Then He Happened

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Ditto,” I say, and then, as I glance over to a half-full house, point out, “You missed the family reunion.”

  “That was intentional,” she confesses. “The key is to always have an excuse. Show up late and with a full stomach. It’s the only way to survive around here.”

  Wish I had known that five hours ago. “Noted,” I say, patting my stomach.

  “Do they know about the baby?” she mumbles.

  I raise my eyebrow confused. “Your parents?”

  “No, the rest of the family.” She looks around as if taking inventory of the place. “I guess not, or they’d still be hovering around her.”

  She wasn’t kidding on the phone when she said it’s always rough. I’ve known the McBeans for a few hours, and I’m tapped out.

  But an entire lifetime?

  Eileen’s a trooper, and a funny one to boot.

  “So, what’s next?” I ask curiously.

  She shushes me and redirects my head toward where her mother is pacing in the kitchen.

  “It has to happen fast, Murphy,” her mom says to her dad. “You don’t want her to show. Everyone will know.”

  “The horror,” Eileen whispers, clutching her jacket.

  I swallow a laugh.

  “I wish I had brought popcorn to watch this,” she says, crossing her arms. “Next, my sister will fake like she’s offended. Then Mom will say something to upset her even more.”

  “We don’t have money for a big party, Lorena,” Mr. McBean clarifies.

  “There are always ways,” Mrs. McBean insists.

  This is like a tennis match. I don’t know who is keeping score, but my bet is on Mrs. McBean. My father has one rule, never contradict your mother. Also, he always lets her win. I guess those are two big rules.

  “How do you think we raised three children? Charlie will use my dress.”

  “Oh no, ‘used’ dress. That’s strike two,” Eileen mumbles.

  She was right about one thing. We need popcorn.

  “What do you mean?” Charlie shrieks. “You’re shorter than me, and I can’t be wearing your dress. It’s for your wedding. I need something for me. Why can’t you be a little nice to me!? Don’t you see I’m hurting?”

  “She’s a great actress,” I say for the first time out loud. “Didn’t buy it at first but hey, what a performance.”

  “One of the best, such a pity she didn’t go to Hollywood.” Then, Eileen exhales. “You should leave before this becomes a circus.”

  I look around waiting for the clowns and the lion tamer. “Why?”

  “She’s about to search for her next target or someone to fix her life. I bet it’ll be me. Mom will do the same, and by the end of the night, everything for this fucking wedding will officially be my responsibility.”

  “Do you have money for it?” I ask.

  “I’m a physical therapist who works for the government,” she answers. “You tell me.”

  “We’re going to have to bail them out,” I conclude.

  “Nope, not tonight,” she clarifies.

  “Wanna get out of here before they catch you?” I offer. “We can ask them to brunch tomorrow. Talk shit out with fewer people.”

  She looks like I just told her she won the lottery, nodding as she grabs her jacket and pulls me quietly toward the door. We don’t say anything until we’re inside the front seats of a beat-up Subaru, backing out of the driveway.

  It smells like lavender and regret (or maybe just really old vomit stains). She puts on some Eddie Money track and laughs like an escaped convict. I feel laughter bubbling up in me and realize fuck, I must feel it too.

  It’s the first time since Marek dropped this fucking baby bomb on me that I’ve felt like I had any choice in the matter.

  “We made it,” she says excitedly. “Mom’s going to freak later about me skipping dinner.”

  “What’re you gonna tell her?”

  “Work,” she says with a shrug. “I have to write down a plan for the people who’ll be taking over for me while I’m on vacation.”

  “Nice,” I offer conversationally. “Where are you going?”

  She cocks an eyebrow. “You’re kidding, right? Didn’t you see that madness? I need time off to deal with it.”

  I nod, letting her drive us into the fucking sunset.

  “So, now that we’re co-conspirators in a getaway with no discernible place to go... Do you wanna grab a drink?”

  She laughs like a songbird. “Sure.”

