Something Borrowed

by Catherine Hapka

It was pleasant work at first. Our backyard wasn’t huge, but it was always a pretty nice place to be. It was dominated by a small but awesome free-form pool complete with rocks and a waterfall and surrounded by a flagstone patio. The arbor cast dappled shade over the grilling and dining area at one end of the pool. At the other end my parents had converted an old detached garage into a cool little pool house with a couple of changing rooms and a bathroom. A tall privacy fence covered with ivy kept the whole yard out of view of passersby and at the same time made it feel like a special, private little world. Our oasis, Mom sometimes called it.

  At the moment the only things disturbing the idyllic scene were the spare folding chairs and tables that Mom always dragged out of the basement for our bigger parties. They were currently stacked neatly against the front wall of the pool house in preparation for a pool-party barbecue scheduled for one week from that very day. By then, out-of-town relatives and other guests would be starting to arrive for the wedding, and the family-and-friends gathering was meant to sort of kick off the final countdown to the big day the following Saturday.

  Seeing those party chairs sitting there somehow made the whole thing more real all of a sudden. Up until now this whole wedding business had seemed kind of abstract, sort of like an enormous extra-credit school research project that was never going to come due. Time-consuming and a pain in the butt, but not really anything to worry about too much.

  But now it was almost here. In just thirteen days my sister Camille—the girl I’d grown up with, the one who’d taught me to do an underwater somersault and never let me pick the TV shows when she was babysitting—was going to walk down the aisle and become a married woman. Weird.

  I was so distracted by those sorts of thoughts that I didn’t stress too much when the first couple of guys I called weren’t available. My friend Brad from school already had a date—no surprise there, really—and my old next-door neighbor, Neil, who now lived way out in Chester County somewhere, was in England for the entire summer visiting relatives.

  “Oh, well,” I murmured as I hung up after talking to Neil’s sister. “Strike two.”

  I took a sip of orange juice and waved away a pesky fly. Then I paged through my little black book. Actually, it wasn’t really black. The cover was a sort of psychedelic pattern of mostly blues and purples. Inside were the phone numbers and other stats of everyone I knew. Most of my friends had gone high-tech, plugging that kind of info into their Treos or BlackBerrys, but to me there was something comforting about being able to look it all over in old-school black and white.

  Aha. I spotted another likely candidate within seconds. It was Mario, a guy I’d gone out with a few times about a year earlier. We’d never really turned into anything serious, but he was a lot of fun, and I was sure he’d make a thoroughly enjoyable wedding date. I started to dial, then paused. My gaze had just fallen on the next entry in the book: Vic. He was the incredibly good-looking brother of a friend of mine from tennis lessons. I’d met him right around the same time I was hooking up with Lance, so nothing had happened between us—yet.

  I bit my lip, squinting out at the glittering, breeze-tickled surface of the pool and trying to picture which of the two guys was the better bet. Mario would definitely be a blast to hang out with at the wedding, but Vic had more actual romantic potential if things went right. . . .

  I needn’t have worried about it. When I called, I discovered that both Mario and Vic already had dates to the wedding. So did Duncan, Jamal, Steve, and the six other guys I tried in the next half hour or so.

  When Mike from my senior chem class apologetically told me he’d already promised to go with my second cousin Stacy, I finally started to panic. This wedding was a monster! I’d been sort of joking earlier when I’d told Teresa it was going to be the social event of the season. But it was starting to look as if that might be true. Absolutely everyone I knew was going to be there, whether I’d realized it or not. And they all already had dates.

  You could just go by yourself, you know. Teresa’s voice floated through my memory.

  Rationally, I knew she was right. I wasn’t the kind of girl who wouldn’t go anywhere if I wasn’t hanging off some guy’s arm. In fact some of the most fun I’d ever had was when I was single and fancy-free and had just showed up to a dance or a party with my girlfriends, free to dance and flirt and get to know any guy who caught my eye . . . or to just ignore guys entirely and have a blast with the girls.

