out of bed yet. How badly does he really have to pee? He finishes off the bottle of water.

  “So, you might want to get in the shower,” Ryan prods.

  “Yeah, ok.” Ian lies back down and closes his eyes. Ryan sighs quietly and leaves.

  If he’s being honest, this isn’t all that worse than any other Saturday morning. The biggest difference is there are a bunch of guys in the other room waiting for him to get it together. At least they’re also waiting for Stu. That guy’s probably doing something with his baby. Changing her diaper or feeding her, or taking her shoe shopping. Whatever the hell you do with an eight-month-old.

  The party won’t start without Ian anyway.

  Most of the groomsmen Ian had only met the week before at Ryan’s bachelor party. Ian likes his new brother-in-law well enough. He’s pretty cool. But this is his first time meeting Ryan’s friends and they are so boring. Like, four hundred yawns. Probably because most of them are lawyers. They had all spent so much time in school racking up debt that their priorities are all out of whack. Ian is still shocked that Stu and Ricky had spent most of dinner last Friday talking about mutual funds and index… accounts? Index funds? Literally. What the actual fuck? Who even knows what those things are?

  The bachelor party had been in Las Vegas, yes, but everyone except Ian had all been far more interested in watching sports with a beer in hand, than in hanging out at the pool and taking in any of the other sights or clubs of Vegas. Why were they even there? Ian had gone out of his way to meet a bunch of girls at once and bring them up to Ryan’s suite on his own. Trying to be a good brother, you know? Provide a little of the entertainment? Help out these guys who clearly were not going to get any girls on their own? But while the other guys were polite enough to the girls, not one of them hooked up.

  In fact, Ryan even seemed a little mad.

  Whatever. He must be whipped, Ian had thought.

  He didn’t bother trying again. Last night after the rehearsal had been awesome, and Ian doesn’t have to worry about the other guys. They all brought their wives. And probably wanted to go to bed at ten-o’clock. Assholes.

  Ian has not been to a wedding since he was very little, and he doesn’t remember much about it. But, it can’t be that different from the movies. Hot girls in tiny, colorful dresses, falling over themselves to talk to the handsome groomsman? After all, one of the bridesmaids already has.

  And! Lindsay told him it was an open bar.

  Tonight is going to be the shit. Ian grins. He bounces out of bed at this last thought. Shower, then food, then ready to get this party started.

  10:49am Amber

  What was I thinking, Amber berates herself.

  She stands in the shower of her hotel room, two floors above where the boys are staying. She has already been in here nearly twenty minutes, but she continues to let the hot water beat down on her head and back. She clenches and unclenches her fists as her arms hang at her sides, as if she is letting go of the anger and frustration with every flex. She usually keeps a stress ball at work but that doesn’t help her here. Her eyes are closed against the plain beige and mauve of the hotel decor. Depressing. But the water pressure is similar enough that Amber can imagine she’s home and could just crawl right back into bed. The more she thinks about her mistake of the previous night, the harder she wants to scrub her skin. She may never get clean.

  Not that hooking up with Ian had been all that bad. Just stupid. Stupid. God, Amber, you are so stupid.

  The longer she stays in the shower, the longer she can keep from talking to anyone about the night before. Especially Lindsay. What would she say?

  There’s a knock on the door, though it is clear whoever it is is coming in anyway. Bidden or not.

  “How’s my maid of honor?” Lindsay calls.

  “Great,” says Amber, displaying an enthusiasm she does not feel. “How’s the bride to be?”

  “Great! Hungry. You gonna be ready soon? It’s almost eleven, so if you hurry we should have time for a quick bite before our nail appointment.”

  “Alright. I’m just about done.” Amber turns off the water. A low whine sounds in the wall behind the shower head, the water pressure slowing down. She has been done for at least five or ten minutes already, but hiding in the hot water and steam is far preferable to acting the part of not-a-care-in-the-world maid of honor. She reaches through the gap in the shower curtain, and Lindsay hands her a towel while she continues talking.

  “So, I’ve already heard from the coordinator and everything is right on schedule,” she says. “If you get ready fast enough, we can eat, go to our nail appointment, and then get to Grandpa’s by one to start doing hair and make-up, right when the photographer arrives. So we should be on schedule. Do you think you can get ready in time?”

  “Yes, Lindsay.” Amber tries to keep the edge out of her voice. “But not with you in here.”

  “Oh! Yes! Of course.” She giggles. “Oh! One more thing in case I forget later! If you post any pictures can you use hashtag Rowe Wedding? Please? Spread the word? Ok, that’s all. Really. Sorry. I’m leaving. You get ready. Just let me know what you need.” She closes the door behind her.

  Amber feels a stab of guilt. She should be the one accommodating and offering to help. She should be the one who was ready with time to spare so the bride could relax. Hell, she should have already come up with a hashtag for her. But this is the end of a very long two week period in which every single bit of her free time (and money) has been taken up with wedding events, wedding preparation, or just talking about the wedding. Amber wishes she could be alone for a tiny bit longer.

