Save the Date (6 page)

“Remember that cute guy Olaf at my wedding?” Sydney goes on. “The one I tried to get you to dance with?”

“The one who looked, talked, drank, and danced like a Viking?” I say. “Yeah, I think my feet still have the bruises.”

“He was
cute
,” Sydney says. “You could have given him a chance!”

“He was so drunk by the time Sydney brought him over to me, I could smell him coming from across the ballroom,” I say to Leo. I do
not say that my own date, David, was also pretty drunk by then, a feat he managed without my noticing. “Not to mention he looked like he was about thirty years old.”

“See what I mean?” Sydney says. She hands the rose to Mom. “Not one ounce of romance in her.” I roll my eyes at Leo, and he grins.

“Not like my Leo,” says Carolina, lining up the vases. “He’s such a romantic, aren’t you, darling?” She pats her son’s head, and he looks adorably embarrassed. “I think I exposed him to too many weddings as a child.”

How could two weddings have squashed my sense of romance, while a whole lifetime of them has turned him into a true believer?

“So we’ll leave those two blank,” Leo says, picking up the spreadsheet of table assignments, “and you can figure it out later, right?” He puts a little star in pencil next to where Paris and “Paris’s Inevitable Last-Minute Surprise Guest” (that’s my dad’s sense of humor at work, in case you’re wondering) have been crossed off. “Now, what did you
decide about the Gallos?”

“Tonya Gallo
hates
Donna Bransen,” Mom says. “You
can’t
put them together, Victoria.”

“But MOOOOOOOM,” Victoria whines, “I can’t put the Gallos with the Petersons, because Wendy dated Victor in ninth grade and he, like, totally cheated on her and she, like, can barely even forgive me for letting him come to my wedding at all!”

They launch back into that argument, and I give Leo a grateful smile. Did he rescue me from the wedding date/Jack’s-not-a-romantic conversation on purpose? I’m pretty sure he did. He smiles back, and my heart flips over a couple of times. Dreamy, observant, gallant…
Jack, Jack, Jack, remember the vow!

But it’s awfully hard to keep it in mind while Leo is leaning over me, watching me print out the place cards as neatly as I can, with his arm so close to my arm, and his face so close to my face….

“I think it’s supposed to be Tom with an ‘m,’” he whispers in my ear.

“I know,” I say, jabbing him in the side with my elbow. “Shut up. Stop laughing at me.”

Like I said…a little distracting.

I manage to focus on finals for the next couple of days, finishing my paper by Monday and passing a quiz on Tuesday. I’m actually relieved to go to work on Wednesday night, because I know it’ll probably be quiet and I can get some work done. It’s almost closing time, and I’m leaning on the counter at The Yummery, rereading
The Catcher in the Rye
(two words: yyyyyyy-
aaaaaawn
), when the little bell tinkles over the door.

“Welcome to The Yummery,” I say, stashing the book under the counter. “Can I help you?” I pop back up to find Leo leaning on the counter right across from me. It’s probably not the right
signal to be sending, but I can’t help grinning at him as if he’s made of ice cream himself.

“Cute hat,” he says. It’s this goofy white paper crown with dancing cows in sunglasses on it. You know, to match the cows in sunglasses on the apron I’m also wearing.

“Thanks,” I say. “Think Victoria will let me wear it to the wedding?”

“It looks a bit more Paris than Victoria to me,” he says. He’s quite right about that.

“Tell me about it,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I heard her say something on the phone to Jiro last night about overalls. So…kill me now, basically.”

“You’d be cute in overalls, too,” he says. Have I mentioned how nice his shoulders are? They’re just the right width and I kind of want to run my hands all over them. I know, I’ve never thought about shoulder width before either, but he’s just so…nicely proportioned. And touchable.

“So, what are you doing here?” I ask, veering firmly away from the subject of my cuteness.
“Want some ice cream?”

“Actually,” he says, “I’m lactose-intolerant.”

