“But . . . ,” Olly said, shaking his head, “Linnie, what we had . . .”
“Was a long time ago,” Linnie finished for him. “You meant a lot to me in the past. But that’s all it is now. You need to move forward. You can’t still be hung up on your high school girlfriend. If you don’t move on from the past, you’re going to miss out on some really amazing stuff in the future.”
Olly just looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. I’m—um—really sorry for doing this during your wedding.” He looked around, and it was like he was just now seeing himself, standing in the aisle, all the people staring at him, J.J. cracking his knuckles threateningly. “Sorry,” he muttered, heading back to his seat again. “Um—do you want me to leave? Or . . . ?”
I saw Rodney roll his eyes, but Linnie nodded. “You can stay,” she said, adjusting her veil again. “Just . . . quietly.” Olly gave her a thumbs-up, and Linnie turned back to Rodney.
“Um . . . okay,” Ralph said, after a moment. “If nobody else has anything to add, we’ll continue. . . .” Everyone laughed at that, not because it was all that funny, but because it was like we collectively needed something to break the tension.
The ceremony moved forward, with Linnie and Rodney reciting the vows they’d written to each other. Halfway through Linnie’s I had to steal a tissue from Jenny K., and I was beyond thankful that Brooke had put waterproof mascara on me. When they’d finished reciting their vows, Ralph stepped forward again and asked for the rings, which Max produced from his suit pocket. After they’d exchanged rings—and both of them had declared I do—Ralph smiled.
“In accordance with the law of Connecticut and by the virtue of the authority vested in me by the law of Connecticut, I do pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss—” But the rest of Ralph’s statement was drowned out as Rodney swept Linnie up in a kiss and everyone else started cheering, the crowd jumping to its feet, applauding—and then wolf whistling as Linnie and Rodney’s kiss kept on going.
When they finally broke apart, I smiled at my sister, feeling a lump start to rise in my throat. And just like that—she was married.
CHAPTER 22
Or, When Maple Syrup Goes Bad
* * *
HELLO, STANWICH!” GLEN YELLED FROM the area where the band was setting up on the stage at the front of the tent—the place where Linnie and Rodney had exchanged vows had been converted, with remarkable speed, to a dance floor. There were four other members of Any Way You Want It, all of whom had Glen’s same middle-aged rocker vibe. “How’s everyone doing?” There was some scattered, half-hearted applause, but Glen smiled like he’d just been given a standing ovation. “Glad everyone’s having a rocking night!”
I winced and caught Danny’s eye, and he shook his head and smiled at me. The cocktail hour had ended, and now people were milling about, finding their table numbers and starting to wander over to them. There was a board set up at the back of the tent—complete with pictures of Linnie and Rodney when they were little—that told you where your table was. These coordinated with the place cards the General had done, which were set up on the tables, the handwriting maybe a little less ornate than one might expect, but perfectly legible.
I had positioned myself by the entrance to the tent, hoping to run into Jesse. He’d ducked out right as the cocktail hour had started, and I’d found my attention wandering from my conversations as I looked around, waiting for him to come back. Because aside from him smiling at me as I walked up the aisle, I hadn’t had a chance to see him yet. I smoothed my hair down as I sipped my Diet Coke with cherries and tried not to look too obviously toward the door.
All throughout the cocktail hour, during the conversations with my relatives, and Rodney’s relatives, and friends of Linnie’s I hadn’t seen in years, I’d been thinking about what things would be like when Jesse came back. I could get not wanting things to be obvious too soon, but it was a wedding. We could dance together without anyone getting suspicious, and maybe I could even switch our place cards around so that we were sitting closer together, and then after the wedding . . .
I took a long sip of my drink just as Jesse came in through the door and headed straight over to his table. “Hi,” I said, doing an awkward step-run to put myself in his path. “Hi,” I said, then realized a second too late I’d already said that. “It’s good to see you—I hadn’t seen you here tonight yet.”
