You’re Invited Too

by Jen Malone

  “Not alone,” Ms. Purvis says, as she climbs into the driver’s seat of her truck. “I’ll round up some more people to help out as soon as I get this out of the way.”

  As Dad, Lance, Sam, Mr. Travis, and I walk back up toward school, Dad talks to everyone we meet on the way. A “thanks for helping!” here and a “great work!” there. Everyone smiles at him, and most of them thank him too.

  Something creeps into my heart. Something different. I think it’s pride. . . . I’m proud of my dad, the school janitor.

  Just inside the doors, Mrs. Marks and some other people are gathering the check-in lists and folding up the tables. Becca’s wheeling a giant trash can full of coffee cups through the lobby. She’s glaring at it and is barely touching it with two fingers. I’m like 99 percent sure that her dad insisted she help out. I’m just dying to know how she got stuck on trash duty instead of entertaining the little kids or handing out coffee creamers.

  Dad stops to help Mrs. Marks fold up the sticky leg of one of the tables. Linney’s standing nearby—not helping, of course, just sipping her coffee (or milkfee, as Becca likes to call it, based on Linney’s milk-to-coffee ratio) and holding up the wall. Her highlighted hair looks a little bedraggled in its low ponytail.

  A crash sounds from across the lobby, and I think we all jump a mile. Becca lets out a horrified wail as she surveys the plastic trash can, tipped over onto its side, cups and empty sugar packets still tumbling out all over the floor. She looks like she’s about to cry. She bends down to pick up the cups. I take one step toward her to help when Linney detaches herself from the wall and sashays across the trash-strewn floor.

  “Don’t worry about that, Becs,” she says, like she and Becca are besties. “The janitor is here. He’ll clean it up. It’s his job, after all.” She sips daintily from her milkfee and eyes me over the top of her cup.

  I glance back to where Dad’s still helping Linney’s mom. If he heard Linney, he’s not saying anything. Instead he’s pounding at the table leg, which refuses to budge. But plenty of other people heard. Lance is right next to me, frowning at Linney. A few other kids from school are standing around, holding sleeping bags and backpacks. And Lauren and Sadie have just wandered into the lobby, still in their pajamas.

  “What is taking him so long? Seriously, you’d think this school could hire someone who’d actually do his job. I mean, just last week I found a hair in one of the bathroom sinks. Gross.” She shudders, as if this is the most disgusting thing in the history of the world.

  That’s it. I clench my fists and stride forward.

  “You have a lot of nerve,” I say to Linney.

  Her smile falls just a little bit. I don’t think she expected me to say anything. Which just makes me want to say more.

  She pastes the smug smile back on. “Please, Violet. Your dad is kind of useless when it comes to cleaning.”

  And that does it.

  “My dad is amazing at his job. In fact, he’s pretty amazing at everything. Like setting up all the cots before anyone else got here yesterday, and organizing the check-in so the police would know who was still on the island. Saving the whole town from staying overnight in a dark school. Rescuing breakfast this morning. Cleaning up out front so everyone can leave today. And he’s even helping your mom right now. So what are you doing, huh?” My voice is way too loud, but I don’t care.

  What I do care about is the look on Linney’s face, which is half shock and half embarrassment. I’m just about to add, “Don’t let your tongue get your teeth knocked out,” but I bite my own tongue.

  “I think you’ve said enough, Linney,” Lance says quietly from next to me.

  “Now make like a cheerleader and hop,” Becca adds, her arms crossed.

  I don’t have the heart to tell her that doesn’t make any sense at all. Not when she, Lauren, and Sadie are all lined up like soldiers, ready to pelt Linney with empty coffee cups if she says anything else. And Lance . . . I can’t think about that right now.

  Linney rolls her eyes, lets out a sigh louder than anything, and stomps past her mom and right out the door. As I watch her go, my heart starting to slow back to normal, I catch Dad’s eye.