I gawp at him. “You mean you can’t eat ice cream? Oh my goodness,” I say, “what did you do in a former life to deserve that? Were you Jack the Ripper? You were Jack the Ripper, weren’t you?”

He laughs. “But I brought you something.” He puts a white cardboard box on the counter and slides it over to me. When I open it, I discover that there are seven pieces of different wedding cakes inside.

“WOW,” I say, awestruck. “Where’d you get all this cake?”

“My mom had a tasting tonight with a bride who, believe it or not, is not a part of your family.”

“Whoa. Those exist?” I joke.

“So I snuck out some of the leftover cake,” he says. “I thought you might want to share it with me.”

“You’re allowed to eat cake?” I ask.

“I can safely try these four,” he says, pointing. “Got any forks?”

I produce plastic spoons and glance at the clock. “I think we can close three minutes early tonight. I mean, surely there’s no better excuse than cake.”

He takes the box to one of the circular booths in the back, out of sight of the window, while I lock the door and finish the last closing-up chores. Finally I slide into the booth across from him.

“Ah,” I say, looking at the cake options. “Let me guess—Tammy’s Bakery?” He’s folded down the edges of the box so we can reach them all.

“Okay, that’s impressive,” he says.

“Sydney made us visit pretty much every bakery in town,” I say. “She wanted something
unusual
.”

“Like pineapple upside-down cake?” Leo guesses.

“Like this chocolate and raspberry mousse cake,” I say, taking a spoonful of the pink and brown slice.

“That’s not so crazy,” Leo says.

“I know. But compared to Alex’s uber
traditional vanilla pound cake with white buttercream frosting—like this one here—Sydney thought it was pretty out there. I might have to go with pineapple upside-down cake, though, since my sisters will have used up all the other ideas by the time I get married—you know, in like two hundred years.”

“No way,” Leo says. “That’s only two of the seven choices here. That leaves you at least five excellent options.”

“Well, no,” I say. “Alex also had a dark chocolate groom’s cake like this one. And Victoria is having white chocolate like this one, covered in bazillions of sugar flowers—and real ones, too, I’m sure. I have no idea what Paris will do. Twinkies, maybe, just to be different.”

“So that leaves you…carrot cake?” Leo says with a grin.

“Oh yay,” I say, laughing. “Yeah, I’m afraid that might prove Sydney’s theory about how unromantic I am.”

He looks down at the cakes again. I don’t know why I feel so comfortable with him. He’s
easy to talk to, and funny, and I feel like he actually understands all this wedding stuff, whereas most of my friends at school have no interest and no idea what I’m talking about when I say things like “fondant” and “tea-length” and “embossed.” Believe me, I wish I didn’t either. But it’s kind of nice to have someone to talk to about it, for once.

We finish the cake samples, talking about which ones we like best and which are too heavy. I’m surprised that we both like the banana-chocolate cake the best—in my family, I’m the only one with a passion for banana-flavored sweets. I’m also a little disappointed that the cakes disappear so fast…I mean, I’m quite full of cake, but I wouldn’t mind hanging out with Leo a bit longer.

“So,” Leo says, taking the last bit of the carrot cake, “is it true? What your sister said about your Wedding Curse theory?”

“It’s not a theory,” I say, pointing my spoon at him. “It’s a scientifically verifiable phenomenon.”

“Sounds suspicious,” Leo says, following me as I get up and throw out the cardboard box and our spoons. “I mean, I’ve been to a
lot
of weddings; I think maybe I have a wider database to work from than you do.” It really shouldn’t be cute when someone says “database,” but on him it totally is.

“Not about me, you don’t,” I say. “You haven’t seen the Wedding Curse attack me and smash me to smithereens like it always does.” I turn off the light in the back room.

“Smithereens?” he echoes with glee as we walk to the front door.

