Save the Date

by Morgan Matson

  “Charlie?”

  I glanced over at Bill, who was looking at me like he was waiting for an answer. “Oh—sorry. What?”

  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “I just said that I appreciated the help today. Sorry if things were a little disorganized.”

  “Yeah,” I said, shaking my head, thinking about Clementine, the decorations, Waffles, Mike. “It definitely was kind of crazy.”

  “We got that all out of the way today,” Bill said confidently. “Tomorrow’s going to go perfectly.”

  He settled onto his pillow and then adjusted his blankets, and I realized that it was strange for me to still be sitting upright on my couch. I took a breath, then lay down, staring straight up at the ceiling, trying not to think about how close our heads suddenly were. I found myself aware of every movement he was making and how loud my breathing suddenly was. Why had I never thought about how intimate it was, just sleeping in the same room with someone? Because it really was—it was how I knew that Siobhan talked in her sleep, and occasionally sang, and that Linnie stole every blanket she saw and then denied it with a straight face in the morning. When you were asleep, you were who you were, not who you were pretending to be, and now I was going to be doing that with Bill, with someone I’d just met that morning.

  I didn’t know anything about him, I was realizing, now that I could hear him breathing just a few feet away from me. “So . . . you said something about New Mexico?” I realized that it was a terrible segue, but I felt like if I was going to be sleeping next to someone, I should at least know where they were from.

  “Yeah,” Bill said, and if he thought this was weird, I couldn’t tell from his tone. “My parents got divorced when I was in eighth grade, and my dad moved out there.”

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  Bill was silent for a moment, but the kind of silence that has something behind it, the kind you don’t want to rush over. “It was hard,” he finally said. “Especially because I was splitting the school year up for a while. I always had the wrong clothes, the wrong slang. . . .”

  I rolled over so that I was on my side and could see him now. He was propped up on one elbow, his hair slightly mussed. “And then your mom moved out of Putnam?”

  He nodded. “Last year. She got a new job in Mystic, so she sold our house. . . .” There was something in Bill’s tone I recognized—it sounded like the way I’d been feeling ever since Lily and Greg Pearson had first walked through the door.

  “My parents sold this place,” I said, bunching my pillow up a little more. “Two months ago. We’re moving out when the escrow is . . .” I paused, not exactly sure what the right adjective was. But then, I wasn’t exactly sure what escrow was, so this wasn’t that surprising. “When it’s done. But they haven’t even found a place here yet.”

  “They’re staying here?” I nodded. “And you’re staying too,” Bill said, his tone thoughtful.

  “That doesn’t—” I sat up a little more. “That doesn’t have anything to do with this. Stanwich is a great school, that’s all. And I get a discount on tuition.”

  “Did you always want to go there?”

  I thought for a moment. When I’d visited my siblings at their various schools, I’d always tried to picture myself there—walking across that quad, eating at that dining hall. But I’d never done it at Stanwich, the school I’d been to a hundred times. “I guess not.”

  Bill yawned, then covered his mouth with his hand. “Thank you again for letting me stay here,” he said after a moment, his voice still yawn-fogged. “It really was getting kind of cold in the car. And I kept thinking about bears.”

  “Bears?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a small laugh. “My dad and I went camping in Oregon once, and we had to take all these precautions against bears. Especially in your car—if they smell anything, they’ll basically rip it apart to get to what they think is food.”

  “I don’t think that’s a problem here,” I said, trying, and failing, to think of any instance I’d ever even heard of bears in Connecticut. “I know they have them in upstate New York and Pennsylvania.” I started to yawn myself, no doubt because I’d seen Bill do it. “But I don’t think they’re rip-cars-apart bears. I think that might be a West Coast thing.”

  Bill laughed. “Probably. It’d be a heck of a way to go, though, wouldn’t it?”

  “I can see it on the front page of the Sentinel,” I said, raising my arm to frame a headline. “Bad News Bear.” Bill groaned, which only encouraged me. “Unbearable Pain!”