  He’s smiling. And blinking kind of fast. He takes off his cap and swipes at his face, like he’s trying to wipe off sweat. But I think—no, I’m pretty sure—those are almost tears. I want to race to him and give him the biggest hug he’s ever had, because, really, he is the best dad ever. Janitor or not. He kept us all safe during the storm last night. But I don’t right now, not in front of all these people. Instead I grin at him. He winks at me and goes back to helping Mrs. Marks. He knocks that table leg into place with one good thump.

  “Now, that’s the Vi I know,” Lance says from behind me.

  I’d almost forgotten he was there. “Um, thanks,” I say. Because I’m really not sure what to say to that. But when I catch his eye, he looks at the floor.

  “You know, Linney and I were never . . . um . . . and at the dance, I didn’t really want to . . . you know . . .” He trails off and finally meets my eyes. “She’s not very nice, is she?”

  “That’s pretty clear, Captain Obvious,” I say, and it feels almost like we used to be. So I smile, not even one tiny bit mad at him anymore. What he just said to her a few minutes ago told me everything I needed to know.

  “See you at soccer. Maybe you can come by the restaurant after. Free tater tots for friends of the owners. Unless they run away. No tots for runaways.” He slaps my back, and I could swear his hand stays on my shoulder just a little longer than it needs to.

  And it doesn’t feel weird at all. It’s kind of nice, actually.

  Mrs. Genevieve Worthington

  together with

  Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence J. Malix

  invite you to share their joy

  at the wedding of their children

  Alexandra Elise Worthington and Isaac Jacob Malix

  on Saturday November 14 Sunday November 15

  at two o’clock in the afternoon

  at the

  Church of the Victorious and Forgiving Holy Redeemer

  1401 Live Oak Drive, Sandpiper Beach, North Carolina

  banks of the Bodington River, end of

  Bodington Drive, Sandpiper Beach, North Carolina

  Reception to follow at

  Poinsettia Plantation House

  10370 Poinsetia Road (on the mainland)

  the same place!

  The favor of a reply is requested by October 25

  Dress: Elegant Vintage

  Sadie

  TODAY’S TO-DO LIST:

  ■ there is not enough paper in the world to make this list, so let’s just leave it at THROW WEDDING!

  NOW should I worry?”

  My mom glances over at me as we drive back home from the shelter, er, school. She looks all Zen because our house will still be standing when we get there and not riding a wave somewhere out in the Atlantic. “What’s this now?” she asks.

  “Well, all yesterday morning and at the shelter you told me to concentrate on packing and boarding up the house and not to worry about the wedding until we knew there was something to worry about. So I just want to know when I’m supposed to start worrying that there’s supposed to be a giant ceremony tonight when, um, our entire town looks like the Big Bad Wolf huffed and puffed all over it.”

  Mom bites on her bottom lip as we swerve to avoid a fallen tree branch in the road. Up ahead a power line dangles loosely from its pole, and the sidewalk is basically a solid carpet of sticky wet leaves.

  “I’d say commence the freak-out,” Izzy chimes in from the backseat.

  “Not helpful, Iz,” my mother replies. “Sweetie, let’s just take things one at a time. When we get home, we’ll call Alexandra. Cell service is out, but the landline should work. We’ll see where her head is. For all we know, she’ll want to postpone. Maybe riding out that storm scared her into being a rational person. And if she wants this wedding to go forward as plann
ed tonight, we’ll just take a deep breath and improvise.”

  I steal a glance at Mom. “We?” I murmur.

  “Yup. We. I’d be honored to be your assistant. If you’ll have me, that is.”

  Assistant? All this time I’ve been hoping that Mom would hire me back to her company (even if I might not accept because of RSVP, it would still mean the world to be asked) and now she wants to work for me? For a second it feels like I’ve landed in Oz, but it was a hurricane that (almost) hit yesterday, not a tornado.

  “Me too! I can help!” Izzy says. “I can do the photography, like at the Little Mermaid wedding!”

  I turn in my seat to give her a grin. “That would be great, Iz. Thanks.”

  Mom catches my eye as I turn back, and her own eyes are soft. “The Pleffer girls ride again, huh?”

  I love the sound of that. I really, really love the sound of that. All of a sudden, even though I know this could be asking for major headaches, I kind of sort of hope that Alexandra Worthington insists the wedding go on as planned.

