I Now Pronounce You Someone Else (13 page)

And, no, I would not ever have the perfect family I imagined the Lilywhites to be, but I could live with that. After all, I was joining a new family soon, a good and normal and wonderful new family, and happiness soon replaced heartache—the heartache of shelving a fantasy that had served me well for so long.

Well, some heartache lingered, but that was only natural. I was mourning the loss of Phoebe and everything she meant to me.

Jared’s postcard—
Having a good time, better if you were here. Miss you. Love you, JJS
—arrived the day he got home. Pat called me to come over about thirty minutes before he arrived that afternoon, and she and I sat talking over iced tea in the kitchen. She wanted to know how I was, if the stress of school and wedding planning was exhausting me, and, yes, some, but my Spring Break was coming up, and I was headed to Hilton Head with Mother, Whitt, and Sam for two weeks. It would be nice not to think about either for a bit.

I would think about Jared, though. And miss him.

He greeted me first, right out of his car, wrapping his arms around my waist, picking me up, twirling me a little, shooting his mom a quick excuse-us-please grin before he kissed me.

She winked and returned to the house.

“Can you tell I missed you?” he asked.

“You should go away more often.”

“No. I need to go away less. I hated being that far away from you. Here to Holland is far enough.”

“I hated it too.” Then I giggled some. “Nikki was right. You’re going to have to come with me when I do May Terms.”

“May Terms? Where are you doing May Terms?”

“I haven’t decided yet, but have you seen the list of places?”

“Sure. I did Vienna a couple summers ago, but that’s the whole summer.”

“Then you should come with me if I do it. You’ll know all the places we could go.”

“Bronwen,” Jared said, grabbing his bag from the back of his car, “I can’t go to Vienna with you for a whole summer. I’ll be working.”

“You get vacation.”

“Not three months.”

“Well, yeah.” We started toward the house. “But maybe a month. A May Term. There’s one in the UK, and since my dad was of Welsh descent, I thought—”

“Bronwen, I don’t know. I’d hate to make any promises only to disappoint you. I’ll only have a few weeks’ vacation, and I don’t know that I’ll want to spend all of them at one time. You know? Once you’re out of school, you’ve got to plan these things. I mean, what happens if I take it all in May and in December you want to go to Hilton Head with your folks. I won’t be able to, and I think it’ll be really awkward if you go without me. Don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah.” I waved a hand in front of my face. “You’re right. I completely get it. I just wasn’t thinking.”

“How about this,” he said, just before we stepped inside. “You make a list of every place you’d like to study
abroad, and I promise you that before you’re forty, I will take you to every single one of them.”

“Deal,” I said, and Pat startled us—we startled her—when she suddenly opened the back door.

“Oh. Hon.”

“Yes?” Jared said.

“Not you, hon.” She put an arm around me. “You, hon.” I nearly giggled. “You’re staying for dinner, right? Lauren just called. She and Spence are coming, and she specifically said she hoped you’d be here since she hasn’t seen you in weeks.”

Yay! I was getting a sister.

“What about me?” Jared playfully protested.

“Oh, well, she knew you’d be here. Now, Bronwen,” Pat said as she led me inside and began running the menu past me, and within minutes I was wearing an apron and stirring a wine sauce that would later top shrimp.

Meanwhile, Jared claimed he was just going to run upstairs to take a shower, but, after an hour and a half—an hour and a half that passed in lively conversation, especially after Jay and Lauren and Spence arrived—it was clear to all of us that he had fallen asleep. When he still had not risen by the time dinner was nearly ready, Pat asked me to wake him.

I could hear him snoring—I had to keep a hand over my mouth to keep from cracking up—about midway up the stairs, and in his room I found rousing him more difficult than I imagined. And just for a minute I wondered if this was a Sondervan family prank, if they were all
tiptoeing up the stairs behind me with
their
hands clapped over
their
mouths, waiting to turn me pink with a group
gotcha!
once Jared opened his eyes, because—really—who could possibly snore like this for real? I’m talking city ordinance noise levels here. But no. This was no joke. This really was Jared’s snore.

I shook him a few times. Then a few more. Said his name twice and was contemplating water and a good old-fashioned slap—okay, not really—when he finally stirred.

