This Is 35

by Stacey Wiedower

  11:30. That meant two more hours before she could start to get answers, leaving only two and a half paltry hours before the ceremony was scheduled to start. Erin was sure her sanity wouldn't hold out that long.

  She spun around and stomped through the lobby and out the double front doors. Joanne and Sherri trailed her. Once outside, Erin leaned against a square pillar on the front porch of the lodge and pulled her phone out of her jeans pocket. She read the card the desk clerk had given her and dialed the number for Kent Kenderson, General Manager of Brown Bear Mountain Resort.

  The phone rang and rang. When voicemail picked up, Erin's heart sank. With the wedding in less than five hours, an office voicemail would do her no good whatsoever. But, blessedly, Kent's voicemail greeting included his cell number. Erin repeated it in her head and dialed so fast she had to backspace twice. Meanwhile, Sherri and Joanne were a few feet away, whispering. As Kent Kenderson's cell phone rang, Joanne made a sweeping gesture with her arms.

  Erin closed her eyes, feeling guilty for the amount of stress she was causing everybody around her. Why on earth had she thought a destination wedding was a great idea? It had seemed unadventurous at the time, but right now a simple church ceremony near the Frisco, Texas neighborhood she and Ben had grown up in sounded blessedly simple. Relaxing, even.

  While her eyes were still closed, a man's voice came on the line.

  "Kent here."

  Erin's eyes popped open. "Kent! My name is Erin Crawford, and my wedding party is booked at your lodge this weekend. The wedding is supposed to start at two o'clock, and I just now learned that the outdoor chapel is out of service for maintenance." The words poured out so fast she wasn't sure they made sense.

  There was a few seconds' pause.

  "Um, yeah," Kent said, sounding distracted or maybe sorry he'd accepted the call. "Didn't you receive an email about that?"

  Erin wished that for all their advanced features, iPhones came with an app that let you gut punch the person on the other end of the call. "No, no email," she said between clenched teeth. "There was definitely no email. And my wedding is definitely happening at your facility in four and a half hours."

  Definitely maybe. She thought about Ben, who still hadn't called or texted, and reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose. Her whole body was shaking like she'd OD'd on caffeine, but she hadn't had a drop of coffee this morning. She didn't need coffee. She needed Xanax.

  "Well, that's a problem, huh?" Kent had a laid back, easygoing attitude that came through in his voice. He sounded like a UCLA frat boy who lived for the weekend, not like a responsible hotel manager. She wanted to strangle him.

  "Um, yeah. That's a problem." Erin's foot tap-tap-tapped on the concrete porch.

  "You have two options," Kent said. "You can have the wedding in the great hall in the main lodge, or you can have it in the outdoor chapel as planned. It's not the prettiest of places right now, and I am sorry about that. But Rodrigo on our event staff can have some of his guys clean up the dirt, and if you have anybody in your group who can help, I'm sure you can get it in good enough shape to toss out some chairs."

  Toss out some chairs? This was a wedding, not a Bunco game.

  "Gee, thanks."

  "You know what I mean," Kent said, though Erin didn't know what he meant. "You'll still have the view. Your guests will be able to sit. It's not the end of the world, right?"

  No. Worse things had happened. Worse things were in the process of happening. She thought of Ben, of his continued silence. She wanted to strangle him, too.

  A strained sigh shuddered its way through Erin's body, and she dropped her hand in defeat.

  "How do I get in touch with Rodrigo?"

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Breathless

  Saturday, April 13, 2:14 p.m.

  "He's here." Sherri ran up the cobbled path, her face red from exertion, her artfully messy updo a little messier and a little less artful. She ran awkwardly thanks to her shoes—strappy, delicate sandals with spindly heels. She tripped up to Erin on her tiptoes.

  "He's here?" The relief was almost unmanageable. Erin's knees went weak, and it was all she could do to remain upright.

  Before she'd reached Rodrigo, Ben had texted to say he'd finally been called to board. After all the delays, his flight left the runway at 12:15 and landed in Reno mercifully ten minutes ahead of schedule. He was in a cab ten minutes later. If he'd already arrived, that meant he'd managed to get a cab driver to make a forty-five-minute drive in under thirty-five minutes. Bless that speed demon.