“It’s less funny when it’s you,” I assure him, turning off the light by the door. Suddenly we’re standing in the dark, lit only by the glow of an old-fashioned street light out by the river. The Yummery is in a row of riverside shops, most of which close earlier than we do. I realize that it’s getting late; I hope Mom and Dad aren’t worried.

I also realize that I’m standing in the dark, alone with the cutest boy in the universe. And
he is only a few inches away from me. And my heart is pounding.

“So…” he says quietly, “you really don’t want to date anyone until after your sisters’ weddings?”

I take a deep breath. This is the real test of my vow right here. I’ll just explain it to him. It’s not him, and it’s not that I’m not romantic, but it just wouldn’t be a good idea right now. I don’t care if he thinks weddings won’t scare him, or if he thinks I’m being crazy and superstitious. He hasn’t been through a whole wedding with my family yet.

“I just think, if I try, something will go terribly wrong,” I say, looking up at him. He has unfairly long eyelashes.

“Well, but you haven’t heard my argument,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, smiling, “tell me your—”

And then he cups his hands around my face, and he kisses me.

His lips taste like honey and chocolate (and surprisingly not like carrot cake). Before I can think about what I’m doing, my arms go around his neck, and his hands slide down to my waist. He pulls me closer and kisses me harder, and I kiss him back.

Suddenly a pair of headlights pulls into the parking lot and sweeps over us. I break away from Leo, pressing myself against the wall behind me.

“Uh-oh,” I whisper—I’m not sure why, since no one can hear me in here. “I hope that’s not my mom. Or my dad. Quick, let’s go out and look like we’re locking up.”

“Or we could hide,” he offers cheerfully.

“They’ll see the car and break down the door. Or call the cops,” I say. “Out!”

I shove him out the door and turn to lock it behind me.

But it’s not my mom, or my dad. It’s worse. It’s Paris.

“Helllllllooooooo,” she says meaningfully, ogling Leo as she gets out of her car. “What have
you
guys been doing?”

“Paris!” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“Mom just realized what time it is and totally freaked out,” Paris says. “She sent me to come looking for you. Sooooo…whatcha doin’?” She looks Leo up and down.

“I was, um,” I stammer. “We were just—”

“I think we have to come clean,” Leo says to me. “We might as well confess.”

“What?” I squawk.

“Jack wanted my advice about wedding photographers,” Leo says. “She was hoping to give you some portfolios at your engagement party and save you some research time.” I’m torn
between wanting to kiss him again and wanting to kick him in the shins for scaring me like that.

Of course, Paris buys this outrageous lie, because it fits in perfectly with her usual view of the universe revolving around her. “Oh my God!” she shrieks. “That is SO cute! Jack, you are too sweet for words.” She throws her arms around me and bounces up and down.

“But honey,” she says, pushing me to arm’s length again, “you don’t have to do that. I have like a bazillion photographer friends. I’m just going to have them take whatever pictures they can at the wedding and that’ll be their present to me. I mean, come on, I’m an artist! Of course I know photographers!”

“Oh,” I say with wide, innocent eyes. “I guess that was dumb of me.”

“Well, I’m glad I caught you before you went to too much trouble,” Paris says. “But you know what you
could
research, if you want to help, is where to rent tents and chairs and all that. I just have
no
idea, and I’m
so
busy.” She throws her hands up in the air.

“Sure,” I say. “I mean, why not, with all my free time.” I shoot a look at Leo.

“I can help Jack with that,” he says, I think contritely.

“Great!” Paris trills. “Now we’d better get home before Mom has a coronary. Come on, Jack.”

She seizes my arm and drags me to my car. I barely have a chance to wave good-bye to Leo, and I don’t get to thank him for the cake. Or, you know, the other thing.

As I pull out, under Paris’s watchful eye, I can see Leo standing under the streetlight. He waves, and then touches his fingers briefly to his lips. I don’t know if he is blowing me a surreptitious kiss, or if he’s just remembering what it felt like.