“Yeah.” Jesse smiled at me, then leaned down and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You look great,” he said, even though he wasn’t looking at me, but across the tent, to where Mike was sitting.
“Thanks.” I smoothed my curls down, thanking my stars for Brooke. “You do too.” He really did—he was wearing a slim-cut black suit with a skinny tie, and his hair was neatly combed.
“Well, I have to do my best as Mike’s plus-one,” he said. He looked back over at me, then leaned a little closer, the proximity causing my heart to race. “Can I see you later?”
“Yes,” I said, not letting myself break eye contact with him.
He gave me a smile and a tiny wink. “Great,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze as he started to turn and walk away.
“Or we could also hang out now,” I said, and Jesse turned back. “You know . . . at the wedding?”
“Right,” Jesse said quickly, giving me another smile as he started to edge away, toward the tables. “We’ll totally do that. Save me a dance, okay?”
“Hope you like Journey!” I called after him, then immediately regretted it. But he glanced over his shoulder and gave me a slow smile, and I felt my regret start to ebb away. I would see Jesse tonight. And if Journey had any slow songs, maybe we could dance to one, both of us twirling together in a circle, my hand in his . . .
I watched Jesse pull up a seat at Mike’s table, slap him on the back, and sit next to him. Maybe he actually was taking his plus-one duties seriously, not to mention his best friend duties. Not wanting either of them to catch me staring, I headed back to the bar for a refill.
“We’re going to get started in just a few minutes,” Glen said, then raised an eyebrow as he leaned closer to the mic. “And play some music to serenade you during your dinner. I hope you’re all ready . . . to take a journey.” He’d clearly expected a much bigger reaction to that, and all he got was couple of half-hearted whoos from the back of the room. But if this bothered Glen, he didn’t show it, as he dramatically played a chord on his guitar and smiled at the room in general.
“Hey.” I looked over and saw Bill had come to stand next to me. “So that was interesting.” He nodded toward where Olly was talking to Elizabeth.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “We didn’t know we needed to search the guests for speakers.”
“Well,” Bill said, his voice serious, “this is how you learn things.”
I smiled at that. “Exactly.” I’d been keeping my eye on Olly in the first few minutes of the cocktail hour, but it seemed like he was keeping his word and behaving—nevertheless, Mike had taken away his speaker and told him he would get it back at the end of the wedding.
“Get you anything?” This was coming from behind us—it was the bartender. I ordered my Diet Coke with cherries, and he rolled his eyes but made me my drink, then turned away to take my aunt Kimberley’s order.
“So,” Bill said, looking around at the assembled guests, who were either standing around in groups talking or starting to drift over to their tables. “It seems like everything is . . . working out.” He practically whispered the last two words, and I smiled, knowing exactly how he felt.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I crossed my fingers even as I said it. “I mean, despite the whole ex-boyfriend-trying-to-break-up-the-wedding thing.”
“Aside from that.”
“I know,” I said, looking over at him as I smiled. “It seems like people are having a good time.”
“And they haven’t even heard the Journey cover band yet.”
“Charlotte.” I looked over to see Aunt Liz stri
ding up to me, her jaw set and eyes narrowed.
“Um—hi.” She was clearly unhappy with me, but at this moment, I couldn’t think why. “Are you . . . having a nice time at the reception?”
“I was,” she said, taking a deep breath and then letting it out, like she was on the verge of screaming at me. “But then I saw where I’d been sat for dinner.”
“We changed that.” I turned to Bill, who immediately nodded.
“You’re Elizabeth?” he asked with a smile. “Don’t worry. I moved you. You’re nowhere near Jimmy.”
“I’m right next to Jimmy!” she spat, pointing across the room, then shook her head and stalked away. I looked where she had pointed and saw the man who must be Uncle Jimmy. He looked like he was a little younger than Aunt Liz and looked very dapper in a sport coat, but this was marred slightly by the fact that he was glowering at Liz, his arms folded across his chest.
