Save the Date (5 page)

“Oh, really?” Paris says. “Did you find the map? It’s called the Wild Orchid or something like that, isn’t it?”

“No,” Carolina says. “We’re going somewhere else. I think I know the perfect place for you.”

“But—” Paris says, reaching for her papers.

“Trust me, darling,” Carolina says in a voice that is soothing, yet not to be argued with. I’m starting to think this is going to be an interesting dynamic to watch. If anyone can tame the Paris crazies, it may be Carolina. “Just follow my directions.”

I’m really, really surprised when Paris agrees without further argument. She doesn’t pipe up again until we pull up to the park ranger’s box and pay our two dollars to go inside.

“Carolina,” Paris hisses, “this is a national park! I can’t get married here!”

“Why not?” Carolina says imperturbably.

“Follow the road to the right and park at the end.”

I glance at Leo, who is watching me with a
cute grin. Distracting! I stare out the window again as if I am studying our surroundings very carefully.

Tall pine trees line the road, and at the end is a long parking lot in front of a hill of sand dunes. I can tell Paris is still dubious as we climb out of the car, but when we walk up the steps to the top of the hill, suddenly the sun comes bursting out of the clouds and she stops with a gasp.

Spread out before us is a long sandy beach and then the blue-gray sparkling water of the ocean. You can’t see any sign of civilization from here, and it looks like a deserted island. It’s ridiculously beautiful.

“Oh, Carolina!” Paris shrieks, sort of breaking the moment. “It’s perfect! It’s SO perfect!” It really is. I feel a pang of regret that Paris got this place first, which means I can’t get married here. Not that I’m thinking about that yet, of course. And by the time I get married, like, twenty years from now, everyone will probably have forgotten all the details of my sisters’ weddings…but still. It seems a bit unfair that Paris should get
dibs on such a gorgeous place.

My sister kicks off her slingbacks and races down the hill barefoot toward the water. Carolina looks a bit smug as she follows her.

“Wow,” I say to Leo. “Your mom really pegged Paris—and fast.”

“She’s good,” he says. “She’s observant, too, like you. You’d probably be really good at her job.”

“Oh my LORD,” I say. “I could
never
be a wedding planner, are you kidding? I’d totally kill myself.”

“Totally?” he jokes. “Not just a little bit kill yourself?”

“I can barely handle four weddings in three years,” I say. “And those are people I love—you know, mostly. Imagine dealing with, what, fifteen weddings a year? All of them strangers?”

“More like thirty weddings a year, usually,” Leo says.

“I don’t know how she does it.” I shake my head and sit down to take off my sneakers and
socks. Leo does the same, and I notice, unintentionally, that his feet are very nicely shaped—like the rest of him.

“I think you could do it,” Leo says. “You just have to care about people and pay attention to them, and you seem to be pretty good at that.”

I shove his shoulder, kind of amazed at my own audacity. “You barely even know me.”

“Maybe I’m observant, too,” he says with that cute grin.

This is getting too flirty for me. We’re moving into dangerous territory. I stand up and scramble down the hill in my bare feet. I can hear him following me, but I don’t look back.

Paris catches me at the bottom and spins me around with so much excitement that even I start laughing. “Jack, Jack, look how amazing it is!” she crows. “We’ll have the ceremony down by the water and then we’ll set up a big tent right here for eating and dancing, and it’ll be so romantic and perfect, oh my goodness!”

“Not to mention affordable,” Carolina adds with a wink. I’m guessing my parents have said
something to her—either that they’re not paying for it, or that they’re only willing to spend a small amount on what they consider to be one of Paris’s wild and crazy impulse purchases. One wedding with a side order of husband, please.

The best part of this is that now we can go home, which means I have the whole rest of Saturday for studying. Or so I think.

“Bye, Jack,” Leo says in a low (one might even say “sultry”) voice as he gets out of the car at the Trapelos’. “See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow! I’d forgotten about the arts and crafts extravaganza for Victoria. I nod and wave as he walks away.

When we get home, I make a dash for the stairs, but Paris seizes my arm and hauls me into the den. “MOOOOOOOM!” she hollers. “DAAAAAAD!”

“Good heavens, Paris,” Mom says, coming into the den. “Our office is right there. You don’t have to shout.”

“We found the most
perfect
place!” Paris announces. “Right, Jack? Isn’t it perfect?”

“It’s perfect,” I agree.

“It’s completely amazing and so, so, SO me. Don’t you think, Jack? Wasn’t it SO me?”

“It is SO her,” I agree.

“And everyone is going to totally love it. Right, Jack? Won’t everyone totally love it?”

“Everyone will totally love it,” I agree.