  Amber wraps the towel around her hair and steps out of the tub. The mirror is all fogged over from her long, scalding shower, but it doesn’t matter. Amber can not bring herself to care what she looks like for lunch, and they have hired a professional to beautify her for the wedding itself. She is just going to comb her hair and go, no matter what vision the condensation is hiding.

  Which is totally unlike the ridiculous effort that had gone into the night before.

  The rehearsal had been held at Lindsay’s grandfather’s Spanish-style house in the late afternoon. It was gorgeous and light-hearted; Amber found herself genuinely looking forward to practicing the wedding ceremony. But, then the entire wedding party and family went to dinner together. Everyone but her paired off with their dates. Even Erica, the only other single bridesmaid, had brought a date to dinner. Granted, it was her brother who Lindsay had known since they were kids, but still. Amber had been the only girl there alone. And after all that effort she had put into how she looked for the evening.

  There was a Mexican restaurant nearby that let them book out the entire back room and kept the margaritas coming. She had two. Maybe three. And they weren’t small. Lindsay’s youngest brother Ian was already handsome, so she didn’t need much help. That wasn’t the margaritas.

  It had started out innocently enough. She teasing him about getting married next. He complimenting her outfit. She insisting he be her ‘date’ for the evening. He waiting on her a b
it and bringing her another drink. Her best friend’s little brother was a kind of shield against otherwise being alone all evening in a room full of happily married — or soon to be married — people. Harmless, she had thought.

  And it had been. Harmless. Fun. Comforting, in a way, and almost familiar. Until Ian had offered to drive her back to the hotel. She had had more margaritas than he, and she didn’t have her car. And nobody else seemed to notice she was stranded. So it was either pay for a cab or ride with Ian. She remembered trying to help him learn how to drive years ago; this would be a fun little trip down memory lane. Plus, he really was very handsome. Hot, even. Delicious. But she couldn’t ever tell Lindsay that.

  She had pointed out to him the closest entrance to her hotel room, and he had parked in a dark corner across the parking lot. In that very simple turn in the wrong direction, Amber knew exactly what he was expecting … and had been surprised to find she didn’t even mind. In fact, her heart started beating a little harder. Ian had the look of a guy who knew how to kiss. And lord knows she needed to be kissed.

  As long as Lindsay didn’t find out, being in Ian’s arms might make her feel better. About still being single. About spending all her money on a bridesmaid dress. About still being in a boring job when her friends were all starting their grown-up careers. Having fun with Ian would remind her of all the best parts of her life.

  Amber sighs, toweling her hair dry. And it had been fun. She wouldn’t deny it. She was young and carefree and this hot guy wanted her. But now, the next morning, she sees it had also been stupid. Ian had been nothing but a fling. Now more sober and realistic, she remembers that she can’t even have a conversation with him unless she has had a few drinks.

  Amber wonders how this evening will go. If Ian will pursue hooking up with her again, or if there will be some other girl to grab his attention. Let there be another girl, she prays. He has never been especially focused or single-minded. Amber thinks she can probably avoid him.

  She finishes combing her hair and buttons up her blouse. As ready as she would ever be.

  11:12am Kristy

  Quarter after eleven. Kristy has about an hour before she has to leave. An hour full of anxiety. The space behind her right eyebrow is throbbing — a stress headache already in full swing. Bizarrely, the tip of her nose always gets a little tingly when she’s anxious. It’s like a hand that has fallen asleep, but by now she is used to it.

  “Are you sure you are still enjoying this?” Nick has asked before each of her previous six weddings. “It’s okay if you want to quit. We can make it work.”

  This is now her fourth wedding in three weeks and she is exhausted. Physically exhausted. Mentally exhausted. Thank goodness she does not have a wedding tomorrow and can maybe take a day off. Although, Lord knows the brides will all be wanting their photos ASAP so she really should spend as much time as she can culling and editing them all.

  Yesterday when she was packing all her gear, for the first time in the five years she has been doing this, Kristy thought that maybe, possibly, wedding photography was not the best career for her. It had felt blasphemous to even think. She had taken photos for fun since she was fifteen. And now she was being paid to take photos and eat cake and hang out with people who wanted her to be there on the happiest day of their lives, right? What could be better?

  But now all she can think about is how stressed and anxious she is. How will she be able to have this career long-term? How can she make herself sick week after week. She has always loved weddings and loved photography, but somehow the combination of the two always flings her into such stomach-churning anxiety she stays close to the bathroom for the last twenty minutes before she has to leave the house.

  But it’s not just weddings. Any time she has to take photographs for a client she got nervous. Even though she knows exactly what she’s doing, the pressure and expectation and the feeling of being judged pervades all her interactions with clients. Each wedding day is full of uncles who have the same camera as she does or suburban moms who have taken an online class and have at least heard of an f-stop. It feels like every single person watching Kristy do her job is telling themselves they could do it better.