I turned to Bill, baffled. “What was that about?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I moved Elizabeth—I know I did.”
“Elizabeth? Or Liz?”
“I—” Bill stopped talking and looked at me, brow furrowing. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
I shook my head. “Elizabeth’s Rodney’s sister—she’s in the bridal party. She was named for Liz. . . .”
“Oh,” Bill said, and I could see his eyes widening as this sank in. “Oh god.”
The seating list that had been assembled from Brooke’s picture—the one Rodney’s dad had been using to do the place cards—was back in the house. It quickly became clear that we weren’t going to be able to get anything done on the board where people were currently picking up their seat assignments. But it also didn’t look like anyone would notice if I stepped out for a moment—we were doing dinner first, then the speeches, and if I had to miss the appetizers, it didn’t seem to be that big of a sacrifice if we could prevent two people from killing each other. I tried to catch Jesse’s eye again, so that he could see that I was leaving and wouldn’t wonder where I’d gotten to. But I noticed now that he was talking to Rodney’s cousin Kyra, who was a little older than me, smiling easily as he leaned closer to hear what she was saying.
Bill held open the back door of the tent for me, and I stepped outside and winced. Things had gotten worse since we’d done our procession from the house. It was almost totally dark out now, and very cold, and the wind had picked up. But more than that, there was the feeling in the air that a storm was brewing, that sense that it’s going to rain, sooner rather than later. I held my skirt down against the wind as we hurried across the lawn to the house.
“The seating chart’s in the dining room,” Bill said as we both stepped inside. I nodded and headed there, carefully walking around the wedding cake on its rolling cart (presumably to get it out to the tent) in the center of the kitchen. One of the caterers was putting finishing touches on it, and I could see the little bride and groom figurines standing up on the kitchen counter, like they were waiting for the cake to be ready for them.
“It looks great,” I said to the man working on the cake, who shot me a quick, hassled smile that disappeared almost instantly. As I looked around, I realized that we’d chosen probably the worst moment to invade the kitchen—the caterers were prepping the plates of appetizers, and there was a buzzing, busy energy that certainly hadn’t been there before. I was halfway across the kitchen, nearly to the dining room, when I heard the sound. “What is that?” I asked, stopping short. It was like I could hear the sound of scratching on the wood floors and a faint yowling sound.
Bill stopped too, frowning, just as Max burst into the kitchen, out of breath, looking around a little desperately. “Maple Syrup?” he called. “Where’s Maple Syrup?”
“Hey, Max,” I said, taking a tentative step toward him, wondering just what kind of munchies he was currently having. “What’s up?”
“I have to find Maple Syrup,” he cried, looking around the kitchen. “He’s gone!”
“He?” Bill asked, just as the yowling got louder.
“What are you talking about, Max?”
“Maple Syrup is my cat,” Max said, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been hiding him in my room.”
“There’s been a cat here this entire time?” I asked. Max nodded. “No wonder Linnie keeps sneezing! She’s allergic.”
“I’m so sorry, but my cat sitter bailed, so I thought it would be fine, but I went upstairs to . . . um . . .” I nodded, since we all knew what Max had been doing. “And anyway, he got out? So I just need to find him, and—”
With a yowl, a white blur burst into the kitchen, followed closely by a brown-and-white blur that I realized was Waffles. “What—” I started, since I had no idea how the dog had gotten out as well.
The caterers shrieked, and one of them dropped the tray she’d been holding as a cat—and then a dog—ran around her legs. “Hold on,” I yelled, though I didn’t know if I was talking to the caterers, or the animals, but I jumped into action anyway, and I saw Bill do the same. “Let’s just—try—” I yelled, attempting to intercept the dog and cat, who were still racing in circles around the kitchen, zigzagging back and forth as the cat changed direction and Waffles gave chase. He was barking as he ran, a loud, insistent sound, the cat screeching as it tried to get away from him.
“Here, Maple,” Max yelled, running for his cat and getting a swipe on the arm as a result.
