Carter
Maggie is not pleased to see me.
This is evident not only in her body language but in her language-language as well.
“Oh Jesus no,” she says.
“I came to cheer you up,” I say to the person upon whom my presence seems to be having the exact opposite effect.
“Carter,” Maggie says, literally smacking her hand to her forehead. “You’re in a tux. My god. You look so good. Even though
it’s a little big.”
“Facts,” I say, grinning. I bought the best option the Salvation Army had: a slightly oversize tuxedo with a dark purple bow
tie and cummerbund, which is currently pressing into my belly button in the most irritating way.
“But why are you— I told you not to come!”
“I know. I know you did, but . . .” What is the end of this sentence? Coming here made so much sense in the moment—my gut
was telling me that Maggie was nervous, that she needed me, and that maybe I needed to put myself out there, make the big,
selfless gesture—but now I’m seeing the alarm on Maggie’s face and all I can think is WHY THE HELL DID I COME HERE? “I thought
I could . . . Like, just now, I saw how thrown you were by your dad. I didn’t want you to be alone in that.”
“She’s not,” Shana says, not so mean but not so nice either. She and Ember are standing on the other side of Maggie, positioned in a way that, intentionally or not, blocks me from the view of the other wedding guests.
“Yeah,” Maggie says, eyes shifty, clearly terrified that I’ll be spotted. “I appreciate you being here, it’s so sweet, but— It’s
really not good if— I just—”
“I also brought my camera,” I say, pointing at the device strapped around my neck. I figured if anything went awry, I could
just say I was here to help out by taking some photos. It’s hard to argue with that, right? It’s a nice gesture!
“You have to leave, Carter,” Shana growls, with a conviction that is highly persuasive. “Okay? That’s what she’s saying.”
“Yeah, okay.” I try to sound chill even as a small crack ripples down one of my heart chambers. “I get it. Sorry.”
“It’s not you, Carter,” Maggie says, her voice wobbling. “It’s really not. It’s just my—”
“Family,” I finish for her. Part of my logic had been that maybe Maggie’s family would be most likely to accept us as a couple again here, at a wedding, when everyone’s in a spectacular mood. Like when I was in fifth grade at
Uncle Jed and Uncle Flip’s wedding, and Mom and Dad were so happy, they let Lincoln and me sit at the table and play on their
phones for, like, two hours. Unheard of! I broke my high score in Tiny Wings by so much.
“Guess I didn’t think this through,” I say. “My bad.” I take a few steps backward toward a large tree. A fat raindrop plunks
onto my neck.
“Oh, great,” Maggie says, flinching as she gets hit by one too.
“Operation: Canopy Relocation is a go!” It’s the older woman from Bean-Age Dream, wearing a suit, all business.
She points to Shana. “Grab your ax.” She turns to Ember.
“I’ll help you move your drum kit. Maggie, you take your keyboard with the help of .
. . You!” She points to me as I try to casually position a hand on the tree trunk.
“Be a pal and carry this keyboard with Maggie over to the canopy.”
“Oh,” I say. “I probably shouldn’t—”
“Come on, man, this ain’t brain science! She picks up on one side; you get the other! Before the rain turns it into a useless
piece of junk.”
“He, um, was actually just leaving, Misty,” Maggie says, nodding me away, “so I’ll find someone else to—”
“Fine, fine!” Misty says, hefting Ember’s bass drum into the air and walking it across the yard with quick, tiny steps as
Shana and Ember follow with, respectively, a guitar and a high hat. “Just move it!”
The raindrops are picking up. I look to Maggie, like You sure you don’t want me to move it with you?
“Go, Coco! Please! Just leave!”
And I’m about to go, I really am, but then:
“Here, pick up your side,” an older girl says, gesturing to the keyboard, “and I’ll get this . . .”
Her sentence peters out. I realize this is Maggie’s older sister, who I vaguely recognize from when I was fifteen. She is
staring at me.
I could run away. I probably should run away.
But Vivian Spear seems to have already identified me.
I decide to address the problem head-on.
“Hi there,” I say with a wave.
“What’re you— What is he doing here, Maggie?”
“Oh, him?” Maggie asks, and I can tell she’s flipping out, like maybe on the verge of a panic attack. “I don’t . . . Um, I think he said he was just . . .”
“Here to take pictures,” I say, holding up my camera. Hell yeah, backup plan!
“We have a professional photographer for that,” Vivian says, eyes shifting back and forth between me and her sister.
“You’re gonna wanna get this keyboard under the canopy pronto,” Ron says, joining our horribly awkward gathering with a huge
white umbrella held overhead.
“They actually say rain during a wedding is good luck,” Maggie’s mom says, huddling next to Ron. “But we should—” There’s
a thick, terrible pause as I’m spotted. She looks to her younger daughter. “Maggie?”
I have to speak up. For myself. For Maggie. For both of us.
“This is my fault,” I say, stepping away from the tree toward the group. “Maggie specifically told me not to come, and I should
have listened, so I’m really sorry.”
“Oh my,” Maggie’s mom says, under her breath but loud enough to hear.
The rain starts coming down a little faster, like someone has nudged the sky’s shower handle.