  9

  Eileen

  Jason is... interesting.

  On the one hand, his physique and beer choice scream trust fund frat boy.

  On the other hand, he spent an hour last night at one of my favorite bars talking about the best way to arrange centerpieces with the kind of sincerity and knowledge most dudes wouldn’t give to anything, let alone a cousin’s wedding.

  His eyes lit up when, upon leaving, he asked what my coffee order is and I said, “Preferably espresso, but anything as long as it’s strong enough to wake up the dead.”

  I showed up to brunch this morning not expecting a flight of espressos to sample.

  “Are you serious? Is this some kind of challenge?” I ask him, trying to suppress a grin.

  He smirks. “It’s only a challenge if you make it one.”

  We’re buzzed by the time Charlie and Marek arrive. Charlie wrinkles her nose at the sight of coffee. I catch Jason’s gaze, rolling my eyes subtly. He nearly chokes on his orange juice.

  It’s fascinating watching him switch from giant goof to serious businessman once Charlie and Marek get settled. As he goes over the job he’s helping Marek get, I study his profile.

  Masculine nose, sensual mouth, strong, chiseled jaw with a pair of high cheekbones framing those warm brown eyes that keep staring at me when he thinks nobody is watching.

  “I have a job,” Charlie snaps when he turns his attention to her.

  Of course, she just got hired at Neiman Marcus three weeks ago. How long until she quits?

  “You said it yourself. Once the baby arrives you can’t do retail,” I remind her. “Consider your options, Charlie.”

  “Easy for you to say. If you were pregnant, you’d be fine,” she says, adding a pout. “You have a job that will give you maternity leave and benefits.”

  Sure, let’s talk about how my low-income job is suddenly much better than any other job in the whole fucking world. Poor little Charlie, she has it rough.

  “What happened to your benefits?” I ask instead.

  “They’ll be gone once I quit,” she says.

  Make up your mind, Charlie. Do you have a job or not?

  I take a deep breath and then say, “Then don’t quit. Or get hired by someplace that has more competitive benefits. Doesn’t Marek have insurance?”

  Jason gives me a look that feels like “we’re screwed, aren’t we?”

  Okay, let’s handle this another way.

  I grab a pen and my journal out of my purse. “Let’s start with what we absolutely have to get done today. Housing, jobs, and preliminary wedding details. Alright?”

  “Please, you have to help me with the last one,” Charlie whines. “Did I tell you Mom wants me to wear her dress?”

  Well, I guess we’re shifting priorities. Why not? It’s not like having a roof over your head and a way to support your kid matters.

  “What’s their budget for the wedding?” I ask.

  I’ve been dodging Mom’s calls for the past couple of days. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell I’ll call her to ask that. There’s too high a risk of hearing everything about yesterday’s reunion-slash-meeting.

  “They said it’s small,” she says with a soft voice.

  Typical Charlie, she’s about to give me a sob story to convince me that I have to do something to make her dreams come true.

  “You know what that means, right?” She sighs. “Ceremony in the backyard, honeymoon in Idaho Springs, and if I’m lucky, she’ll make
some corned beef casserole surprise and seven-layer-bean-cheese dip.”

  I glare at her. Sometimes she makes us sound like a cheap version of some crazy sitcom. Yes, Mom tends to be frugal. But she does it mostly with family who doesn’t care.

  If there’s a wedding where she has to show everyone that she’s Lorena McBean, then it’ll be a high-end event.

  Which we can’t afford!

  Either way, we’re screwed.

  “Look, I canceled the trip and got a full refund,” I lie. “Why don’t we plan the wedding with it?”

  “That was less than ten thousand dollars, Eileen. The dress I want costs twenty thousand.”

  “We’ll find a cheaper dress, a better one,” I suggest, sounding convincing.

  I make a mental note to check online for used dresses or maybe an outlet. Do they even exist?