  Bless Rodrigo and his guys, too. And Erin's father, and Ben's brother, and Alex, Sherri's rock star (literally) husband. Bless Tom, a friend from Palo Alto she'd met in her 30 First Dates days, and Mark, Hilary's beleaguered husband. Bless even Leo—who'd joined the clean-up effort instead of torturing Erin by filming it.

  The outdoor chapel wasn't exactly picture-perfect, what with the hack job on the surrounding woods, but it was tidy at least. Rodrigo told them the felled trees all had some sort of tree disease, root rot or something like that, which was why they'd had to come down. Why it had happened so close to her wedding, he couldn't answer. But at any rate, he and his team had orchestrated a miracle. All clumps of dirt were now gone, the meadow was freshly mowed, and between the neat rows of crisp white folding chairs and the lodge's hand-built, pergola-like arbor serving as an altar and framing the view over the water, Erin hoped her guests wouldn't focus on the pockmarked forest.

  "His cab just pulled up out front," Sherri reported, short of breath. "He's already dressed, so he's on his way down."

  She gave Erin a head-to-toe once-over. Erin's dress had a simple silhouette, with thin silk straps that fluted slightly so they fluttered in the breeze. The bodice and skirt skimmed her body in an uninterrupted line. They were also silk but embellished with tiny clear and silver beads that were almost invisible, giving the dress an ethereal shimmer that glowed even in the muted jade light of the woods.

  Erin turned her head as her mom came rushing up from the direction of the seated guests, even though she'd already been escorted to her seat in the front row by Alex, their makeshift usher. He was substituting for Nate, who'd had to catch a later flight than Ben to see off the team from Johns Hopkins. Nate wouldn't make the ceremony but expected to be there for the reception. And unlike Ben, he hadn't had to spend a sleepless night at the airport.

  "Ben's here," said Joanne, also out of breath. "He just texted me."

  Erin gave her mom a shaky smile. "Thank God."

  She blew out a long, trembling breath. This was happening. Ben was here, and this was happening, and he was actually, finally here. And in minutes she would be his wife.

  His wife.

  She'd be married.

  She'd been so focused on Ben and his flight and Leo's camera and the lodge that she'd barely given any thought to what was happening next. Erin tried not to hyperventilate.

  "Yes, thank God." Sherri turned to Erin, switching into her capable, organized, corporate leader, let's-get-this-done mode. "He's on his way up the path from the lodge, which means we've got to get you out of sight."

  Erin's mom was already stepping daintily into the woods, her ivory heels sinking into the moss and pine needle-covered earth.

  "This way, hon," she said. "Mind your shoes."

  Erin found her voice, shaking her head. "It doesn't matter," she protested. "We'll see each other in a few minutes anyway."

  But Sherri propelled her from behind, and her mom took her hand and tugged her a few steps into the dense forest, both of them moving around her to screen her from view from the path. And then rushed footsteps sounded on the path, and Erin swiveled her head, trying to catch a glimpse of Ben as he approached the last curve that led to the clearing.

  His rapid footfalls came to a stop, and there was his voice. "Sherri!" He didn't sound out of breath, a decade of marathon training rendering the hike no big deal.

  Erin gave up attempting to turn around because her
mother seemed absolutely determined to shelter her from Ben's view. Her mom nudged her sideways, putting an old-growth cedar between Erin and her almost husband.

  "You're almost there," Sherri said. "Around the next corner. The guests are all seated, and as soon as you get into place the processional will start."

  "Is Erin—"

  Ben didn't get the sentence out before Sherri added sharply, "No peeking! It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

  "I'm pretty sure our luck can only get better," Erin called out, her body straining to run to Ben but her head—and Sherri's body—holding her back. Joanne rushed after Ben to get back to her seat.