  “Stop,” Bill said, even though he was smiling.

  “Trouble Bruin?” I asked, and Bill laughed.

  “It would be worth it just to get one of those,” he said, rolling onto his back and folding one hand behind his head. “You should be a writer or something.”

  I smiled at that. “Ha ha.” Silence fell again, but it didn’t feel awkward or strange—more like peaceful. Or maybe I was just getting too tired to keep analyzing what our silences were feeling like, if they were comfortable or uncomfortable.

  I felt myself yawn, and realized all at once just how tired I was. A second before I had been fine, and now I was struggling to keep my eyes open. I took off my glasses and tucked them under the couch, along with my phone, in the hopes that I wouldn’t accidentally step on either one when I got up. “Good night, Bill.”

  “Night, Charlie,” Bill replied, his voice already getting slow and sleepy.

  I closed my eyes, then immediately opened them again—I had forgotten to call Siobhan back. I reached under the couch for my phone, only to see that it had died. But it was okay, I figured, as I pushed it back under the couch, since it was too late to call her now anyway. I’d just call her in the morning.

  I lay back down and let my eyes drift closed. I could feel sleep starting to pull me under, and across the room, I could hear Bill’s breathing grow slower and more steady.

  I was about to drift off when I heard feet pattering across the carpet. I opened my eyes to see Waffles sitting on the floor by my couch. I looked at him, wondering what he wanted and just praying that he didn’t need another walk. But a moment later, he jumped up onto the couch, turned around twice in a circle, and then curled himself in a ball in the space behind my knees, resting his head on my leg. And a second later, he started snuffle-breathing, and I had a feeling that I was the only awake one in the room—that both the dog and Bill had fallen asleep.

  Even as I told myself that I probably wouldn’t sleep well—not with a dog on my legs and an assistant wedding coordinator next to me—I could feel my eyes drifting shut again and feeling my own breath start to fall into a pattern.

  And the next time I opened my eyes, cool early light was streaming in through the room, and it was morning.

  SATURDAY

  * * *

  CHAPTER 16

  Or, Nothing Is Wrong!!!

  * * *

  I WOKE UP TO SOMETHING cold and wet pressing against my cheek. My eyes flew open, and there was Waffles’s blurry outline, his nose against my face, looking at me intently. “Jeez,” I said, wiping my face and scooting back against the couch cushions.

  I put on my glasses and glanced at the couch next to mine, but it was empty, the blankets folded neatly and the pillow stacked on top of them. I reached for my phone to check the time and then remembered it was still dead. I’d just swung my legs down to the ground when Waffles looked up at the ceiling and started to growl.

  I looked up as well, praying it wasn’t a huge spider—but there was nothing there. “What?” I asked him. But the dog was staring fixedly up at it, his eyes tracking something I couldn’t see, his growl getting louder. I watched him do this, wondering if this meant that, on top of a broken alarm, we now had a ghost.

  I grabbed my sweatshirt from the floor and pulled it on as I walked across to the front hall, Waffles following at my heels. It was colder today than it had been yesterday—and I found myself wishing I’d brought some slippers with me as
I continued into the kitchen.

  I pushed open the door and saw Bill standing by the kitchen counter. “Hey,” I said, stepping inside.

  “Hey,” Bill said, smiling wide at me. He was wearing jeans and a navy T-shirt with the green Where There’s A Will fleece I’d seen the day before.

  “So,” I said, wondering how long he’d been up—he was dressed, after all, and certainly looked more awake than I felt. I just hoped I hadn’t kept him up, snoring or talking in my sleep. I crossed the kitchen to plug my phone in, and saw on the silver wall clock that it was just after seven. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not good.” This voice came from the kitchen table, and I looked over, startled, to see Max sitting there, hunched over. He had a long scratch on his arm that looked fresh—it was bright red.

  “Oh,” I said, blinking at him as Waffles ran across the kitchen, ears flapping. “Um, are you okay? What happened to your hand?”