  • • •

  “Sadie-babe. Tonight’s wedding is off! O-f-f. Off.”

  I twirl the phone cord around my hand in the darkened kitchen. Darkened at ten in the morning because the power is out at our house and everywhere else in Sandpiper Beach. “Oh, but . . . I thought . . . um, is everything okay with you and Ike?”

  “With me and Ike? Of course. Why would you ask that?”

  “Oh, because when you said the wedding was off, I—”

  “No, no. The wedding is on. Ike is my forever guy. I said the wedding tonight is off. You should see the utility pole that crashed through our roof. Sadie-babe, I tell you: the wind. And then the noise. And the hole in the roof. It rained on my shoe closet. Thank goodness I wasn’t at that silly shelter and I could rescue my Manolos.”

  “Your—?” I don’t have a clue what a Manolo is, but I guess I never will because Alexandra doesn’t let me finish. As usual.

  “I made Ike sign a contract stating we can get off this godforsaken island just as soon as we say our ‘I dos.’ Why you people would want to live here under the constant threat of hurricanes is beyond me.”

  Maybe because we’re not under constant threat and because most sane people leave the island and seek shelter when there is a threat and because there are about six zillion amazing things about Sandpiper Beach that make the very occasional risk of a hurricane totally worth it. But I know better than to argue with Alexandra Worthington.

  Instead I say, “Um, so about those ‘I dos.’ When do you think—”

  “Tomorrow. Two p.m. sounds right. We have to deal with all the pesky insurance people today about our roof, and Ike is very insistent that we have to be here to meet with them. Hmph. But tomorrow afternoon I want to be at the altar saying my vows, and furthermore, I want this to be the best wedding anyone has ever seen. No exceptions. Now, I want updates every hour.”

  Of course she does.

  When I hang up, I find Mom prying one of the plywood boards off the window outside our living room. “We have twenty-eight hours!”

  Mom drops the board. “Wtty httt hnns?”

  I cock my head and crinkle my forehead. Mom removes the two nails she had pulled out of the window and was “storing” between her teeth. “I said, ‘Twenty-eight hours?’ ”

  “Yep. And I quote: ‘furthermore, I want this to be the best wedding anyone has ever seen. No exceptions.’ ”

  Mom just laughs. “Of course she does. Well, let’s get to work. I have a feeling, if nothing else, it’s going to be the most unique wedding anyone’s ever seen. Especially with the electricity out all over town and half the roads blocked by downed branches. I’d say, first things first, you need to organize an RSVP meeting ASAP.”

  With cell-phone towers out of whack because of the storm, I have to call Becca, Lauren, and Vi on the regular phone instead of issuing the Bat Signal by text as usual, but forty minutes later we’re all in place at the Purple People Eater. Even Mom and Izzy.

  “Does this bottled water taste off to anyone else, or is it that it’s so warm?” Mom asks. Lauren looks like she’s about to seriously lose it, while the rest of us just giggle.

  “It’s just warm,” Becca, Vi, and I all say at once. I hand Mom a flashlight from the bucket.

  “It’s cozy down here,” Mom says, switching it on. Izzy just sighs happily. She’s been angling to get in here since preschool, practically.

  We all turn to Mom to get us started, but she glances right back at us with her eyebrows up. “Don’t look at me, ladies. I’m just the hired help! This is your show.”

  Becca shoots me a smile. “Totes. We got this, girls.”

  Except we have major obstacles. For one thing, Mom, Izzy and I went back to the mainland to check on the Poinsettia Plantation House before coming to the marina and discovered bad wind damage to their wraparound porch. The only person we could find working was a maintenance guy who said they would be closed for at least a week. So much for a reception site.

  The Church of the Victorious and Forgiving Holy Redeemer had some flooding from all the rain. No ceremony site.

