No Day Like Today

by Amy Teegan

  Once the bathroom light is off, Sophie notices a tiny flash of light near her mom’s pillow. It’s just a faint little glow that turns on briefly and then off again. The cell phone is announcing that there is only five-percent power left. Quietly, carefully, without waking her, Sophie slips the old iPhone out from under her mom’s arm and takes it out to the living room.

  She would not like waking up without a phone, but if it is dead then she’ll insist on charging it and making them late to the wedding.

  Her mom only has one phone charger and she carries it in her purse. Which is probably … Yes. There it is wedged between the cushion and the arm of the couch. Mom always slumps into her spot on the couch when she gets home from work, without even setting down her purse somewhere or taking off her shoes. That’s likely where she had been chatting on the phone the night before.

  Sophie opens it carefully, just looking for the white cord. Nothing else interests her.

  The usual spot to plug in the phone is on the kitchen counter, but Sophie is afraid her mom won’t see it there. Should she plug it in back in Mom’s room? Or maybe on the floor right where she would walk into the living room? Or maybe the kitchen counter is the best spot after all?

  Sophie hates that she always had to be so crafty about every little thing. It feels like lying and Dad says she should always tell the truth. Would this make her mom mad? What about this? Sophie hates to be yelled at, more than anything. And her home is always either silent, or really loud. Sophie would never tell her mother, but she really prefers her dad’s house. Where everyone is talking and laughing and her new little brother makes silly, playful noises. And no one yells at each other.

  Sophie finally decides the less change the better, and carries the chair back over to the counter so she can reach the plug.

  Good thing I cleaned it up in here, she thinks.

  12:54pm Kristy

  The mild, British GPS woman tells her the destination should be on the right, but Kristy is having a hard time making out the house numbers. The mid-day sun casts harsh shadows, essentially obliterating digits here and there. She drives slowly down the tree-lined street, peering at each house in turn.

  “Do you see it?” she asks her passenger. “18453? Ugh, I never need my glasses except for times like this.”

  Marta, the photographer she has hired to help cover the day, squints at the faded numbers on the curb. “I think we passed it.”

  “Damn it.” Kristy turns the car around in a neighbor’s driveway and parks on the street. “Well, we know it’s around here somewhere. I guess we can just get out and walk.”

  But she does not get out yet. A quick glance at the dashboard tells her they have six minutes still — 12:54pm. Plenty of time to run through her pre-wedding checklist.

  Kristy turns off the car, tightens her mousy blonde ponytail and takes a deep breath. “Ok, let me just go through this once more.”

  Marta nods. She is a pretty, slightly overweight brunette who has the air of ‘what a fun adventure I’m going to have today.’ This is Kristy’s first time working with her, but she seems amiable and capable and, thank goodness, has photographed weddings before.

  “We have water and snacks, right?” Kristy takes a gulp from her water bottle, even though she knows she should save it. No one ever thinks of the photographers when it comes to the necessities needed to make it all the way through a ten- or twelve-hour wedding day. This might be the only water she has easy access to until she gets home that night. “We synced our cameras, we have two copies of the family shot list, we turned off our phones … what am I forgetting? How are you with names?”

  “Oh, sorry.” Marta winces. “Pretty terrible.”

  Kristy sighs. “That’s fine. It’ll be fine. The bride and groom are Lindsay and Ryan and everyone else we can figure out as we go.”

  She rubs her eyes for a few seconds before she remembers she is wearing make-up for once. She is already so tired, but still has a very long, exhausting work day ahead of her. Not only will they be on their feet for more than nine hours straight, but they will have to be charming and personable with total strangers the entire time. All while gently directing them to stand here and corralling drunk groomsmen to move there. On a hot June afternoon.

  Kristy checks her eye make-up in the mirror. Not terrible. She licks her finger and rubs and the dark spot under her right eye where she had accidentally smudged her mascara.

  “So, we still have a couple minutes. Lemme tell you about the timeline, they don’t want to see each other before the ceremony.”

  “Awww … traditionalists.”

  Kristy rolls her eyes. “But, of course, only gave us a tiny window after the ceremony to get all their photos together. All of them. Why don’t people listen to me? It might be their first wedding, but it’s not mine. I’ll just have to talk to the coordinator. Leah Something. See what she can do.”

  “So, they’re doing a cocktail half-hour?”

  “Yeah, but let’s go back. Ok. Girls are getting ready here. We should have plenty of time for that. Boys are getting ready at a hotel. Again, they didn’t listen to me and apparently don’t care about getting-ready photos. Although, you know when I send them the photos they’ll notice.” She sighs. “Anyway, then bride and bridesmaid photos, groom and groomsmen photos, a few family photos at five or so, and then ceremony at quarter ’til six.”

  “How do you want me to cover the ceremony?”

  “Um … I dunno. Wait ’til we see how it’s laid out? After the ceremony, thirty minutes for big family photos and the bride and groom photos. Then first dance. Then dinner and we can finally take a break. The reception basically takes care of itself. Until they ask me how to cut the cake, of course.”

  Marta laughs. “Sounds good! I love weddings.”

  Kristy tries to remember back to when she had loved weddings.