“Hmm?” he said, slowly opening his eyes and squinting me into focus, which produced a sleepy smile. “What time is it?”

“Dinner. It’s almost ready.”

“I’ll be down in twelve minutes,” he said as he stretched, and my eyes must have been bugging out of my head when I returned to the kitchen, because Pat just looked at me and knew.

“You heard him snoring, didn’t you?” she said.

Lauren groaned a little.

“He only does it when he’s very tired,” Pat said.

“Or when it’s fall or spring,” Lauren added.

“Fall or spring?”

“Allergies, but just get him to take any of the over-the-counter meds,” Lauren said. “If you can.”

“If I can? He won’t take them?”

“Hates them.”

“So he snores like that? Every night?”

“Oh, now don’t make her worry,” Pat said, patting my arm. “Bronwen, hon, we all find out, after we’re
married, about our spouse’s quirky habits. Jared hates taking pills. He’d rather sit in pain or not be able to breathe than take a pill.”

“He would?”

“Oh, he’ll break down eventually, so just make sure you always have them around,” she said.

“But that’s—that just seems so…odd. No offense. You know I love him.”

“No offense taken,” Pat said, effortlessly assembling food on plates. “Hon, in no time at all, Jared will be telling us about the funny things he’s learned about you. It’s all part of marriage.”

Jay leaned close to me and whispered, “He gets his snoring from his mother.”

Mental note:
Buy antihistamines for Jared as wedding present. In bulk.

That Sunday, before he returned to Hope, I cried at good-bye since I knew I would not see him for over a month. The following week, I was headed to Hilton Head. By the time we got home, it would be just a few weeks before Jared’s graduation, which was on Sunday, May 1. Much too hectic a time for carefree visits.

Jared stopped by my house before he left, talked a long time with Mother and Whitt about his recent trip to Columbus, and then walked with me out to his car where my tears began. I tried to smile through them—certainly I rolled my eyes through them. He pushed them away with his thumbs.

“And you thought you wanted to do a May Term away from me,” he teased.

“I know.”

“The time will go fast. You’ll see. And,” he said, producing a wrapped shoe box from the backseat of his car, “I got you something for your trip.”

“Can I open it now?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“You’ll see. You can unwrap the box,” he said, so I did, dropped the paper back into his car, and removed the lid to find three bottles of sunscreen and, it turned out, fourteen sealed envelopes, each with my name and a number—Day One, Day Two, etc.—printed in Jared’s very neat handwriting on the outside.

“I’ve written you a card a day for Hilton Head,” he said.

“Are you serious?” I thrilled and threw my free arm around him. “This is—You’re incredible. I cannot wait to open these.”

“You have to promise me you’ll do it on the designated days.”

“Okay, I promise. But, oh, it’ll be so hard.”

Then we kissed good-bye—
drive carefully; call me when you get there
—and I completely forgot about feeling sad by the time I called Kirsten. Which was immediately.

“You may have the single most perfect guy in the world,” she said.

“Yeah, I may have,” I said.

I didn’t tell her he snored.

But who could think too much about snoring when I had fourteen cards to open over the next two weeks?

Mother, Whitt, Sam, and I drove to Hilton Head, sixteen hours over a day and a half. We talked about what we were looking forward to and fun memories of the place and, of course, how much we’d miss Peter—you’re welcome, Mother—who was spending his break with Jenna in Florida.

Other times in the car we listened to audiobooks, and often I let myself be hypnotized by the road, which felt remarkably pleasant.

I opened Jared’s Day One card the moment I woke up on the day of departure, and discovered he had written his notes on index cards, and each one had a title.

Day One:
Bronwen Leaves For Hilton Head: Dear Bronwen, If you and I were going to Hilton Head together today, we would play the Cow Game in the car all the way there. One point for each cow we spot on our side of the road. Whoever has the most points by the time we’re there wins. It’s far more exciting than it sounds. I love you, JJS.

Day Five:
Shark Facts: Dear Bronwen, Unprovoked shark attacks seem to be on the rise. Therefore, if you see a shark, you’re less likely to be attacked if you provoke it. But I’d prefer it if you just got out of the water. I love you, JJS.

Day Nine:
My Sweet Bronwen: Dear Bronwen, If I ate
a gumdrop every time I thought of you during the week, my teeth would rot out of my head. I love you, JJS.