This goes on for a really, really long time. Finally I escape upstairs to my room with about an hour to study before dinner.

For some reason, though, I’m having trouble focusing on Gabriel García Márquez in Spanish tonight. The words keep blurring on the page, and instead I keep picturing Leo saying “You’re a keen observer” with his eyes twinkling. I keep imagining his body next to mine in the backseat, his shoulders and arms and hands only inches away from my own, radiating warmth.

It’s probably a bad sign that he manages to distract me this much when he’s not even here. I should really put a stop to the flirting. I mean, my choices are: (a) make a move, find out he doesn’t like me and is just kidding around, and
be horribly humiliated; (b) make a move, find out he likes me, date him, take him to Victoria’s wedding, watch the Wedding Curse strike again, destroy the whole wedding, possibly be crushed by falling masonry or whatever disaster strikes next,
and
be horribly humiliated and sad in a whole new way, but this time with a guy I really wouldn’t want to lose; or (c) stop everything now, and avoid humiliation (and sadness) (and masonry-crushing) either way.

You might think I’m being dumb, but you didn’t see the look on my very first boyfriend’s face when I caught Alex’s bouquet, or when one of her guests asked him for another slice of cake. And you don’t want to know what happened with Boyfriend #2 at Sydney’s wedding.

Sorry, Leo. Weddings and relationships just don’t mix—at least not for me. Trust me, it’s for your own good.

It shouldn’t surprise you to hear that Victoria has decided we will be working on favors starting at eight o’clock on Sunday morning.

“That way we’ll be done early,” she says enthusiastically. “And then we’ll have the rest of the day to get other wedding things done!”

Hooray!

Yeah, I’ve tried many times to explain to this family that teenagers need more sleep than other age groups. It’s true. There was a study or something. We need like nine hours of sleep a night, minimum. And when you’re up until two
A.M
. trying to write a coherent essay about Manifest Destiny while
not
thinking about
sparkling green eyes, the last thing you want to see five and a half hours later is your (other) bridezilla sister flitting through your room, throwing up the blinds, and chattering, “Come on, come on! These place cards aren’t going to assemble themselves!”

It also shouldn’t surprise you to hear that Paris has made herself scarce for the day. She tried to corral me into coming dress shopping with her, but Dad put his foot down and insisted that I was needed here, and that I had to honor my prior commitments. I think he’s trying to teach her a lesson, but he really should know by now that that’s not going to work.

You know what would be awesome? If one day he would put his foot down and say, “Actually, Jack doesn’t have to do any wedding stuff today. Today Jack can go lie around in the sun beside the pool instead.”

I am faced with an enormous dilemma when Vicky wakes me at seven thirty. Should I get up, shower, eat a healthy breakfast, and make myself all pretty for when Carolina and Leo get
here? Or should I sleep an extra fifteen minutes, roll out of bed, grab a banana, and do the favors in my pajamas?

Given the conclusion I came to last night, it’s not that difficult to convince myself to take the extra fifteen minutes of sleep. After all, I am supposed to be driving Leo away, not trying to entice him. Also? Sleeping = awesome.

The doorbell wakes me half an hour later. I bury my head under the pillows. Maybe no one will notice if I don’t come out.

Knock knock
.

“Go away, Victoria,” I mumble.

“But the favors!” says a mock high voice. “The place cards! They neeeed you!”

I sit upright so fast my head spins. Leo is standing in the doorway of my bedroom. He is STANDING IN MY ROOM. There are literally clothes and papers and books covering every inch of floor space between me and him. I can actually see a bra from here, tossed elegantly across a chair. Not to mention
I am still in bed
. In my pajamas, in bed, with my hair all crumpled
up around my face instead of pulled back in a neat low ponytail the way I usually wear it. IN BED.

Well. If I was worried about driving him away…this ought to do it.

“Ow,” I mumble, clutching my head. “What are you
doing
here?”

“Victoria sent me to wake you,” he says. I’m pretty sure he’s trying not to laugh. He’s leaning against the doorframe with a rakish grin on his face. I’ve changed my mind; he doesn’t look like Clive Owen. He looks like that guy Jim from
The Office
, but a little more model-y and with a better wardrobe. I love that guy. Not that I love Leo…it’s just an observation.

“Look, I know Carolina is practically a part of the family by now,” I say, “but strange boys, even ones related to her, are not allowed in my room. I can’t believe my dad didn’t stop you.”

“He’s a little preoccupied,” Leo says. “There’s some kind of origami paper catastrophe. I think your mom is sending him out to get more.” He gingerly picks his way across the room, putting
his toes down in the few bare pockets of space on the carpet. Much to my horror, he sits down on the bed, facing me.