  But this was different. For one thing, it was true what I’d said earlier—going with someone would be lots more fun, especially without Teresa around to hang out with. Secondly, there was Lance. As I mentioned, he was Boring Bob’s stepcousin, which meant he was invited to the wedding with or without me. What if he showed up with his new grease-monkey girlfriend? I wasn’t too proud to admit that it would be embarrassing if he had a date and I didn’t.

  But I was almost too proud to admit the last reason, even to myself. This was a wedding we were talking about. It was a celebration of romance, of the human predilection for falling in love and pairing off. I wasn’t sure why that made it much more imperative to be there as part of a couple, however temporary. But it did. The thought of anything else was weirdly depressing, and I hated being depressed.

  Chewing my lower lip, I flipped through my book again, looking for more candidates. Before I could settle on any, I heard the sound of voices from the house. Glancing over, I saw that the canapé crusaders had returned.

  Leaving the phone and other stuff on the pool chair, I headed inside. “Hi,” I said. “How’d it go today?”

  “There you are, Ava.” My mom looked and sounded exasperated. Her neat blond bob was looking a little rough around the edges, and it was obvious she hadn’t touched up her lipstick in quite a while. For Mom, that was roughly the equivalent of lying in the gutter with a half-empty bottle of bourbon and no shoes.

  Camille barely acknowledged my entrance. She was in mid-rant. “. . . and if they’re not going to honor their word about the salmon, I don’t see why we should pay them anything!” she exclaimed. “I’m telling you, if they ruin my wedding, I’m going to make Daddy sue them until their eyes cross!”

  Mom closed her eyes for a moment, then glanced at me. “I’m done,” she said flatly. “Ava, you’re it. I’ve had all the bridesitting I can take for one day. I feel like I’m part of some kind of ridiculous reality show.”

  “You mean When Brides Attack?” I suggested.

  The ghost of a smile flitted across her face. “That’s the one.”

  “Mo-ther!” Camille cried irritably. “I wish you would take this seriously! The wedding is only thirteen days away!”

  “Trust me, I know that, Camille. I’m checking each hour off on my calendar. In blood.”

  I grinned, but Camille merely looked more insulted than ever at Mom’s comment. She’d never had the strongest sense of humor to start with, and the wedding had knocked what little there was right out of her.

  She rounded on me. “Did you go to your fitting today?”

  “No.” I rolled my eyes. “I decided to skip out and hit the beach in Tahiti instead. I’m there right now having sunblock rubbed on my back by a shirtless native boy.”

  “Ava.” Mom sounded tired. “Don’t.”

  “Sorry. She’s such an easy target.” I shrugged at Camille. “I went. It’s supposed to be ready in time for the final fitting on Friday. Unfortunately.”

  “Friday?” Camille shrieked. “The final fitting isn’t Friday; it’s Thursday! Oh my God, if the dresses aren’t ready on top of everything else—”

  “Chill!” I exclaimed. “The dress lady probably said Thursday. I don’t remember. My mind was still in shock from all that pink.”

  “Knock, knock! Anybody home? The door was open.” Boring Bob strolled into the kitchen, looking impeccable as always in his khakis and polo shirt. He was there for Sunday dinner, like the proper little future son-in-law that he was. His egg-shaped face showed the results of his l
atest trip to the tanning salon, and his dark hair was gelled to perfection as usual. I’d always vaguely wondered why he slicked it back like that—with his prematurely receding hairline, it made it look as if his hair were trying desperately to flee from his face. But as with most things Bob, I didn’t worry about it much.

  “Bob!” Mom and Camille both greeted him at the same time. Mom sounded ecstatic to see him. I think Camille was just happy to have someone new to listen to her woes.

  “Yo, Bob-man,” I added.

  “Greetings, Hamiltons,” Bob said to Mom and me. Then he walked over to Camille, brushed back her hair, and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “How’s my blushing bride?”

  “Not happy.” Camille scowled at him. “The canapés are a disaster, and half the people on the guest list still haven’t RSVP’d, and—”

  “Come tell me all about it.” Bob put an arm around her and steered her toward the sliding door.