I’m
remembering what it felt like. It’s as if I can feel his lips still burning against mine. My mouth is tingling and I feel a little dizzy, like maybe he should come with a warning label—”no operating heavy machinery after kissing Leo.”

What was I thinking? What happened to my vow?

As amazing as the kiss was, we had very nearly been caught by the worst person possible. It’s like the universe was sending me a warning sign: You don’t want to go down this path, or there will be TERRIBLE CONSEQUENCES.

I realize when I get home that I’ve forgotten my copy of
Catcher in the Rye
at The Yummery, but that’s okay. I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate on reading it tonight anyway, not with visions of Leo still dancing in my head.

I have to tell him we can’t do this. There can be no more kissing. Maybe in September, after Paris’s wedding…but definitely not until then.

I have a few days to prepare myself, since I don’t see him again until Sunday. On Saturday morning Victoria demands I help her choose table linens. TABLE LINENS. As if I have ANY OPINIONS about the color of tablecloths. I think she just wants to prove that she can take me away from Paris, because I was her bridesmaid first, and I happen to be the only one available
to make this point with.

So I spend the whole morning blearily watching the woman at the botanical gardens manor spreading out tablecloth after tablecloth for Victoria, then pairing them with different colors of napkins.

“What do you think, Jack?” Vicky asks, and I blink, trying to look awake.

“Um…I like the lavender,” I say, figuring this is a safe bet. Actually I think the royal blue is kind of cool, but it doesn’t go with her pastel colors. Victoria wrinkles up her nose as if this is not helpful, so I add, “The lavender and the baby blue look nice together.”

“I think I like the pink,” Victoria says decisively. “The bright rose pink for the tablecloths and the light pearl pink for the napkins. That’s what we’ll do.”

Fabulous. Glad I could help.

Then in the afternoon Paris throws me in her car and forces me to go grocery shopping with her. She’s decided the engagement party (that’s what she’s calling it; nobody else is) is her
opportunity to test out some of her catering ideas for the wedding. I’d point out that cooking for twelve people is quite different from cooking for a hundred, but this, I know full well, will do no good, so I keep quiet as she buys a ton of corn on the cob, potatoes, and chicken.

Sunday there is still no sleep for the weary, as Paris drags me out of bed to mash potatoes and batter chicken with Mom, while Paris flies around the kitchen in a frenzy, doing very little actual cooking, as far as I can tell. Dad is normally our family chef, but he steers clear today, only occasionally drifting by the door with a concerned expression. It seems like they’ve accepted that they can’t stop this wedding; they’ve even postponed their trip to Costa Rica, which didn’t make them or their editors very happy.

I escape the kitchen for an hour to shower and change, so when Carolina and Leo arrive, I am fully presentable, for once.

Leo’s eyes go straight to me as they walk in the door. We’re trapped in the front hallway for a minute as everyone says hello to one another,
but as soon as the others move on, Leo leans down to me and whispers, “I was hoping I’d get to wake you up again…maybe in a more exciting way this time.” He touches my face with his hand and brushes his thumb across my lips. It sends shivers of happiness all along my skin.

“Stop that,” I whisper, stepping back. “I have a vow, remember?”

“But—” he starts.

“I know,” I say, holding up one hand. “You presented a very compelling argument. And then we were nearly caught by Paris, which, if you ask me, was a pretty compelling argument for the other side.”

“Mine didn’t win?” he says, pretending to look injured.

Just then the doorbell rings, and Paris comes racing back into the hall. She throws open the door and flings herself into the arms of the guy standing on the front steps, who, luckily, is Jiro, and not Harvey or Marco.

“You’re here!” Paris shrieks. She covers his face with kisses and he looks embarrassed but
pleased, smiling and kissing her back while trying to nod politely to the family members gathering in the doorway.

Alex and Harvey pull into the driveway behind them. Man, if anything could make me more tired than I already am, it’s the presence of Harvey. His conversations are the world’s best cure for insomnia. I can see him talking to Alex as they park, and even she looks a little sleepy.