  When she had left, Nick was about to get into the pool. Beer in one hand, book in another, their dog already napping in the shade under the patio table. Nick has no plans for the rest of the afternoon other than to enjoy his day off. How very much she wishes she were home with him. She could almost cry thinking about it.

  But, Kristy reminds herself, she’s lucky. Not everyone gets to do this. This is a great job. Really. A ton of photographers would kill for her clients and career. She really should not be complaining at all. Right?

  “Are you married?”

  “Me? No. No, I’ve been dating this guy for a bit, but not married.”

  “What would you be doing today if you weren’t shooting this wedding?”

  Marta looks thoughtful. “I dunno. Maybe just marathoning Netflix? Just like other days. Weekends are no big deal to me.” She shrugs.

  Kristy makes a fist involuntarily. Well. How nice for Marta.

  She reaches down and pops the trunk, exiting the car wordlessly. It had been so difficult that morning to pick an outfit that would work for both working in the hot sun all day and still be appropriate for a wedding. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress, leggings, and black tennis shoes.

  “Damn it,” Kristy says again. “I forgot to bring a handkerchief.”

  Marta looks confused. “You’re going to cry?”

  “No. It’s just … the sun hates me and my pale Irish skin. I am going to be so sweaty today any time we are outside and I meant to bring a handkerchief.”

  “Oh.” Marta nods. Clearly, the idea of sweating in the sun is foreign to her.

  They heave their camera bags out of the trunk.

  “So, how many weddings do you shoot every year?” Marta asks, changing the subject.

  “Twenty-five or thirty or so.”

  “That’s great! Busy!”

  “Yep. I would love to be one of those photographers that charges a zillion dollars per wedding and only shoot five each year, but, you know.” Kristy smiles. It’s one of the reasons she started her own business in the first place, so she could control how much she works. But, as always happens when b
uilding a business, she had found herself doing more and more of the administrative and businessy things that frustrated her and less and less of the photography work that she loves.

  “It must be this way,” Marta says, starting to cross the small residential street to the opposite sidewalk.

  Kristy can already feel the weight of her camera bag weighing her down. Backup camera, plus five lenses, a big flash, extra batteries, giant water bottle, snacks, sweater in case it gets chilly, business cards, as well as her phone, keys, and ID. Just in case. And nowhere to leave it since thieves have been known to just walk in to weddings and leave with what they want. She has got to carry all of this with her.

  Her shoulder is already starting to ache.

  Kristy sets her jaw in a smile she doesn’t feel, mentally preparing herself for the next nine hours.

  “Ready? Here it is,” she says, and leads the way up the long driveway.

  1:12pm Dylan

  Dylan dribbles. Four times. Pauses, then takes the foul shot. He’s on a streak of six in a row so far — not his best, but what can be expected? He can barely focus on the ball in his hands, let alone getting it into the basket.

  It’s a good thing his Saturday is so free. He couldn’t think about anything else. No homework. No plans with friends. He’s probably supposed to be mowing the lawn right now, but there isn’t any way his dad would make him do that.

  Joe steps out onto the front porch to where Dylan is playing in the driveway. Dylan flushes with guilt, sure he is going to be told off for not doing his chores.

  “Hey. I’m all packed up.”

  Dylan stops dribbling. This is it.

  “You sure you can’t stay till Mom gets home? You can talk about it? I could be there?”

  “Dylan. No, I’m sorry. You know how your mom is.”

  “But, Dad — ”

  “No. I’m sorry. She is totally overly rational. Any conversation that we have would end in me giving in just because she won’t. She doesn’t understand compromise. She will never admit she might be wrong.”

  Dylan closes his eyes. That’s true. Dylan learned a long time ago it is always easier to just let her win.

  “I have to do it this way. I know this will make me happier in the long run,” his dad continues. “We will all be happier. Eventually.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Dylan resumes his dribbling and turns toward the basket.

  “I know, buddy. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say.” His dad shrugs and returns inside.

  Dylan stays quiet. He doesn’t know what to say either. He’s so angry at both of his parents.

  Dylan is not looking forward to work tonight.

  1:24pm Ian

  Ian meets Ryan and Stu in the lobby of P.F. Chang’s. He has to push through a young family with two little boys still dressed in their soccer uniforms and cleats. Apparently this is where all the post-sports families come to stuff their faces. Ricky, Ryan’s best friend from college and the best man, has chosen the restaurant, is holding their table and ordering appetizers before anyone else arrives. Fair enough. P.F. Chang’s seems kind of girly and not what Ian would have picked, but whatever.

  Early afternoon on a Saturday, the lunch crowd is already well entrenched. Apparently Ricky had arrived a whole hour earlier to put their name in. Sucker.

  The hostess leads them across the restaurant, between full tables of chattering guests, to a large booth in the back room. The room isn’t quite empty, but it certainly isn’t in the busiest hub of the place. Ian is used to this; he often gets relegated to back corners of restaurants. As if just by looking at him they know to expect him to get rowdy. He chuckles to himself.