  Soon the two of them were out by the pool, visible through the big picture window in the dining area but mercifully silent thanks to the double-paned glass and the purring of the central air. Mom sank into the nearest chair, looking relieved. “What a day,” she muttered.

  “Just relax for a few minutes,” I told her, already heading for the refrigerator. “I’ll get you a glass of wine and then start dinner while you recover from your latest epic battle against the forces of Bridezilla.”

  “Thanks, Ava.” Mom sighed and kicked off her Ferragamos. She glanced out at Bob and Camille. By now Camille was smiling and even laughing a little at whatever Bob was saying out there. “I’ll tell you, I don’t know what we’d do without Bob. I swear, I think he’s the only thing keeping Camille from going off the deep end. The rest of us too.” She glanced at my father’s note, still hanging on the refrigerator, and sighed again. “This wedding is making us all a little nuts.”

  I had to admit that she had a point. As boring as Bob might be, he was awfully patient with my crazy sister. There was something to be said for that.

  Camille may be wacked and have bad taste in most things, I thought as I uncorked my mom’s favorite Pinot Grigio, but maybe she really did pick the right guy for herself after all.

  It was a weird thought, considering my years of distaste for the Boring One. Maybe Mom was right. This wedding really was getting to all of us.

  Four

  “Here’s our stop.” I bounded for the doors as the R5 eased in alongside the platform at 30th Street Station. “Come on!”

  “Slow down, Ava.” Teresa swayed gracefully down the aisle of the moving train, clinging to the seat backs as she went. “They do actually slow the train down to let us off, you know. Sometimes they even stop.”

  I didn’t bother to answer. Instead I stood in front of the doors, tapping my foot impatiently until they slid open, releasing us into a humid cloud of sulfurous stink. The few other passengers making the Monday mid-morning trip into the city dispersed across the platform. I grabbed Teresa’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Thanks for coming along to play wing-man,” I said.

  She appeared unimpressed by my gratefulness. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this. I should be at the barn today. And it’s not like you need me along to pick up guys.”

  “Oh, come on.” I grinned at her. “You can’t tell me you’d rather be scooping horse poop than scoping out the hotties. Besides, I need you to show me around campus.”

  This was my latest plan to land myself a wedding date. If every guy in a ten-mile radius was already spoken for, that just meant I had to widen my range a little. And what better place to start than Teresa’s university campus? I already knew from previous visits that Penn was virtually teeming with eligible men. Even during summer break there were bound to be a few hot prospects around.

  I had the day off work and no time to lose, so I’d called Teresa first thing that morning to see if she’d go with me. I’d sort of been hoping that Jason and his Prius would come along as part of the deal, since both my family’s cars were spoken for that day. Dad had a meeting in Delaware that afternoon, which meant he had driven in to his office instead of taking the train. And Mom’s car was serving as the Bridemobile, as usual.

  As it turned out, Jason had to work. Still, I figured maybe that was for the best. Better to be stuck taking the train into the city than be stuck with Jason the Jerk making obnoxious comments and scaring away all the cute, smart college guys I was planning to meet.

  Teresa was less than fully enthusiastic about this whole plan. But she was a good friend, so there she was. She’d even advised me on my outfit. Skinny denim capris, sandals, and my favorite tie-back blue tank from Anthropologie. Cute, but not desperate.

  We made the short walk over to Penn from the train station, cutting through Drexel’s campus on the way. Before long we were on the corner of 34th and Walnut.

  “Where should we start?” I asked, rubbing my hands together and glancing around. In one direction was a shopping center filled with college-friendly pizza and fast-food places. As I watched, a pair of buff-looking football types walked out with sodas in hand. In the other direction a slim, studious type was reading a book as he wandered slowly along toward the imposing library building nearby. Farther up the block three or four guys were in line at a mobile food van parked at the curb.

  “Let’s go sit on the grass in front of College Hall,” Teresa suggested. “If I’m going to have to hang around watching you flirt, at least maybe I can work on my tan at the same time.”

  “Deal.”

