Save the Date(78)

“Are you drinking the water?” Bill asked, pointing to the bottle in the backseat cup holder, which we’d picked up at the bagel shop for him.

Mike turned his head to look at it, grimacing. He reached out, gave a feeble attempt to open it, then slumped back against the window again. “Too hard,” he moaned.

“I’ll get it,” Bill said, reaching into the back and opening the cap again. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” I whispered to him.

“It’s fine,” he said, glancing into the backseat again. “Think he’ll be okay for the wedding?”

“He just needs sleep,” I said, hoping this was true. “And water.” I looked at the two huge Upper Crust bags that were sitting at Bill’s feet, containing enough bagels and cream cheese to feed an army. “You want a bagel, Mike?” Bill lifted one of the bags and held it out to him.

“Oh my god.” Mike groaned, turning his head away.

My phone rang, and the car Bluetooth picked it up—and I could see it was Siobhan calling. I closed my eyes for a second as I remembered that with everything happening today, I’d never called her back. “Hi,” I said, answering it, already speaking fast. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday—things have been so crazy here you wouldn’t believe it. What’s happening? Tell me what’s going on with the roommate situation.”

“Well, before that,” Siobhan said. “I have some bad news.”

“What’s going on?”

“They canceled our flight last night, and the next one we could get on doesn’t get in until Sunday.”

“But the wedding’s tonight.”

“I know,” Siobhan said. “I’m so sorry to miss it—do you think Linnie will be mad?”

“I’m mad!” I snapped.

“Charlie,” Mike mumbled from the backseat. “Could you just . . . maybe not with the yelling?”

“The flight was canceled,” Siobhan said, her voice getting tenser. “It’s not my fault.”

“Well, did you ever think maybe you shouldn’t have gone to Michigan the weekend of my sister’s wedding? I can’t believe you’re telling me this now!”

“Um, well, maybe if you had called me back I would have told you yesterday!” Siobhan said, sounding increasingly angry.

I glanced over at Bill, who was looking fixedly down at his phone, like he was trying to pretend he’d gone temporarily deaf. “I’ve been really busy. There’s been a lot to deal with here—”

“I don’t know why I’m even surprised. You did what you always do—the second your family shows up, it’s like I don’t exist.”

“Are we really doing this now? Again?”

“Um, yeah, because you do this every time. I’m always here for you, to listen to you talk about Jesse nonstop . . . ,” Siobhan said. I glanced quickly into the rearview mirror, but Mike’s eyes were closed. “But the second I need you, if your family’s around, you’re MIA. It’s like I don’t even matter.”

I took a breath to try and argue with this, even though I knew, deep down, she was right.

“And don’t make me feel bad for going to visit my college just because you’re not excited about going.”

“Oh, now this is my fault?”

I heard Siobhan let out a breath, like she was trying to keep herself from yelling again. “I didn’t say that. But it’s like you don’t even want to talk about what’s going to happen next year. It’s like you think you’re going to keep on going to high school, staying in that same house forever.”

“No, I don’t,” I said automatically, without even stopping to wonder if she was right.

“Oh yeah?” Siobhan’s tone was suddenly biting. “So then I guess you finally told Stanwich you’re going there. And you told your other schools not to hold your spot. You’ve picked out your classes and finished your roommate survey?” This hung in the air for just a moment, and I bit my lip, since we both knew what the answers to these questions were. “All you’ve been talking about for months is this weekend, and getting to be with your family again. What happens when this weekend is over?”

I drew in a sharp breath. It felt like Siobhan had just gut-punched me—that unexpected, that painful.

“I’d say call me back later,” Siobhan said, “but I have a feeling you won’t. Tell Linnie I’m sorry.” And then she hung up.

I gripped the steering wheel hard, feeling my hands shake slightly. It was the first real fight we had ever had. A fight that wasn’t just about what movie to watch or how many minutes constituted being late for something or if you were obligated to share mozzarella sticks. This was a fight that had actually meant something.

But she didn’t know what she was talking about. There was nothing wrong with wanting to see your family. There was nothing wrong with wanting to have a great weekend for your sister’s wedding, and I wasn’t about to let her make me think that there was.

We drove the rest of the way home in silence, Bill looking down at his phone and Mike groaning softly from the back whenever I took a curve too sharply. As I got nearer to our house, I realized that there was now nowhere to park in the driveway. Crowding around the drive, and in front of the garage, were twice the vehicles that had been there when I left. There were Tent City and Where There’s A Will trucks, a truck with MCARDLE’S FLOWERS printed on the side, and two white catering vans in front that had people clustered around, pulling out platters and rolling trays. I wasn’t sure what the dented minivan that was half on the driveway, half spilling into the road was for. It had AWYWI! printed on the side in letters that were peeling slightly, but that didn’t mean anything to me.