No Day Like Today

by Amy Teegan

  “No, wait.” Stacy’s tone changes immediately from teasing to caring. “Why are you an idiot? Do you like him?”

  “Not like that. I just … I’m just an idiot. I had had too many margaritas and he can be so charming.”

  “Yeah?” She looks at Amber expectantly.

  “Yeah.” She shrugs.

  “Hold still,” Cristina says.

  “That’s it. It was stupid. I just wanted to be kissed. And, really, he is a good kisser. Too bad he also talks with that mouth.”

  Stacy laughs. “I know exactly what you mean. Youngest child thing, I think.”

  “I just want to forget the whole thing. Especially before Lindsay finds out. Did anyone else see?”

  “Not that I have been able to tell. We’ll see. Lindsay would be cool about it, but you’re right. Better everyone just forget it.”

  Amber smiles. Grateful, but still so irritated with her poor decision.

  “Are you ok?”

  Amber brightens her smile. “Yes, fine. Of course. Good. Last night was just weird. Let’s just forget it.”

  “Ok. Cool. Well. Let me know if you need to talk. Or if you need me to, I don’t know. Shoot Ian with a tranquilizer or something.”

  They both laugh.

  “So, what errands did you have to do this afternoon?” Amber asks, her voice low. She doesn’t care how obvious it was that she was trying to change the subject.

  “Oh!” Stacy moves even closer so she can whisper. As if this is the really important secret, not the fact that she had seen the maid of honor making out with the bride’s brother the night before. “We just got some supplies to decorate their car. Ricky and Blake and some of the others are going to take care of it.”

  “Oh, great! Yeah, I think Blake mentioned that to me,” Amber lies.

  “Right, so then, you know. Balloons and writing on the windows and all.”

  “Right. Good.” Amber nods.

  “I’m sorry, can you not nod? I need you to look right at me,” says Cristina.

  “Sorry,” Amber whispers.

  “Well, anyway. Let me know,” Stacy says, squeezing Amber’s shoulder lightly and moving away.

  Amber had almost forgotten Cristina is there. And now she’s looking directly at this stranger who just heard the one thing she is most embarrassed about.

  “Ian is Lindsay’s youngest brother,” she says.

  Cristina nods. She leans close to Amber’s face, examining her work so far.

  “I was a wreck last night and kind of hooked up with him. It was stupid.”

  “No need to explain,” she answers, finally looking Amber in the eyes. “We all do stupid things.”

  “I guess.”

  “You’ve got to stop talking now because I’m going to do your lips.”

  “Oh, ok. Sorry.”

  Amber tries holding perfectly still. What a strange, intimate experience, having someone so close to her face, touching her mouth so gently …

  Ian had been so gentle, too. Amber had been surprised at how tender and attentive he was. It did not seem like his personality at all, to pay attention to other people. At least she had enjoyed it at the time.

  “Ok, rub your lips together.” Cristina demonstrates. “And take this Kleenex to blot gently. Perfect. I think you look lovely, but take this mirror. Let me know if there’s anything you want to change.”

  Amber examines her reflection. Not terrible. It still looks like her, after all. “Good. Thanks.” She tries out a smile in the mirror. See? No one will be able to tell it isn’t real.

  2:02pm Leah

  Leah stands close to the house, in the narrow strip of shade, watching her team set up the centerpieces. She is tired of hovering, but until the cake arrives or the florist finishes the ceremony set-up there’s not much she can do.

  Confident that all is going according to schedule, Leah slips back into the house where she had left her binder of details and purse in the shadowy corner of the dining room. The blinds are still closed and the room is a cave. Lovely, exposed wood beams run the length of the ceiling, but suck all the light out of the room. With the adorable breakfast nook in the next room, the dining room probably has not been used since Thanksgiving.