Very often, after opening the cards in the morning, I called him and just giggled my hello at him. And his mother was right. I was discovering a quirky side, and I loved it.

Hilton Head never failed to soothe. I took long walks on the beach with Sam every morning. I watched the occasional dolphin, squatted over starfish, and once poked a stick at a little crab half buried in the sand to see if it were dead. It wasn’t. It grabbed the stick, and I jumped half a foot.

“Did it get you?” Whitt asked with some urgency, jogging up behind me.

I almost jumped again. I didn’t know he was there.

“No,” I said and showed him the stick.

“Good.” He whistled for Sam, a little ahead of me and knee-deep in water. He came on a run.

“Can I join you?” Whitt asked.

“I’m just headed in.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow then.”

“Sure,” I said, but then I was on the phone to Jared, and the water beckoned Sam, so Whitt took him out without me.

Couple days later, when all of us were sitting in our little beach encampment—chairs, umbrella, books—Whitt abruptly headed off on a walk with Sam without inviting Mother or me along.

That was odd, and I was about to say so when Mother rather formally closed her book, looked at me, and said, “Bronwen, I’d like to talk to you.”

Ah, geez, it’s a setup.

“About what?”

“About birth control.”

“Oh, Mother.”
Eww.
“Stop. I’ve already talked to—” I named our family practitioner.

“Well, good. Yes, I assumed that you had. That’s not what I meant.”

“Do we have to have this conversation?”

“What I meant was that I’d like you to promise me not to have children while you’re in college.”

“Done. I promise.”

“Bronwen, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” I nearly shouted.

“Your aunt Miriam had children too young, and it was a terrible struggle for her for a long time.”

“Mother,” I said, “Milton knocked her up.”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Yes. Well, you see my point. She would have been much happier to wait.”

“I just said I’m going to.”

“I’m just making sure. I’ve heard Jared say how eager he is for his own family, and he is several years older than you.”

“You’re not listening to me. I’m not having kids in college. I’m not even sure I’m having them in my twenties.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m glad the two of you have settled that.”

“Yes, it’s settled,” I said, by which I meant that I was settled with it, and I stood then and announced I was going swimming but didn’t make it any farther into the water than my knees. I was kind of wigged out about sharks and unsettled about provoking or not provoking them. And, anyway, I just wanted to be left alone, to do my own thing, to not have kids anytime in the near or distant future, to not have to explain my choice or position, and to swim without formulating any kind of shark attack plan, and suddenly everyone but Sam was bugging me.

Later, I heard Mother whisper to Whitt that I was moody.

You think?!

The night before we left to come home, Whitt and I found ourselves alone on the second-floor deck, overlooking the ocean, or what we could see—more, hear—of it late at night. At first we exchanged general observations about the weather, the night sky, the ocean breeze, and all of it nice.

“Bronwen, is everything okay?” he finally asked, leaning his back against the deck railing. “You’ve seemed a little—uh—”

“Moody?” I said, which made us chuckle some.

“Is something bothering you?”

“Mother is bothering me. She’s butting in again and just needs not to.”

“She’s just worried. She’s a mother. It comes naturally. You’ll understand someday when you’re one.”

“I’m going to bed,” I said.

I wasn’t really tired. I just needed to escape.

Kirsten already knew that she wanted two children named Ian and Shelby, no matter how often I tried to convince her that
Ian
and
Shelby
were destined to run funny and collect bugs. But Ian and Shelby, or at least the certain knowledge that she would have two children someday, went hand in hand with her secret condo and job.

Sure, I wanted children. Someday. In the future. Yes, I could concede I wanted kids or a kid, maybe. No, yes. I’d prefer it if someone else actually carried and then delivered the baby because, to be honest, my fascination with the miracle of birth ends with the realization that the baby actually has to come out. And I’ve never looked at a pregnant woman and thought immediately that she was beautiful—no offense, pregnant women everywhere. It’s just that every time I see one, I wonder how her underwear stays up.

But then when I thought about Jared—especially Jared and me in this amorphous future, which was set everlastingly on the beach—I could see us clearly with
two towheaded kids, definitely not named Ian and Shelby. At the moment, I liked the image I held of this and figured I’d just stay on the pill until I wanted to make it a reality. If worst came to worst, if Jared wanted kids sooner than I did, I would just sneak the pill. I was sure I wasn’t the only female in the history of birth control to devise this plan.