“Carter,” Maggie says, somehow more panicky than ever, not calmed at all by my openhearted attempt to take control of the
situation. “Please. Don’t say anything else. Just go. You heard— We have a photographer, okay?”
“That keyboard should not be out here,” Maggie’s dad says, wandering up to our circle.
“I’ve been saying that this whole time!” Misty shouts, having returned from dropping off the bass drum. “Come on, come on!” She and Maggie’s dad crab-walk the keyboard over to the canopy.
“Here’s the thing,” I say. I need to cut to the chase if I want to win over Maggie’s family. “I completely get why you wouldn’t
want Maggie dating me again.”
“Again?” Vivian says.
“Maggie tried not to date me this time! She really did. But somehow we were drawn together again.”
“Ohmigod,” Vivian says.
“I know, I know.” I put up a hand toward Vivian, which is meant to be calming, but she mostly looks like she wants to punch
me. Must try harder. Must persuade better. “Here’s what I’m starting to realize, though: Maybe connection is connection, whether
you ultimately remember it or not, you know?
“So maybe it’s not a waste for me and Maggie to have this time together. Maybe it can still be a beautiful thing, to be with
someone you like being with, to laugh with them, to confide in them, to see them for who they are and know they’re seeing
you for who you are too. Even if it ends, or reboots or whatever, maybe it’s all still worth it. You know?”
There’s a nightmare of a pause as everyone stares at me.
Finally, Ron breaks the silence.
“I have no idea what specifically you’re talking about,” he says, “but I love the sentiment.”
No else seems even slightly won over by my speech. Vivian and Maggie’s mom both seem kind of shocked, and they’re not even
looking at me anymore. They’re looking at Maggie.
“Last point to make,” I say, trying to adjust my cummerbund lower because it’s a suffocating accessory with a ridiculous name, “and then I’ll stop talking, I swear.
It’s possible I won’t erase on my next birthday.
This loop may have started because of the way I broke up with Layla Banerjee the night before,
but I apologized to her—”
“STOP TALKING!” Maggie shouts.
I look over, and she’s soaked. I can’t tell if she’s shaking with anger or from the cold. Possibly both.
“I told you not to come here, and I told you to stop, but you wouldn’t and you didn’t, and I don’t know why you won’t stop
talking!”
“You’re dating Carter,” Vivian says, now also holding a white umbrella.
“I was trying not to date him, I swear!” Maggie says, suddenly sobbing. “Vivvy, I’m sorry!”
“Did you know?” Vivian asks their mom.
“Well,” Mom says, looking to Ron for a way out of this, “not that it was happening again!”
“Wow,” Vivian says.
I’m beginning to think there’s more to what’s going on right now than I’m aware of.
“What you were talking about at the diner,” Vivian says, looking so disappointed in Maggie it makes me want to hide behind the tree again. “That was about him.”
“I wanted to tell you!” Maggie says, pushing away the open white umbrella that a server is trying to hand her. “But I just . . .
What else can I say but sorry?”
“I’m not sure,” Vivian says, raising her voice over the rain. “Maybe I don’t know why I decided to date the one guy in the world who’s ever broken your heart. Maybe that would be helpful for me to hear?”
“Don’t mean to be a party pooper,” Misty says, “but I think we’d all be best served shifting this conversation to somewhere
beneath the canopy.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, choosing to ignore Misty, as it seems everyone else standing here is also choosing to do, “but can we
go back to that last part? Because it sounded like Vivian said I was the one guy in the world who’s ever broken her heart. But that definitely feels like something that
Maggie would’ve told me.” I turn to Maggie. “Right?”
She’s still crying. She doesn’t seem angry anymore. Just sad.
“Maggie, right?” I repeat. “Can you catch me up on what the hell is going on?”
Maggie chokes back another sob and shakes her head, looking like she’s just climbed out of a carnival dunk tank. In the distance,
there’s a clap of thunder. “Layla wasn’t the one you dumped that night,” she says. “It was . . .” She can’t get out the name
so she just gives a weak nod in Vivian’s direction.
The yard spins. I almost topple over.
“Why did . . .” I say once I’ve regained my balance. “This isn’t a joke?”
“No,” Vivian says, her voice cold.
I can’t look at her.
“So you lied to me,” I say to Maggie.
“I don’t know,” Maggie says. “It just . . .”
“You straight-up lied to me. As if this shit isn’t hard enough already.”
“I know! I know it’s terrible. But people always like Vivian more than me. And I worried that you’d . . . I did it wrong.
I’m sorry, Carter. I’m so sorry.”
“You sat there,” I say, “and watched me give a big apology to Layla Banerjee, knowing she wasn’t even the right person!”
“I was gonna tell you that afternoon—”
“But you didn’t.”
Maggie shrugs and shakes her head, crying too hard to speak.
“This is . . .” I don’t know what else to say.
I need to leave.
“Apologies to all if I ruined this special day,” I say, too overwhelmed to look anywhere but at the grass as I back away.
I came here to put myself out there, and instead, I seem like a complete idiot.
“Carter, wait,” Maggie says.
I break into a jog, then a run, then a sprint, feeling the weight of my waterlogged tuxedo.
Guess I’m soaked too.
I hop into Toro and drive away, yanking off the stupid cummerbund and tossing it onto the floor.