  Leah fishes her cell phone out of the pocket of her tote bag and sets it on the table, directly in front of her. A quick button tap shows her the time — 2:02pm — and nothing else. Not a single text message or missed call. She hits the table with the palm of her hand in disappointment. She has been so good about not texting Joe or checking her phone too obsessively, she feels like she should be rewarded with something. Even just something little. ‘I will wait til tomorrow,’ or ‘I want to talk about this’ or maybe even ‘I was wrong.’ Anything?

  She is always very careful not to book two weddings in the same weekend, so she can at least have one day off with her family all together. Now that she really has a moment to think about, she feels more certain that Joe deliberately waited for a day that he knows she would be gone. This isn’t an unfortunate coincidence — it’s strategic.

  As she stares at her phone, a new text comes through. It’s from her son Dylan: ‘talked 2 dad.’

  She stares a moment longer, waiting for the next part of that thought to arrive. Nothing. Is he still typing? Is it a typo? Maybe he is telling her, like a command, to talk to dad, telling her to break her wedding day vow of silence. Maybe he knows something she doesn’t. Should she respond? Is Joe trying to get to her through their son, pulling him into some kind of mind game to punish her?

  She shakes her head. No, that’s not what this is. He would assume she isn’t checking messages all day. She never has before; why would today be different?

  Leah lets out a long breath and leans forward, forehead resting on the table, eyes closed.

  She’s going crazy. That’s what this is. She’s letting this one thing that she doesn’t even have control over affect her whole day. She either needs to let it go …. Or text her assistant so Leah can leave the wedding and go home. It tempts her. Leah taps through her contacts to find Cindy’s number. Her thumb hovers over the ‘call now’ button.

  The one thing stopping her is the fact that she has never left a wedding in the middle of the day. She sighs. Leah is not willing to break that. She is justifiably proud of that, and she has never been one to let other people’s actions manipulate her own. Maybe she’ll wait a little longer. Once more setup is done. That will give Joe or Dylan more time to contact her.

  There’s a knock at the front door. That would be the cake. Leah snaps back into gear — she is running a wedding, after all.

  3:14pm Sophie

  “Sophie!”

  Her mom calls from the bedroom. It sounds more like a croak than anything else. Her voice must be tired from talking all night. “Where’s my phone?”

  “It’s charging!” Sophie calls back. She runs over to where the phone sits on the counter. She notices a missed call from her great-grandpa Marshall. Sophie unplugs it — 3:14pm, charged to eighty three percent — and carries it over to her mom’s doorway.

  “Um, Mom? What time are we supposed to leave?”

  “Jesus, Sophie, I don’t know. Give me a minute to wake up at least.”

  “You missed a call from Great-grandpa.”

  “Shit!” Her mom snatches the phone from her, quickly tapping and swiping.

  Sophie watches as her mother has all of a sudden woken up completely to return the call. Raising her voice a little, since he refuses to wear a hearing aid, she says, “Grandpa? It’s Karen. Yeah, I’m sorry we’re just running late. Sophie is throwing a tantrum. The little brat.” She doesn’t meet her daughter’s eyes. “Yeah, so we’ll leave here as soon as we can. Ok. Yep. I’ll see you soon. Love you, too.”

  She taps her phone to end the call and lies back down, eyes closed.

  “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” Sophie says, almost at a whisper, so maybe her mom could pretend she doesn’t hear it.

  “I know, Soph! God
, give me a break. Sometimes you just gotta make excuses people will understand. Great-grandpa is old and if I told him that I had just woken up he would have lectured me and taken up more time. Understand?”

  Sophie shakes her head. Not really. Dad always says they should tell the truth. But now Mom is saying it was better if they don’t. Being a grown-up seems so confusing. Always having to know what to say and what to do and take care of other people. Her mom never seems to enjoy it.

  “Baby, can you bring me a beer from the fridge? I just need a little something then I can get up so we can go. You look so pretty in your dress.”

  “I need you to zip up the back, please.”

  “After you grab me a beer? Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Sophie leaves her mom still lying in bed while she goes to the kitchen. There are still six or seven beers in the fridge, luckily. She grabs one and the bottle opener and carries them both back to the bedroom, where her mom sits up in bed with her feet on the floor.