I didn’t want to pester him with the Baby Conversation right before his graduation. And, anyway, it
was
settled in my mind. So when I got home and we talked, we talked about Hilton Head and Ottawa Beach, and it was almost Beach Season again, and I couldn’t wait for more long, delicious kisses at the Sondervans’ cottage at sunset.

April and May were the winding down months at school for me—well, for all seniors—and everyone including the teachers knew it. Seniors in good standing were not required to take finals, so I only had a couple of tests and a few papers left to write before I was, essentially, done.

My free time was consumed by Jared’s graduation plans, then my graduation plans, followed by the run-up fun to Lauren’s wedding and then, at last, my own.

I felt ever so sophisticated and breezy in that Oh, So Much To Do way and didn’t even mind that I skipped prom. It was so high school.

Kirsten, who also skipped prom, had a way of grounding me at this time, and it wasn’t always a welcome
anchorage. She had taken to keeping a running tally of the number of days it had been since we sat over coffee at the Java Bean. By the end of April it was thirty-six.

She sent me a text message:
Our fave table has probably been hijacked by sophomores by now.

I wrote back:
Sorry. So much to do.

She wrote back, irked:
Yeah. Pencil me in when u can.

She greeted me the next day at school with a curt
hi
, an entirely too abrupt locker-slam, and a fake “Wish I could talk, but I’ve got so much to do.”

And…
sigh.
I’d fix it later. It was Friday, and Sunday was Jared’s graduation. I had another dress fitting on Monday, the reception menu to finalize by Friday, and a practice session at my stylist’s—fooling around with hairdos and my veil—that I actually needed to schedule. I did have so much to do.

I rode with the Sondervans down to Holland on the day of graduation and found myself dodging people I knew and people I didn’t—so much hugging and posing and hand-shaking and moving. Boxes and furniture and televisions and luggage. And music from many windows poured onto the streets around campus.

The undergrads had already moved home for the summer. All who were left were the graduating seniors, slapping one another’s backs, taking pictures, choking up, or simply crying. And the sentiment was palpable:
Can you believe it’s been four years?

The scene confirmed exactly what I imagined college
would be and had begun to experience with Nikki and Brianna. These weren’t just friends saying
congrats
and
keep in touch.
These were family members saying
good-bye.

The ceremony itself was—okay, I admit it—long and boring for everyone but the grads and their parents. No, it felt great to see Jared receive his diploma. It felt great just to see him again, but
come on!
I felt like shouting at eight different points during the speaker’s address. And afterward, I felt a little selfishly prickly. I understood that this was a day of global celebrations, but, oh, I wanted some alone time with Jared.

Never got it.

We had dinner as the Sondervan Family or Family-to-Be back in Grand Rapids at Cascade Hills Country Club, of course. By the time it was over, everyone felt exhausted—there would be serious snoring tonight in that house—so I just had Jared drop me off. I even told him not to walk me to my front door, but it was Jared. He did.

“You’re next,” he said.

“That’s right. The twenty-seventh,” I said. “Can you believe it? Twenty-six short days away. How much do you want to bet that every single one of my relatives gives me a picture frame?”

“I’m probably going to crash when I get home,” he said and kissed me quickly, “so dream of me, okay?”

“Okay.”

Inside, after changing into far comfier clothes—something, by the way, I have never seen my mother do unless she’s getting ready for bed—I spent a few
minutes in the kitchen with her and Whitt, telling them all about the day.

At the end of it all, Whitt said, “You’re next.”

“That’s exactly what Jared said.”

And that turned into one of those organic dead ends we often ran into.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.”

Silence.

“Well, good night.”

Whew.

Later that week, as an early graduation present for me, Jared announced he wanted to take me to the Club Saturday night and present me with a huge surprise. Despite my begging, he would give me no hints.

On Saturday afternoon, while I was getting ready, I saw a mound of mail in the foyer, and one magazine stuck, folded in half, in the door slot. As I yanked it out, an envelope hidden inside it flew across the room, and the Hope College logo caught my eye at once.

It was addressed to me. I tore it open.

It was that mysterious and secret-filled document: the Roommate Questionnaire.