  Max looked down at it, then immediately pulled his hand into his hoodie sleeve. “Nothing,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just . . . clumsy.”

  Before I could ask for details, Waffles scratched at the door with one paw, then turned and looked at me. “You need to go out?” I asked, as though the dog were going to answer me. I opened the door and he tore into the backyard. As I closed the door, the alarm system let out three long beeps, then fell silent. “This is doing it when you close the door now?” I asked the kitchen in general. “What use is an alarm that goes off when you close the door?” I looked at the coffee maker, which was, sadly, both empty and quiet. And while I knew the basic mechanics of making coffee, I really wasn’t very good at it—something that was confirmed by people’s reactions whenever they drank the coffee I made. I headed to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice instead.

  “So, Max was just going to tell me something,” Bill said, widening his eyes at me as I crossed to the kitchen island with my juice carton.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked, pouring my juice into a glass, even though I had a feeling it wasn’t. If everything was okay, Max wouldn’t be awake looking like he was about to throw up.

  Max shook his head. “I think we have a problem.”

  “That’s okay,” Bill said, giving him an I’ve-got-this smile. “That’s my job. I can fix any wedding-related problem as long as it doesn’t have to do with the weather. I have no control over the weather.”

  “Can you make me a clergyman with a regular practice and a congregation?”

  Bill paled. “Um. Maybe not.”

  I just stared at Max. “Wait, what?”

  “I thought it would be okay,” Max said, hunching down into his hoodie, like he was trying to disappear into it. “A lot of my friends have performed weddings, and all you do is sign up with this online church and you’re ready to rock and roll. My one friend Zeke did it on his phone as the bride and groom were walking down the aisle. It’s, like, not a big deal. And so, when Lin and Rod were talking about the wedding, I told them I’d be happy to do it—I mean, I was honored that they wanted me to do it. I mean, I’ve known them both forever, I introduced them—”

  “Breathe,” I said. “Here.” I brought my still-untouched juice over to him, since on TV, whenever people were getting faint, they always seemed to be given juice. I figured it couldn’t hurt, at the very least.

  “Thanks,” Max said, taking a gulp. I crossed back to the island and poured myself another glass, really hoping this wasn’t going where I had a feeling it was going.

  “Okay,” Bill said, his brow furrowed. I could see that he was worried—though it seemed crazy that I’d be able to tell this after knowing the guy for just a day. But his voice was as cheerful and as ready-to-help as ever. “So you got ordained online, right?”

  “I did,” Max said, rolling the juice glass between his palms. “And I thought I was good to go. But then yesterday during the rehearsal dinner, someone—maybe Rodney’s cousin?—was talking about how you can’t do the online-ordination thing in Connecticut. And I looked it up, and . . .” Max didn’t finish the rest of the sentence, just tossed back a shot of his orange juice like it was whiskey.

  “It’s okay,” Bill said, his voice soothing, even as he exchanged a look with me that perfectly encapsulated what I was thinking. Namely, that this was bad.

  “So,” I said, pouring myself some juice and taking a long sip, hoping all those hospital shows were onto something. “Who can perform weddings in Connecticut?”

  Max pulled out his phone and looked down at it. “From what I can tell, you have to be an actual member of the clergy. Any type of religion, but that has to be like what you do. You can’t be a one-day online minister.”

  “Oh,” I said, my hopes dimming. We weren’t religious in my family, and though Rodney didn’t bring it up often, what he had said led me to believe that he wasn’t a fan of organized religion. I had a feeling that neither he or Linnie would be thrilled to learn they were suddenly going to have a religious ceremony—if we could even find anyone to do it, day of. And would any sort of minister or rabbi worth his or her salt even be willing to step in and marry two heathens? Could they—did you have to be a part of that religion first? My head started to hurt, and I leaned back against the kitchen island.

  “Wait,” Bill said, sitting up straight. “Isn’t Rodney’s father in the military? Can’t ship captains marry people?” He pulled out his phone and typed into it, then his face fell a moment later. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t count on dry land, apparently. I guess captains lose their power on land.”