  “Honey,” I say, reaching for her hand to squeeze it. “As much as I’d love for you to have a wedding as close as possible to what Meghan Markle had, we can’t. Our resources are limited.”

  “I can help with some of the expenses,” Jason offers.

  Seriously, you have no idea what you’re getting into, buddy, I think. But I only glare at him.

  “Within reason,” he corrects.

  My sister’s smile brightens, and she pulls out her phone. “Make sure you choose everything based on what’s on our wedding Pinterest board, Eileen.”

  “What?” I ask. I expected to have to plan the wedding but— “Why the Pinterest board?”

  “You’ve said it yourself a million times,” she explains. “I’m terrible at sticking to a budget. If you’re going to limit me, you’ll have to put in the work. Besides, everything I like is on there. It’s not like you need me micromanaging you when my dream wedding is all there.”

  Charlie tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear casually. As if she didn’t just tell me to use “our” –really my—dream wedding plans to do all the dirty work for her.

  “When’s the wedding, anyway?” I ask numbly.

  She looks at the calendar on her phone and says, “May twenty-seventh.”

  “What?” I say in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. That’s my—”

  “Eileen, could you please stop thinking about yourself,” Charlie shouts so loud everyone in the restaurant stops talking. A few women glare at me. “Look at me. I’m in the middle of a crisis. You can reschedule whatever you had penciled in for some other time.”

  Cool, let me grab my time machine, go back twenty-seven years and make sure that Mom waits a day or two to have me.

  While I’m at it, I’ll make sure to force my university to change graduation dates. Because Charlie always comes first. What she wants, she gets. Everything else is just a fucking afterthought.

  I clear my throat. I ignore Jason’s confused gaze, instead fixating on the short stack of pancakes in front of me.

  “Sure, Charlie,” I say quietly. “Whatever you want.”

  10

  Eileen

  Fourteen days until the wedding

  May brings sporadic snowfall to Colorado, it also brings the warmest days since December and miles and miles of sunshine. I roll the passenger seat window of Jason’s luxury car all the way down, letting my hand dangle outside. My fingers dance against the breeze.

  “Geez, we can put the air conditioner on,” Jason mutters.

  I roll my head over to stare at him incredulously. “It’s not about the temperature in here, bud.”

  He shrugs.

  “Try it,” I say. “Feel the breeze.”

  “No offense but that sounds like hippie shit,” Jason says.

  “No offense but you’ve been here for what? A year?”

  “Yeah,” he concedes.

  “You are officially hippie shit,” I argue.

  He grumbles halfheartedly as he rolls his own window down.

  Trying not to test his patience, it feels like a good time to get back to business. As I go through the bullet points and realize how many things we have to do, I'm wondering how we're going to get everything done. The venue is, of course, the biggest ticket item by far.

  Jason’s driving us to Boulder, where he found a place similar to what Charlie is looking for. One of her options is essentially Niagara Falls meets the Rocky Mountains.

  The second is a fucking palace and her last option, which cracks me up, an expensive hotel. That’s exactly how she described it. So that’s all we’ve got.

  I texted her last night, suggesting a destination wedding.

  You know, something exclusive that’s luxurious but will naturally keep attendance down without hurting anyone’s feelings.

  She called me a minute later to give me a ten-minute lecture about how “important” it is to stick to the Pinterest board. That if the time ever comes, I can plan my own fucking wedding however I want.

  I tuned her out after that point. There’s only so much screaming I can take from her in a single sitting.

  If I was the one getting married, however, I wouldn’t choose a palace. I can’t imagine having my first dance to John Mellencamp in a building that’s older than the state I grew up in. I sigh and decide that no matter what, I will find a venue for this wedding today.

  Speak of the devil, Mellencamp starts playing long enough for Jason to skip the song to Springsteen of all things.

  “What the fuck?” I protest.

  “What?”

  I glare at the dashboard and then at him. “I can’t believe you just did that—”

  “Putting on good music?” he asks incredulously. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

  I jostle his shoulder with my elbow. “How dare you insult John Mellencamp like that?”