  Too bad. Ian will take responsibility for the entertainment and keep the party going. They need him. Bunch of dull duds already tied down. Not one of them shows a hint of a hangover and they all seem remarkably chipper for this early in the day.

  Most of these guys are already married — Ryan is the last one of all his friends. They aren’t Ian’s friends anyway. Ryan just asked Blake and him to be in the wedding party because of the brother thing. It’s nice of him, and he knows Lindsay was happy about it. But, really? Ian would have been fine being left out.

  This is only the third meal Ian has ever had with all these guys. During the bachelor party weekend, Ian went off by himself after the first night. He didn’t think Ryan would really mind, since the dude had seemed so uninterested in the girls Ian had hooked him up with. Then, the rehearsal dinner last night, when they all brought their wives. And now this. Ryan’s last meal as a single guy.

  Whether by coincidence or design, their table has been assigned the hottest waitress in the place. Sure, she’s wearing her conservative, buttoned-up uniform, but Ian can just tell she’s hot underneath all of that. Bonus: since she’s here at lunch, she probably will be off work tonight when the wedding is over.

  Ian calls for her attention before she can even open her mouth.

  “Hey, yeah. What’s your name? Maria?” He looks her up and down, pleased. “Ok, Maria, I need a round of beer to start with. Whatever you think. Pitchers or however you guys do it here. And then you should also know that this guy…” Ian claps his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “This guy is getting married later today, so I want you to do your best to remind him what he is giving up.”

  Ian laughs loudly and looks around for the guys’ reactions, but they only kind of smile politely. He doesn’t see Maria’s reaction, but he doesn’t need to. That is her job, right? To wait on the table and make them all feel cared for. She’s probably already looking forward to a big tip from all these guys. Stu looks a bit shocked and gets up to lead her away, talking softly. Maybe ordering more drinks, Ian thinks.

  Once he has sat down again, Ian’s older brother Blake leans over. “Hey, settle down. This isn’t that kind of party,” he says softly. The other guys are all talking over him, apparently not paying attention or at least pretending not to. “This is just lunch. Before we all have a long afternoon and evening. Just relax and eat.”

  Ian just scoffs and leans back in the booth. It’s never just lunch. Hadn’t Blake noticed that the restaurant had sent them their hottest waitress? This is exactly how final meals should go. Ryan should be thrilled.

  He doesn’t join in the conversation — Ricky asks about the honeymoon, and Ryan launches into a long, detailed description of all the zip lining, snorkeling and surfing they were going to do in Costa Rica. It makes Ian tired just listening to it. But he listens closely, in case he could find a good opportunity to jump in and change the subject.

  Is this what it’s like to be married? No longer even interested in admiring the hot piece of ass that we get handed as a waitress? Ian can not imagine ever coming to that point.

  But Blake keeps giving him warning looks, so Ian keeps his mouth shut and just watches Maria whenever she comes by.

  1:44pm Amber

  Amber sits quietly still, looking down as instructed. She has laced up her fingers and wedged her hands between her thighs so she won’t be tempted to bite her nails. Such a mindless habit when she doesn’t have anything to do with her hands. It gets even worse when she’s anxious like today. The make-up artist, Cristina, applies her delicate brush to Amber’s eyelid. So many layers and delicate little touches. Lindsay insists they all wear fake lashes, and the added weight is making Amber just want to close her eyes and go back to bed. She sits near the window in the house’s master bedroom. Nowhere near a mirror. But that’s fine. Amber is past caring what she looks like today. She trusts the make-up artist to keep her presentable, but other than that what does it really matter?

  It’s not like she has a boyfriend to impress. Or that there is any prospect of meeting someone at this wedding. Or even that she wants to get Ian’s attention again. Weddings are a hard place to be when you’re lonely.

  Amber will be the first one of the girls ready to be photographed. The other six are having fun laughing and chatting. Which is probably why they aren’
t even close to being ready. Once Cristina finishes her eyes, Amber just has to put the dress on and do one last check of her hair and make-up. She still has to find her genuine smile though.

  There are still four hours before the ceremony and Amber is already exhausted.

  Lindsay’s kind-of sister-in-law, Blake’s girlfriend, Stacy plops onto the edge of the bed next to Amber. She leans close and whispers, “I saw you last night.”

  Amber does not have the energy for any witty comeback to change the subject.

  “What?”

  “I saw you. After dinner. In someone’s car.” Stacy raises her eyebrows, trying to look at Amber meaningfully, but really just emphasizing her very large eyes.

  “What?” She refuses to make this easy. If Stacy thinks she is on to something she will have to come out with it herself. Amber is admitting to nothing.

  Stacy snorts. “Whatever. You don’t have to tell me about it. Just to check though, does Lindsay know?”

  “Look down,” says Cristina.

  “Does Lindsay know what?”

  “Well, I’m going to assume that means yes so I guess I’ll just ask her what she thinks since you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Wait wait wait.” Amber is defeated. But also a little impressed at the way Cristina is pretending not to hear any of it. Professional. “What did you see?”

  “I told you. You. In a car. Ian’s car. I couldn’t really see in, though, since the windows were all fogging up.”

  Amber groans. “Damn it. I am such an idiot.”

  “Look up,” says Cristina.