  In trips back and forth from the PPE to the marina’s office phone, we find out that the caterer evacuated to her sister’s in New York City and won’t be back in time, the florist’s supplier is farther up the coast where the storm made landfall and all his greenhouses are in disarray, and the minister who was supposed to perform the ceremony fell off a ladder when he was boarding up his house and is in the hospital with a broken leg. To sum it up, that means we have:

  1) no venue for either the ceremony or the reception,

  2) no food,

  3) no flowers, and

  4) no one to do the actual marrying

  But aside from that, everything will be amazing.

  As if.

  “Girls, could I make a suggestion here? I don’t want to tell you how to run your business, but I do just want to point out one thing I’ve learned over the years.”

  Mom waits until we’re all looking at her and says dramatically, “We live in the best town on earth.”

  We all stare, while Mom waits patiently. When Becca says, “Ummm . . . ,” Mom sighs and adds, “What I’m saying is that the greatest part about living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone else. Okay, fine, so maybe that’s also sometimes the worst part. But at times like this, trust me, you’ll be glad. I’m going to leave you all to ponder that while I go chat with your mom, Lauren.”

  When Mom leaves, we continue to stare blankly, trying to figure out the message she was giving us.

  Finally Izzy says, “Do you think she means we should just ask everyone to pitch in?”

  Lauren nods thoughtfully. Then she pulls out her lucky test-taking pen from her bag. “I think that might be exactly what she meant. Sades, get your notebook out. We’ve got lists to make.”

  • • •

  The power is still out the next day, with only hours to go before Alexandra Worthington’s wedding. No, scratch that. The electricity is out, but we have plenty of power.

  Manpower, I mean. (And womanpower!)

  “Sadie, where do you want these?”

  I glance up at Principal Carney, who’s holding two hanging baskets she’s taken the flowers out of and filled with bottles of sunscreen and bug spray. “I thought we could string those from the branches over there so guests can spot them as they head to their seats,” I say, pointing at the tree I have in mind.

  “Oh, yes, seats. I’ve got two from my dining room. I would have brought more, but my car is so tiny, even those were a tight squeeze,” Principal Carney says.

  I smile and point at the clearing of grass along the banks of the marshy Bodington River, where at least three dozen mismatched chairs are lined up in neat rows with an aisle down the center, awaiting the ceremony. “That’s okay. You’d be surprised how fast a couple from here and a couple from there add up.” The assortment is mismatched, but the overall effect fi
ts perfectly with our vintage wedding theme.

  “Oh, lovely. Everyone really chipped in. And blankets? Where do those go?”

  “See Lauren for that one. She’ll be here in a few, and then she’ll be setting them up on the other bank, where there’s a bigger grassy section. The tide’s on its way out, so you can wade across easily if you go that direction,” I say, pointing again.

  When we realized none of the places in town could accommodate a large wedding on zero notice, we came up with the idea of having it outside. The beach was too windy and noisy with the surf still rough from the storm, but the tidal river is sheltered and quiet and peaceful. Exactly right for a wedding. Luckily, the warm weather came back, and it’s a perfect fall day.

  I sigh happily as I look around. Over by the ceremony site, Lance is setting the Victorian fans I made last month on chairs. Becca and Philippe are hanging lace curtains donated by Becca’s mom from a low tree branch on a live oak at the top of the makeshift aisle. Alexandra Worthington can come through them to make an entrance when the ceremony starts.

  Mom and Izzy are stringing the lace doily–wrapped mason jars from other tree branches around the clearing along with these cool lace balls the three of us made last night by papier-mâché-ing more doilies to balloons and then popping the balloons inside once they had dried. They’re so pretty and mystical-looking.

  I wander to the spot we’ve designated as a parking lot. Vi and her dad are staking a sign they created by nailing strips of wood one on top of another and painting one word on each. It reads HAPPILY EVER AFTER STARTS HERE, and the last branch has a painted arrow showing the way to the ceremony site.

  “You guys, that’s so cool and romantic! I love it!”

  Vi and her dad share a grin. “We’re pretty proud of it,” Mr. Alberhasky says.

  I’m just happy to see Vi and her dad smiling at each other. It seems like they’ve totally worked out all the janitor stuff now.

  I consult my clipboard and ask Vi, “Hey, have you seen Lauren yet? We need to get going on the reception setup.”