Right behind them are Sydney and Marco, and a few minutes later, Sofia arrives, so the house is full of chaos. Leo is shepherded off to the yard while I have to join Paris in the kitchen.

“Hey,” Sofia says, coming up behind me and giving me an enormous hug. “How’s it going?” She is smiling from ear to ear in a strangely glowing way. I tilt my head at her.

“What’s going on with you?” I ask. “You seem really happy about something.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says. “I’m just excited about graduation.”

I’m pretty sure that’s not the whole story, but Paris is right there, so maybe it’s something
Sofia doesn’t want everyone else to know. I’ll have to wait and try to weasel it out of her later.

Paris throws platters into our hands and we carry them out to the buffet table on the deck. In addition to her wedding tester menu, Dad has wisely opted to make some hamburgers on the outside grill, “in case anyone doesn’t eat chicken,” he hedges, but we all know it’s more like “in case Paris’s food is mildly deadly.”

Everyone is surprised when Jiro points to one of the veggie burgers Dad has thrown on for Sydney and Marco, our only two vegetarians. But nobody is more surprised than Paris.

“You don’t eat meat?” she says to him.

“No meat,” he says shyly.

“That is
so
weird,” Paris says. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”

Sydney and Alex roll their eyes at each other. Dad looks appalled, and Mom just looks queasy.

But the truth is, Jiro seems really sweet. He helps clear away the dishes (so does Leo, I might add), and he listens to Harvey go on and on (I’m
sure it helps that he has no idea what Harvey is saying), and then he agreeably goes to the bottom of the yard to play Frisbee with Marco, Sydney, and Dublin. Mom and Dad try out the Taiwanese they know on him, and he doesn’t even correct their pronunciation.

By the end of the afternoon, I for one am wondering what this poor guy ever did to deserve getting saddled with Paris.

Dublin steals the Frisbee from Sydney and Marco, so they come back to the deck for fruit salad. I hop off onto the grass and follow the dog’s wagging tail behind a clump of tall bushes at the bottom of our garden at the edge of the woods.

I guess there’s a part of me that’s hoping Leo will follow me back there…and he does.

“Oh, hi,” I say, turning around with the Frisbee in my hand. He steps between the trees and glances back to where the deck is hidden by the leaves.

“Hey,” he says, taking my free hand. Before I can stop him, he bends down and kisses me
again, and that is not a helpful way to make me tell him what I have to tell him.

But I force myself to push him away (eventually…okay, I’m not a martyr or anything). “Leo, we really shouldn’t,” I say. “I like you, I really, really do—you have no idea—but that makes it worse, because I know how awful it’s going to be when something goes terribly wrong, which it will. Believe me.”

“Nothing’s going to go wrong,” Leo says, his green eyes serious. “Jack, I’ve wanted to be with you from the first moment I saw you. If you like me too, why shouldn’t we give it a shot?”

Because I’m not like my sisters. I don’t rush into things. And it’s better not to have you in the first place than to lose you later, when it’ll hurt so much more.

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’ve been through this before. It’s better this way.” I push through the bushes and start walking back up to the deck. After a moment, Leo catches up with me.

“Okay…but we can still be friends, right?” Leo says. I’m relieved that he doesn’t sound hurt
or offended or mad at me. He sounds like he thinks it’s no big deal, which is good…that’s the whole idea, right? To keep things casual, so we can’t get hurt? So why do I find myself wishing he were just a little more upset?

“Of course,” I agree, smiling to show him everything is fine. “Friends. I mean, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this summer, I think.”

“Yeah,” he says. “And, um…you will let me know if you change your mind, right? About dating?”

“All right,” I say. “But don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says.

We cross the lawn and rejoin the others by the barbecue. As I watch Leo joking with Dad, I think about what it felt like when he kissed me…and I hope I’m not making a huge mistake.