Now he is really close to me. And as I may have mentioned, I’m wearing my pajamas. We’re talking an old T-shirt with large holes in it and a pair of soft black pants. I suppose I should count myself lucky that I’m wearing pants at all. Plus we are on a bed, and he smells like mist and rain forests, and I kind of badly want to grab him and kiss him. Which, of course, is a complete violation of all the decisions I made and rules I set for myself last night.
Do not lean toward him, Jack,
I admonish myself.
Stop staring at his lips. Ack! You’re having a meaningful silence! He’s staring into your eyes! Break the moment! Break it NOW!

“It’s too early for this,” I manage to stammer. I plop my head back on the pillow, where it is farther away from the temptation of his lips.

“And you are
way
too chipper, Leo. Don’t you need nine hours of sleep too? What is wrong with you?”

“To be fair, I am getting paid,” Leo says.
“Mom’s giving me twenty bucks an hour to be here—and I think waking you up is probably the least boring way to earn it.”

“Maybe you could pay me to get up,” I say, trying to unobtrusively comb my hair with my fingers without sitting up. “But I’ll warn you, I cost a lot more than twenty bucks.” I look at him. “Um, that came out wrong.”

“How about I take you out to dinner instead?” he says. He puts his hand down on the mattress on the other side of me and leans on it. Yes. His arms are practically around me, and I’m lying down, and now I am having
really
inappropriate thoughts about his arms and his biceps and his shoulders, and
oh my God, is he leaning toward me?

“We should go help Victoria,” I say, putting my hand on his chest to stop him getting any closer. Except now my hand is on his chest, and it’s really well-muscled and…distracting.

“How about Wednesday?” he says, smiling. I have to think for a minute before I remember he’s talking about the dinner invitation.

“I can’t—I have work,” I say.

“Okay…Thursday?”

“Um, I think we have wedding things to do.”

“Like what?”

“We always have wedding things to do,” I say. “I mean, so I’ll probably always be busy. You know. Two weddings. Busy.” My hand is still on his chest, by the way, if you’re wondering what happened to the part of my brain that normally is in charge of full sentences.

Now he looks confused, and he moves his hand back, so I do too, regretfully.

“Okay,” he says. “I understand.” He stands up and starts working his way back to the door. I scramble out of bed.

“But you’ll be here next Sunday, right?” I say quickly. Why am I doing this? To be nice. Not to encourage him. No.

He stops in the doorway. “Sunday?”

“For Paris’s sort-of engagement party,” I say, grabbing a hooded sweatshirt and pulling it on. “She said family plus Carolina, so I think that means you could come, too. She
wants us to meet Jiro.”

He looks down at his shoes. “Yeah, okay, I could do that.” He flashes me the smile again. “Thanks for inviting me.”

And then he vanishes out the door before I can clarify that
I
didn’t invite him; he
was
invited. Whoops. I hope I didn’t send the wrong message there.

I take a few minutes to straighten my hair and pull it back, but I figure the damage is done on the pajama front, so I don’t bother to change before joining the others in the living room. The good news: Carolina and Leo brought doughnuts again. The surprising news: Sydney is here to help, actually acting like a real bridesmaid for once. The bad news (depending on how you look at it): The only spot left is on the floor next to Leo.

I sit down beside him, and he kind of looks at me sideways, still with a puzzled expression on his face.

“All right,” Victoria says, clapping her hands together. “We’re doing this assembly-line-style,
people. I’m all for free expression in my classroom, but in this situation we’re going for
my
expression.”

“And Kevin’s,” I add helpfully.

“Yes, yes, whatever,” she says, “so the best way to do that is to make sure each one is the same. Jack, do you really think you should be having a doughnut right now? Aren’t you worried you’ll get sugar all over the place cards?”

“Nope,” I say, choosing a Boston creme.

“Chocolate, maybe.”

“That’s not funny,” Victoria says.

“Sorry,” I say meekly. “I’ll be careful.”

“Tell us what you want us to do, Victoria,” Carolina says smoothly.

Victoria launches into an explanation of her complicated favor idea. First, she will fold the origami paper into a rose. Then Sydney will attach the paper rose to a dark green chopstick with a glittery mini hair clip. Then Mom will carefully place the chopstick inside an ornate little glass vase and fill the vase with enough translucent glass pebbles to keep the chopstick
upright. Meanwhile, I will write out the guest’s name and table number in my well-practiced wedding handwriting, while Leo keeps track on a list and makes sure I get the table number and the spelling of the name correct. And then Carolina will carefully slide the card inside the vase, around the rose, so you can read the information through the glass.