  There was some rustling, and then Ben's and her mom's footfalls faded down the path. About forty-five seconds later, a cheer erupted from the gathered crowd. Thanks to Nestor, the lodge's catering manager, guests had only been in their seats for about fifteen minutes. He'd thrown together a prewedding cocktail reception in the lobby to ease the angst while they waited for Ben's flight.

  The next thing Erin knew, she was walking, and then the following fifteen minutes were a blur, despite her best effort to cement the images in her mind. Only a few details would stand out later.

  The first was her initial glimpse of Ben beside the altar. Tall and striking, his dark blond hair was slightly disheveled, Erin's favorite rogue curl springing out above his forehead. From the moment she stepped into the clearing from the forest path, his eyes were locked on hers. He wore a charcoal tux, slim fitted, with a silver cummerbund and bow tie. If it was wrinkled from being shrugged on in an airport bathroom and enduring a long, tense flight, Erin didn't notice. He took her breath away.

  Second was the look Ben gave her when he said, "I do." Soft, tender, fervent, and possessive. Exactly how she felt, mingled with intense relief.

  And then there was that moment when the minister declared them to the crowd. Amidst whoops and cheers and giggles and one yell of "Finally!" from some unknown guest, Ben took Erin in his arms, and their kiss was much more than a wedding day ritual. It tasted like homecoming, like forgiveness and release. It tasted like joy.

  And they were married.

  The ultimate adventure on her 35 by 35 bucket list was completed, box No. 15 checked. Everything from this point on would be a bonus. A gluttonous, adventure-filled life, now times two.

  CHAPTER SIX

  You Only Live Once

  April 19, thirteen months, three weeks to thirty-five

  Erin glanced over at Ben beside her in bed. Her MacBook was on her lap, resting on top of the thin duvet, and she was answering comments on the previous day's blog post. Ben's head was buried in his phone, probably checking email for an update on the clinical trial. A streak of late morning sunlight peeked through the slats in the shuttered eastern window, skipping across the duvet and raking a path of glowing highlights through his hair.

  Around them the space was quaint and worn in a picturesque way. The bedroom had rough stucco walls and antique painted furniture, and the view beyond the shutters was a too-perfect-to-be-real alien planet. If green were a smell, that was the scent that wafted through the slats, a smell of vine-ripened fruit and sunbaked earth. Being there alone, having the whole, sprawling place to themselves, was such an indulgence it felt as if they'd won the honeymoon prize.

  This was item No. 16 on Erin's 35 by 35 list, Rent a Tuscan villa. They were honeymooning across Italy, using connections she'd made through her blog for parts of the trip, including their stay in this four hundred-year-old farmhouse in a tiny village northwest of San Gimignano.

  Ben caught her gazing at him and shot her a lazy smile. "'Sup, Mrs. Bertram?"

  A thrill shot through her at the words. Even though she was keeping her maiden name professionally, she couldn't get over the fact that Ben's name was now legally hers.

  "You tell me." She smiled slyly and shifted her foot to slide her toes under his right calf. He tossed his phone onto the chipped, three-legged stool that served as his nightstand, and in the next movement he was beside her, his bare skin warm against hers.

  "Whatcha doing?" he murmured, lips grazing the side of her neck as he glanced around the edge of her laptop. When he saw the admin page of This Is 35 on the screen, he said, "How do you think your readers would feel to know you're typing this naked?" His fingers traced along her bicep and trailed down the side of her body.

  The words blurred across the screen as Erin's breathing sped up. "I don't think it's any of their business." She lifted the MacBook from her lap and leaned over the side of the bed to set it on the centuries-old terra-cotta floor.

  When she turned back to him, she snuggled deep into the warmth of his chest, snaking one arm up the smooth plane of his back. He had a long runner's frame, muscular and lithe, now with an added glow from the springtime Italian sunshine. She nuzzled her cheek against the two-day-old stubble on his chin.

  "Look at us," she murmured. "Married six days and already acting like an old married couple, sitting in bed and staring at electronic devices."

  He caught her bottom lip between his teeth. "I hope we're exactly like this when we're an old married couple."