“Why are there animals in this kitchen?” the caterer who’d dropped her tray yelled as she picked up what looked like sliders off the floor. “We’re preparing food here!”
“I’m sorry,” I yelled back as I ran around the kitchen island, narrowly missing Waffles’s collar, just as the cat shot through Bill’s hands. “Max—” But before Max could grab his cat, Maple Syrup jumped up onto the kitchen counter, causing all the catering staff to yell once again.
“I’m so sorry,” Max said, grabbing for his cat, who hissed at him while keeping his eyes on Waffles, who was full-on howling now, staring up at the cat in frustration as he ran back and forth.
What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion, like maybe fear of imminent disaster slows things down, just in case you really want to remember it. Waffles jumped for the cat just as the cat leaped for the kitchen island but fell short, and both of them collided with the rolling cart at almost exactly the same time—the cart with the wedding cake on it.
I watched helplessly as the cart tipped over, taking the wedding cake with it. The three tiers seemed to separate as they fell, the top tier sliding off the bottom two as they all landed on the kitchen floor with a muted splat.
The animals raced around the destroyed cake and out the kitchen door, while the rest of us just stood, frozen in horror.
“Well,” Bill finally said, looking from the cake on the floor to me. “That’s not great.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, I looked across the cab of the Where There’s A Will truck. Bill was driving us to the Food Mart—we were en route to try to save the situation, and pick up replacement wedding cakes.
After we’d all just stared at the destroyed cake on the floor for what honestly felt like five minutes, everyone had jumped into action. Max was put in charge of corralling and separating the animals—history had proven that he probably wasn’t the best person for this job, but he was all we had at the moment. Bill made sure everything was still on track in the tent, while the caterers had tried to salvage as much of the cake as they could. This wasn’t for eating—I had a feeling that the five-second rule really didn’t count when it came to things like wedding cakes—but so that Rodney and Linnie could at least have something to pose for pictures with. But we still had the issue of the hundred and fifty people in the tent who would be expecting to eat something for dessert. I’d taken over trying to find someone who could provide that, starting to make calls and fire off e-mails.
After a few attempts, I found out pretty quickly that no bakery or catering company could provid
e a three-tier wedding cake in an hour (which was not, in retrospect, really that surprising). But the bakery department of Food Mart, the local supermarket, was open and they had three sheet cakes with white icing in stock. And that looked like the best we were going to do.
My car had been too blocked in with guests’ cars and all the equipment vans, but Bill’s truck was parked away from the glut and down the street—“It’s WTAW policy,” he’d told me—and since AAA had come out that morning to jump his battery, we were good to go.
Even though it was only a ten-minute drive to get into town, I kicked off my heels immediately—they hadn’t really started to hurt yet, but I could feel the incipient pain that would be arriving shortly, and I figured any chance to give my feet a break would be a good thing. I tucked my legs up underneath me and looked across the truck’s cab at Bill. The two of us were back in a car, driving around like we’d been doing just this morning. Only now we were both in formal wear.
“What?” Bill asked, glancing over at me as he paused at a stop sign.
“Just this,” I said, gesturing between the two of us. “I bet we’ll be the most dressed-up people in the supermarket.”
Bill laughed. “After my senior prom, we stopped at a convenience store, and everyone in there was staring at us—this whole group in dresses and suits, suddenly taking over the snack aisle.”
I nodded, smiling. “That’s just like—” I stopped myself. I’d been on the verge of telling a story about a prom limo running out of gas, and pumping gas in formal wear. But I’d realized just a second too late this wasn’t one of my stories, or even one of my siblings’ stories—it had happened in Grant Central Station, to Cassie Grant and her ill-fated prom date, and had only ever existed in ink and paper.
We found parking right in front of Food Mart, and even though it wasn’t a long walk to the entrance, the second I stepped out of the car, I started to shiver. The wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped, and I was starting to realize that sleeveless silk dresses are not necessarily the best choice of outfit when it was getting colder by the second and clearly about to storm.