You may be saying to yourself…WHAAAAAT? Why is all this necessary? What’s wrong with pre-printed place cards and a cute little mesh bag of Jordan almonds at each seat? I’ll tell you what: That’s what Alex did.

So, okay, why not something simple like a packet of wildflower seeds and a note that in lieu of fancy favors, a donation has been made to the Pediatric Foundation? Can you guess? Yup: That’s what Sydney did.

So Victoria, being an art teacher, simply
had
to come up with something complicated, artsy, elaborate, and, let’s face it, as annoying as possible. Oh, but I’d be misleading you if I said we swung right into action on the assembly line.
No, no, no. We can’t possibly start before Mom and Victoria review the assigned tables one more time. And then, of course, we have to sit through the huge argument about why the Gallos absolutely could not under any circumstances sit at the same table with the Bransens, and did Great-Aunt Beverly’s table have to be so close to the band, and was it really wise to seat Victoria’s fellow teachers with her most peculiar (Mom’s words, not mine) Renaissance festival friends (“well, they’re all SINGLE,
Mom
,” Vicky huffs indignantly, as if that means they deserve their punishment).

Suddenly Mom grabs the sheet of paper away from Vicky and squints at it. “Victoria,” she says, her voice rising, “have you crossed out two names at this table?”

“Yes,” Vicky says, snatching the paper back.

“Paris and her guest are not welcome at this wedding anymore.”

“Victoria!” Mom says, scandalized. “I understand throwing her out of the wedding party, but she’s your
sister
! She
has
to be at your wedding!”

“No, she doesn’t,” Vicky says stubbornly.

“I’m not going to hers, and I don’t want her at mine. She’ll ruin the whole thing if she’s there. Just like she always ruins everything.”

“But Victoria darling,” Carolina points out, “then you’ll have two empty seats at your family’s table.”

“I know,” Vicky says, directing a hard stare my way. “I’ve decided Sofia and Jack will have to bring guests to fill the spaces.”

“What?” I protest. “No! Why? That’s not fair.”

Leo gives me the puzzled look again.

“Just invite someone else,” I say quickly. But Vicky is already shaking her head.

“If you two bring guests, it’ll be perfect,” she says. “Mom and Dad, Alex and Harvey, Sydney and Marco, and then you two with your dates. And you’ll all have someone to dance with when the wedding party joins us on the dance floor. Symmetrical and perfect.”

“But Paris—” my mom tries to interject.

“Paris Paris Paris!” Vicky snaps. “This is
my
day, and I don’t want to hear her name again!”

“This is
my
day” has been Vicky’s new favorite phrase for months. Unfortunately, it seems to apply to the entire ten-month engagement period.

“It can’t be that hard,” Vicky says, poking me with her foot. “Just ask someone. Or I’ll do it for you. Oh my God,” she says as I open my mouth, “and don’t even try to tell me about your stupid Wedding Curse, or so help me I will beat you with one of these vases.”

There are lots of things I regret in life, but telling Vicky about my vow is definitely up at the top somewhere. We were commiserating about Sydney’s wedding about a year ago, and it was late at night, and I was missing Sofia, and it just spilled out. Luckily I managed not to tell her the whole David story, or I’m sure the entire room would be hearing about that right now, too. And you know, Victoria thought my vow made sense, until
she
got engaged and apparently decided that all the rules would be different for
her
wedding.

“What Wedding Curse?” Leo says alertly.

“Jack thinks if she brings a guy to a wedding, it’ll automatically destroy the relationship,” Vicky scoffs. “And the wedding.”

“Vicky, shut
up
,” I say, seizing her foot right before she pokes me with it again. She yanks it away.

“She’s decided not to date anyone until after all her sisters’ weddings are over, just in case.” Vicky rolls her eyes. “Where’s your sense of romance, Jack? Weddings are the most romantic things ever.”

“Not for boys,” I say, “and not for me. Besides, I’m doing this for your own good, Vicky. You’re the one whose wedding will be crashed by a motorcycle gang if I bring a date. You should be thanking me.”

“But the
love
, and the slow dancing, and the flowers everywhere,” Vicky says dreamily. I can see she’s not really paying attention to me anymore. She picks up a piece of origami paper and begins to fold it into a rose.

I sneak a glance at Leo. He has an “aha”
expression on his face that I don’t like.

“Oh, Jack doesn’t have a romantic bone in her body,” Sydney says dismissively, taking the rose and attaching it to a chopstick.
I beg your pardon
. This from the girl who wrote her husband’s vows
for
him so that she could be sure they’d be short, snappy, easy to say, and acceptable to her. Listen, I am
perfectly
capable of romance with the right guy, but I have no interest in doomed relationships, which is what they would be if they happened during wedding fever season in my family.