  We headed up Locust Walk, the main pedestrian thoroughfare through the center of campus. I’d been to Penn plenty of times over the past year visiting Teresa, but today I seemed to see the place with new eyes. The antique brick and stone buildings clustered around the center lawn looked imposing yet friendly, like a bunch of wise gray-haired gentlemen sheltering the students from the urban jungle just outside. I shivered as we passed the main library, where three or four girls were hanging out on the button-shaped modern sculpture in front drinking coffee and talking—probably discussing some deep philosophical topic. Suddenly I could hardly wait to start college in the fall. Even though I wasn’t going to Penn, just being there made my post–high school future feel real and scary and intriguing and awesome. If only I could fast-forward to then, skipping right past the wedding and all it entailed. . . .

  I forgot about all that as we passed a couple strolling in the opposite direction. The guy had a swimmer’s build and killer cheekbones.

  “Whoa,” I whispered, nudging Teresa in the ribs. “Check out Mr. GQ.”

  “Why don’t you say it a little louder?” Teresa muttered. “I don’t think his girlfriend quite heard you.”

  “Lighten up. If she did hear, I’m sure she’d take it as a compliment.” I blinked as another guy came into view. Tall, dark, and handsome, with wavy hair and dimples. “Hey, how about him? He looks single. And he’s totally gorgeous!”

  Teresa raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? He looks just like Jason,” she said. “You might as well just borrow the real thing.”

  “Yeah, right.” I grabbed her by the hand. “Come on, let’s go sit where we can get a good view.”

  We staked out seats on the wide swath of green lawn in front of the gothic-looking College Hall. We even managed to find a spot where Teresa’s olive skin could soak up the midday sun while I and my tender complexion could cower in the shade of a tree just a few feet away.

  “Okay, maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all.” Teresa leaned back, tipped her face up, and closed her eyes. “Wake me up if you spot Mr. Right.”

  “Will Mr. Right Now do?” I asked. “Because I think I see him over there. And there. Oh, and also right over there.”

  Seriously, it was like being at the boy mall. Everywhere I looked, I saw attractive men near my age. Studious-looking hotties wandered past on their way to or from the library. Three or four cute hippie-throwback types were playing Hacky Sack in the grass a sho
rt distance away. Even the janitor walking by pushing a rolling garbage bin was good-looking. It was probably a good thing I wasn’t doing this during the school year, because I was pretty sure my brain would have exploded.

  “Okay, it looks like I’ll have plenty of options here.” I leaned back on my elbows. “So let’s decide exactly what I’m looking for, okay?”

  “Whatever.” Teresa didn’t bother to open her eyes.

  I looked around thoughtfully. “If Lance shows up, I don’t want him to think I’m trying to replace him . . .”

  “Even though you are,” Teresa put in. “. . . so I’m thinking no blonds.” I shot her a look, which was completely wasted since her eyes were still shut. “And no, I’m not.”

  “Whatever,” she said again.

  “I might want to stay away from redheads, too, even though I think they’re adorable.”

  That one actually made Teresa open her eyes. “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Pink,” I reminded her succinctly.

  She rolled her eyes, then let them drift closed again. “Too bad my friend Brody went home to Colorado for the summer,” she said lazily. “He would probably—”

  “Whoa!” I interrupted. “Check him out.”

  Teresa obediently opened her eyes and sat up. “Which one?” she asked. “The chubby professor type? He’s a little old for you, don’t you think? Or are you talking about the Asian guy over by the statue?”

  “Neither.” I pointed. “I’m talking about that guy. With the hair.”

  “You mean Mr. X Games over there on the skateboard?” Teresa wrinkled her nose. “Um . . .”

  She didn’t seem impressed, which wasn’t surprising. Teresa went more for the clean-cut type herself. Exhibit A: Jason. They didn’t come much cleaner than that.

  I watched the guy swoop closer, dodging pedestrians on his skateboard. He was impossibly tall and skinny, with a wild cloud of crazy red hair surrounding an angular, good-looking face.

  “I thought you said no redheads,” Teresa said.