  “Thank you, baby. Do you think you could also take these empty bottles to the kitchen for me? Be careful not to let them touch your dress.”

  Sophie obeys without comment. She guesses that maybe they are already late, so she has to help her mom as much as she can so they could leave so they can pick up Great-grandpa so they can get there before the wedding so she can be a flower girl. She desperately wants to be a flower girl tonight.

  It takes her two trips to take all the bottles to the kitchen where the trash can sits overflowing. She would have to remind her mother tomorrow to take that out. Her dress still hangs open behind her. But at least now her mom is up and out of bed, sitting in the living room, drinking her beer, looking through her phone.

  “Mom? Could you zip up my dress, please?”

  “What? Yeah, c’mere.”

  Sophie feels her dress close up, tightly around her body and thinks, ok. I’m finally ready. She sits in the brown armchair across the living room and watches, patiently, for her mom to get ready to go.

  3:21pm Kristy

  “Aren’t the guys supposed to be here?” Marta asks.

  “Yep.” Kristy checks the time. “Have you ever known a wedding to run on time?”

  They wait in silence a moment before Marta speaks again. “Lindsay seems so sweet. Do you know how she and Ryan met?”

  “Work? I think? They’re both lawyers.”

  Kristy sets her big camera bag at her feet, leaning against her legs while she tries to fan herself with the folded-up shot list. She and Marta stand on the gravel driveway near the house, waiting for the groom and his groomsmen. She has just finished photographing the bride and her bridesmaids, and the girls hustle back inside and up the stairs to stay hidden for the imminent arrival of the groom. Marta has already captured the ceremony site, and the cake but everything else they have to wait for.

  This is the frustration of being a wedding photographer — hurry up and wait. Be there and be ready at a second’s notice, even if you have to wait hours for the moment because you will never have it again. The moment when the bride and groom see each other for the first time, they’ll be surrounded by a crowd of standing people, and somehow Kristy is expected to photograph that ‘intimate’ moment without being in anybody else’s way. The reception set up will be done all of three minutes before they let guests in, and somehow Kristy is expected to get all her photos during that three minutes.

  She sighs.

  What kind of job could she get that she won’t have to deal with people and ridiculous expectations in a high pressure situation? Garbage collector? Data entry? Maybe she could sort packages at the post office. Anything.

  But, no. She’s here. On her feet for almost three hours with another three or four to go before she can sit. And now, even though they still have so much more to photograph — the boys, the rings, the details, the family, let alone all of the ceremony and reception — they just have to stand around waiting because none of that is done.

  Kristy’s phone vibrates with a text from her husband. He’s sent a photo of their dog swimming. Ohmygod, swimming sounds fantastic, she thinks still fanning herself. I could be swimming right now instead of waiting for a bunch of drunk guys to show up.

  “Lindsay looks just beautiful, don’t you think?” Marta says from behind her camera. She scrolls through the photos she has just taken. “That dress? I love shooting weddings that have spent some money.”

  Kristy smiles. That’s true. She has enjoyed photographing weddings so much more now that she has priced herself out of the low-budgets. Thank god for Marta. Her chipperness may be annoying, but she helps Kristy remember why she has always loved weddings.

  She often tells Nick she doesn’t love photographing weddings, but she loves having created those photographs. There are always two or three stunning photos of the day that almost make the whole ordeal worth it.

  Almost.

  “How often do you shoot weddings?” she asks Marta.

  “Well, let’s see… Last year I had ten. This year I have fourteen. Next year I have eleven booked already.”

  “That’s great!”

  “Yeah, you know? I really love it. I used to do admin work at a doctor’s office and it was just awful. Sick people are mean. But this? Everyone is always so happy to see me. I actually love working seven days a week.”

  “Hmmm…”

  “Oh, I know, I know. I should take days off. And I do. But I always spend those days looking forward to meeting with a new bride and groom.”