  “Like Aquaman,” Max said with a nod.

  “Hang on a sec!” Bill was looking down at his phone, scrolling through it fast. “Judges can also marry people in Connecticut. Even retired judges. They retain the ability to marry people in the state. And it’s totally legal.”

  “That’s good,” Max said, nodding emphatically. “That could be good. Um . . . do you know any judges?”

  “I don’t,” I said, trying to think if there was a possibility either of my parents would be able to call in a favor, on a Saturday, for someone to perform a same-day wedding.

  “So, should I tell them?” Max asked, meeting my eyes.

  I glanced over at Bill, then looked back at Max. I really didn’t want to start off my sister’s wedding day—which was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—by telling her we were down an officiant. “Let’s see if we can figure something out,” I said slowly, wondering if it was the right decision even as I was saying it. I met Bill’s eye, and he gave me a small nod.

  “Morning.” I looked over to see Rodney standing in the doorway, yawning.

  “Everything’s fine!” I said too loudly.

  Rodney frowned. “What?”

  “I mean . . . morning to you too. How’d you sleep? Want some juice?”

  “I’m okay,” Rodney said, yawning again as he headed for the coffee maker. “Did anyone make coffee?”

  “Did someone say coffee?” J.J. asked, vaulting himself over the last two steps of the kitchen stairs, then stumbling slightly, managing to recover without falling over, and shooting me a big smile. I glared back at him.

  “I’m making it,” Rodney said as he started filling the pot with water. “Apparently.”

  “What’s your damage?” J.J. asked, pushing himself up to sit on the counter.

  “Um, remember I was supposed to stay in your room last night?” I asked, then immediately hoped Bill wouldn’t think I was upset that I’d had to stay in the same room as him. “It wasn’t a big deal,” I added hurriedly. “But—”

  “Why couldn’t Charlie stay in your room?” Rodney asked.

  J.J. just looked at me, his eyes wide, and I realized this wasn’t something he wanted Rodney to know about, which surprised me—usually J.J. was the first one to tell you about any sort of romantic development in his life, always convinced after the first date that he’d met the girl he was going to marry.

  “He, um,” I said,
looking at my brother, “locked the door.”

  “I did,” J.J. said quickly, shooting me a grateful look. “Sorry about that, Charlie.” I gave him a small smile back, and then J.J. squinted at Max, who looked like he was about to fall over, or vomit, or both. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Bill and I said at the exact same time, which I had to admit, didn’t help things seem less suspicious.

  “Yeah, right,” J.J. said, shaking his head. “What is it?”

  “Um . . .” I tried to think of something non-wedding-related. “I think we have a ghost?”

  “A ghost?” Rodney asked.

  I nodded. “I think the dog saw something this morning. He kept growling at the ceiling.”

  J.J. rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s all the proof I need.” He looked around. “Is there breakfast?”

  “Morning.” I looked over to see my dad pushing his way through the door to the kitchen, rubbing his hands together. “It’s cold today, isn’t it?” Rodney shot him a look, and my dad immediately shook his head. “I meant, not cold. It’s not cold at all. Perfect wedding weather. Is someone other than Charlie making coffee?”

  The kitchen door swung open, and my uncle Stu stepped inside from the backyard, wearing a bathrobe with WESTIN embroidered on it. The dog trotted in after him, and I noticed that his paws looked dirty. I went to try to grab him and clean them off, but maybe sensing what I was after, he took off at a run toward the family room. My uncle slammed the door, and it let out the same three beeps that had sounded when I’d closed it.

  “Huh,” Stu said, peering at it. “I think there’s something wrong with your alarm system, Jeff.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out, Stu.”

  “So,” my uncle said, looking around. “Is breakfast on the way? I could eat a horse.”

  J.J. nodded. “That’s what I said! Well, except for the horse part.”

  “What’s wrong?” Rodney asked, and to my alarm, I saw that he was looking at Max like he was trying to figure something out. “Max? What’s going on?”