  “What—oh,” he says incredulously. “Really? A Mellencamp girl. Didn’t think you existed anymore.”

  Apparently, it’s my turn to be confused. “What?”

  “Look,” he says, “There are three kinds of people in the world: Springsteen people, Bon Jovi people, and Mellencamp people. Springsteen people rule. Bon Jovi people are—”

  “Careful,” I warn him. “My parents are Bon Jovi people.”

  “—Wrong but whatever.” He shrugs.

  He presses his lips together making a long pause and then continues, “Those are the two main factions. And Mellencamp people are different. Underdogs.”

  “Underdog?” I question his sanity.

  “Hey,” he says reaching out to squeeze my hand lightly. “I guess it’s just about who you grew up with and what their music does for you.”

  I hum, mulling it all over. We speed by the mountains which somedays are the most real thing in my life.

  “They played a lot of Mellencamp and Petty here, back in the day,” I explain. “I guess there was Bon Jovi, whose stuff was a lot more popular. Mellencamp’s music was about trying your best and stumbling through life, not always getting your way, but surviving.”

  “See?” he says. “Underdog through and through.”

  I huff. “How far away is this place?”

  “Not too far,” he says. “Just a few more miles.”

  I stare at the mountain scenery. The evergreens are still covered with some snow that fell last weekend. It’s a beautiful sight but not for a wedding.

  “Just not yours,” Jason says.

  “Did you read my mind?” I ask.

  “Yeah, I wish,” he says confidently before blushing. “Come on, you must have thought about your wedding, haven’t you?”

  Ordinarily, I don’t dream about my wedding. But I’d be lying if I say that I’ve never thought about it.

  “It's complicated,” I answer. Shall we go through the obvious, the fucking Pinterest board Charlie is making me use is mainly mine.

  “If I married, I’d definitely want something small,” I say a little dishearten.

  Because if I ever get married, I can’t use any of these ideas, or I’d be copying Charlie. She’ll throw a tantrum in the middle of the ceremony or refuse to let the priest c
ontinue with it until the flowers were changed.

  Maybe I should be the one organizing a destination wedding. Only a few guests. No children. Oops, sorry, Charlie. You can’t join us.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” he observes. “If it were me getting married in the mountains, I’d choose the Shining.”

  I do a double take. “What do you mean with you’d choose The Shining?”

  “There’s a hotel in Estes Park we could rent,” he says enthusiastically. “You think your sister would go with for that? It’d be a good excuse to use a black dress.”

  I gawk at him. “You mean The Stanley Hotel?”

  “The very one,” he says proudly. “I already made some calls. If you want it, they’ll let us rent out the whole thing for the weekend. It's expensive as fuck, but we can make it happen.”

  I groan. “We have a budget.”

  “It could be my wedding gift to them,” he continues, ignoring my glare. “We can get them the room for the weekend. Marek would love it.”

  Somehow, I think he’s just fucking with me.

  “So what?” I play along with his little wedding fantasy. Seriously, The Shining? No wonder he is single. “If you get The Stanley Hotel, are you planning on handing out signed books and the DVD as party favors?”

  “Oh, that's a good idea,” he says, and I finally notice his wicked smile.

  “You’re so not funny,” I say, barely concealing my own smile. “Honestly, I’d rather have a normal hotel for a wedding than these spectacular gardens in the middle of the majestic woods next to a crystal-clear waterfall.”

  “Alright, now we’re getting somewhere.” He says as licks his full lips. “What do we have to do to make that happen? What do you have in mind?”

  “The Broadmoor would be fantastic if we could actually get it,” I say, knowing full well that it’s always booked.

  “Done and done,” he says as he taps some of the buttons on his dashboard.

  “Hey,” he says as he pulls over to the shoulder. “Do you think Em can get us the Broadmoor.”

  “You’ve officially gone crazy,” I mutter.