  Kristy smiles. “That’s great, Marta. It’s so nice that you’ve found something you love.”

  An older couple Kristy recognizes as Ryan’s parents walk up the driveway, hand-in-hand. They look sweltering in their formal attire — it will be perfect for later this evening, but in the afternoon sun it seems impractical.

  “Hello, my dear,” Mrs. Rowe says, greeting her with a delicate handshake. “So nice to see you again. This is my husband Jerry. Are we the first ones here?”

  “I think so. Lindsay’s parents are around somewhere and all the girls are upstairs in the master bedroom if you want to take a peek.”

  “Let’s go inside where it’s cool, at any rate,” Mr. Rowe says, already leading the way.

  Kristy doesn’t argue. Without the groom, there’s no reason for them to stick around outside waiting. She starts fanning herself again, staring back down the long driveway.

  3:34pm Ian

  Ian parks a few houses away. The narrow residential street is already filling up. He’s maybe only four minutes late, but it could be more like twenty. No one had given him a straight answer. Oh well. Who the fuck really cared? The wedding doesn’t start for at least a couple hours. He has come straight from lunch. Well, not straight. He had stopped to buy a big soda and some condoms. Had to make sure he was fully prepared for the rest of the night.

  He checks his pockets one last time: wallet, keys, phone. Sunglasses on his face. He has put one condom in his wallet and another in the ashtray in his car, and the rest of the box is stashed under the passenger’s side seat. You never know. Ian hasn’t ever been to a wedding as an adult, but he has seen enough movies to know there has to be at least one bridesmaid or guest that drinks just enough to throw herself at a groomsman.

  And Ian intends to be there waiting and ready.

  Especially since there had already been one bridesmaid who had thrown herself at him.

  He gets out of the car and crosses the quiet residential street. From the foot of the driveway, he can’t see more than one or two guys in suits, so at least he knows he’s not late.

  When he walks up the driveway, he notices there are still a couple of the bridesmaids waiting outside. Have they already finished with their photographs? He’s surprised to see them in floor-length black gowns. That’s not nearly as much skin as he had been hoping. Lindsay is nowhere to be seen, but Amber and a couple other girls, whose names he doesn’t know, are standing in the shade chatting.

  The photographer
stands not far in front of him. She also wears a black dress — not as long as the bridesmaids’, but still not short enough for his taste — and leans forward a little bit to take Amber’s portrait. Ian stops behind her to admire the view. Of Amber, too. He checks out the photographer for just a second before turning his attention to Amber. If he plays it right he could very well duplicate the previous night. And more. Amber is pretty enough, but last night she had seemed sad and desperate. The perfect opportunity for Ian.

  She doesn’t seem to notice him, but he isn’t worried.

  She will.

  3:49pm Sophie

  Sophie sits on the floor of the hallway, listening. The toilet flushes. There is some muffled shuffling, with sounds of something soft being dropped on the floor. And then the click, gushing sound of the shower head being turned on.

  Now that her mom has finally gotten in the shower, Sophie feels better. Her tummy had been starting to hurt, the longer that Mom just sat, starting her second beer, tapping messages on her phone to people Sophie doesn’t know. She hasn’t asked her mom about curling her hair or letting her wear make-up. Maybe there will be time for her to ask Aunt Callie when they get to where the wedding will be. Sophie knows that’s where Lindsay and the other girls were getting ready so maybe one of them could help her.

  Sophie moves down the hall to the living room to wait and pretend to watch more My Little Pony. It’s the only thing she can really do since she’s too worried about being late. But she has seen all these episodes before, so she doesn’t have to really pay attention. Instead, her ears zero in on the sounds coming out of her mom’s room. The shower water turns off. Sophie hears more soft shuffling. The bathroom door clicking open. And then nothing. No sounds for what feels like forever. Until, finally, Sophie hears rustling in the drawer where her mom keeps the combs, blow dryer, closet door opening and closing, more rustling of clothes. With each sound, Sophie can just picture what her mom is doing, getting closer and closer to leaving time.