  His voice was low and rough, and Erin didn't spare another thought about her computer or her readers or her show until the sun's rays shifted and then shifted again, casting high, midday shadows on the opposite wall.

  * * *

  The next day, Erin returned to answering comments on the blog, which was inescapable, though she was giving it as little attention as she could.

  After finishing her 30 First Dates blog challenge, she'd changed the name of the blog to This Is 35 and kept right on going. She'd blogged about her experiences from her list, her experiences in her new relationship with Ben, her experiences in her career, which moved very quickly after Bill Rice contacted her about a potential TV pilot.

  In less than a year's time, she'd had a national magazine column, a steady lineup of regular freelance work for magazines and websites, and a full-time job with a promising new reality show. She'd flown to New York for an interview with Bill, who'd ultimately become YOLO's showrunner, and then to Los Angeles for a panel interview with the creative team. At first she hadn't thought much would come of it—she'd read somewhere that ninety-two percent of new shows failed to launch. Reality shows were still a hot ticket but not as hot as they'd been a decade prior.

  But in the end, YOLO had been picked up by a network, and Erin's life had changed overnight. Instead of herb gardens and fad diets—and instead of blogging in general—her focus and time had gone to crisscrossing the U.S. for pre- and post-production meetings, going on location for filming, and hunkering down in the production studio for weeks on end while the crew worked to wrap each new season.

  Ben had stayed just as busy. Soon after their engagement he'd been promoted to head up his own lab, and his very first project in gene mapping had garnered national attention and write-ups in multiple journals and even a few newspapers and magazines. He had been constantly in the air, too.

  Eventually they'd gotten into a groove. Erin's schedule was seasonal, which meant she had long, regular reprieves in her travel itinerary, and that's when she'd managed to scratch off a few more items on the list. She'd taught College Algebra in Denton one fall as an adjunct professor. She'd filled pots with herbs like mint, basil, and thyme and turned their condo deck into a mini arboretum. She and Ben had spent several Sundays in a row plating food at a homeless shelter, something she still tried to do when she could. They'd signed up for a community center class and made a rudimentary attempt at learning to paint—Ben's stick figures at least had become rounded by the end of the class, and Erin's abstract blobs had become…well, slightly better abstract blobs. The main thing they'd learned was that their children weren't likely to be artistic.

  They had also managed to fit in an awe-inspiring trip to Guatemala. Ben had signed them up for a medical mission organized annually by the church affiliated with his hospital. For one week, they'd handed out to
iletry items, staffed classes on hygiene and sanitation, and assisted doctors and nurses as they administered exams and gave out medications to families. They'd spent time in two different villages amidst raw tropical foliage, colorful local culture, and some of the kindest, most joy-filled people Erin had met.

  For No. 10: Learn to water-ski, they'd camped with friends at Lake Whitney one sunny weekend and learned that Erin was a natural, and Ben wasn't. He'd managed to stay up on the skis for roughly three minutes of four-plus hours of water time. But it had been a fun weekend.

  Next Erin had dragged them down the Paleo path. Ben had taken to it more naturally than she had—when it came down to it, she loved her carbs. Breads and pastas and cookies and cupcakes…the non-wheat versions just weren't the same. That experiment hadn't lasted long.

  For No. 12: Visit Singapore & Thailand, they hadn't been able to get their schedules to mesh. Even though Ben had wanted to go, he'd just taken on a huge new project at the lab, and Erin hadn't been able to wait. And that was because YOLO had thrown a wrench into their plans.

  In season three, Bill Rice, along with Jarvis Greene, the show's executive producer, and Rishi Malhotra, production coordinator, had sat her down and asked what she thought about appearing on the show as a cast member. Ratings had dipped, and they wanted a gimmick more original than casting a season of B-list celebrities desperately seeking the spotlight—a sure sign that a reality show had jumped the shark. Erin, they'd thought, might be the ticket. Her bucket list and blog, after all, had inspired the concept of the show. Her image and a screenshot of her blog appeared in the opening montage of every episode. Plus, she had her own fan base from This Is 35 that could draw new viewers and social media buzz.