  When she mentions this to Nick, he tries to reassure her. She knows she’s being ridiculous. He has tried to show her she’s being ridiculous. She has told herself such fears are ridiculous. It doesn’t matter. The thirty-six hours before she arrives at any wedding are anxiety-ridden.

  So, instead, she has just stopped mentioning it. About a year and a half into photographing weddings full-time she had just accepted this stress as a part of the job. She stocks up on Excedrin, trains herself to work through the nausea, and always packs plenty of snacks since she never eats much during the day before the wedding.

  I wasn’t even this nervous at my own wedding, she thinks, kneeling in her home office to rearrange her packed bag of equipment.

  Nick slouches against the doorframe, coffee in one hand, her water bottles in the other. “Where’s the wedding today?” He hands her two water bottles so she can make room for them in the bag.

  “Oh, some fancy house in that neighborhood south of Ventura Boulevard. Backyard wedding. I should be home by eleven at the latest.”

  “And no wedding tomorrow, right? What do you want to do? Should we go out somewhere? You want to stay home? I could grill and make iced coffee and you could spend all day in your bikini by the pool?”

  Kristy grins. Her husband is never subtle. He’s the best. She is certainly not going to do any work tomorrow, even if she has multiple brides clamoring for their photos.

  “We’ll see,” she replies. “I’ll be tired. What do you have planned for today?”

  “Nothin’. Not a thing. I might read that new thriller I got, but it’s more likely I’ll just nap.” He laughs at himself. Kristy can already picture the sunburn he’ll get from falling asleep near the pool.

  “Sunscreen,” she admonishes as she finishes organizing each small section of the bag. Each lens needs to be in its place. She will need to be able to make changes quickly, so as to not lose a single second of once-in-a-lifetime moments that she could never ever get back. God. No wonder she was anxious.

  Everything fits in one over-the-shoulder camera bag. But it’s a very big camera, eight or nine pounds with the lens on. And then, of course, all the extra lenses as well. And the back up camera. Extra batteries, extra memory. External flash. Kristy will have a bruise on her shoulder by the end of the night, just from carrying all that weight around.

  She stands up, but before she can hoist the bag to her shoulder, Nick grabs her around her waist and pulls her close.

  “You’ll be the prettiest one there today, you know.”

  Kristin laughs in spite of herself. “What about the bride?”

  “Nope. Nothin’ compared to you.”

  “You’re crazy.” She kisses him, grateful for his belief in her and his love for her and his craziness. She can not wait to come home to him.

  As they break apart, Nick leans down to pick up her camera bag. “I’ve got this. You’ll be carrying it all day.”

  She sighs, squeezes his hand and leads the way to the car.

  11:40am Marshall

  Marshall sits in his worn, leather armchair, leans back his head and closes his eyes. He needs to let himself rest as much as possible this morning He has already been up for almost seven hours, but with Ryan’s wedding he could be awake for another twelve or so. And that’s assuming Karen brings him home as soon as it’s over. Which … Marshall sighs. He would not be able to count on his granddaughter for that.

  He has already showered, eaten, gotten dressed and read two chapters of the McCarthy book he’s in the middle of. He can’t focus, though. He can’t make himself be interested in anything else.

  Every day is the same, this evening being the rare exception. At least today he has actual plans and people to look forward to seeing. He’ll be with family. Most days he spends his time trying to
find the magical combination of activities around meals and doctors appointments to fill his empty days. He might play a few games of solitaire, or see what mindless show is on the television. He should find something to occupy his time. Marshall considers going back to bed. He probably can’t sleep, but he could lie there in the dark room and close his eyes for the next couple hours until Karen arrives.

  Marshall stands up, slowly, carefully leaning on the arm of the couch until he is steady. He would go for a walk. That’s the solution. Get out of his head for a little bit.

  He carefully locks his apartment door behind him and heads to the elevator at the end of the hall. He takes it to the bottom floor where a small, sterile lobby will let him out on to the grounds of the complex.

  “Good morning, Mr. Page,” Missy says as she struggles to move a large potted tree out of the corner so she can clean the floor around it.

  “Good morning, dear. How did your son do on his exam?”

  “Real good, Mr. Page. Thanks for asking.” She beams at him. Missy is here every Saturday, vacuuming the carpets and dusting the light fixtures in the common area of his building.

  “Can I help you with that?”

  “Oh, no. Thank you.” She waves him away as she straightens up. “I’m just fine. You have a big Saturday planned?”

  “Yes, I do. My grandson is getting married this evening.”

  She grins widely. “How wonderful! You must be so proud.”

  “I am … I am. Yes. Very proud.”

  “Well, that sounds just lovely.” She hurries to get ahead of him so she can open the door. “You have a good day, now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Missy would not ever rush him away deliberately, he thinks. But she is working. She must have a lot to do.

  The senior apartment complex where his kids have moved him is on a big enough campus to give him a half-mile walk all the way around. Late Saturday morning like this the staff is minimal, but each one of them greets Marshall as he makes his slow circle around the three four-story apartment buildings that form a horseshoe.