I Now Pronounce You Someone Else (14 page)

There followed some easy yes-no questions about smoking and smokers, and then came the fill-in-the-blanks.

I read through everything twice, could decipher no super top secret code, and started filling the thing out, which really didn’t take long.

Evening person, cool, average, sometimes.

In some places, I wanted to write my own answers in the margins—especially about letting a roommate I’d never seen before borrow my clothes—but didn’t. (
She doesn’t have a contagious skin disorder, does she? Because then it’s a definite no, and I might like a reassignment, no offense to her.
)

And then I remembered: There would be no reassignments and no roommates, no dancing in the halls, no Diet Coke and conversation until dawn, no Cook Hall,
no Beeuwkes Cottage, and…
sigh.
I would miss these things, but at least I had had a taste of them, and that would be enough. It wasn’t like I wasn’t going to college at all. And I’d still make great friends there, lifelong friends. In class. Or other places.

I called Jared and asked, “What is the secret of the Roommate Questionnaire? Mine just came.”

Seconds passed, and nothing.

Finally, I asked, “Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just wondering why you have one.”

“Oh,” I said dismissively, “I was planning on living on campus when I filled out the application. Remember?” Wasn’t that something like ten years ago? It felt like such a long time suddenly. “I’ll call the registrar Monday to tell them I’ll be commuting, but it reminded me that you never told me the secret.”

“Ah,” he said, relieved. “The secret is to be completely honest. I’ve known too many people who lie on the thing and say they’re really quiet and read books all the time when they’re not and they don’t. Just so they can have a quiet roommate. But then you’re stuck with someone completely incompatible and usually someone who’s there all the time, and no one wants that.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s everything.”

“I’m filling this out just for the fun of it.”

“Send me the answers when you’re done. I’d love to see them.”

“I have a better idea.”

“Yeah? Let’s hear it.”

“Give me forty-five minutes. Then check your e-mail.”

It took about thirty minutes to write and ten to proofread before I sent it off.

The
Jared Sondervan–Bronwen Oliver Soon-to-Be Roommates Questionnaire: The Definitive Albeit Unscientific Method for Determining a Couple’s Compatibility.

Jared filled it out and sent it back with a note:
Done. Bring this and your answers tonight at dinner. It’s going to be a Big Night. Lots to discuss. Love you, JJS.

These were our answers:

           
1. Are you a morning person or an evening person?

Jared:
Morning. Definitely morning.

Bronwen:
It does depend, but I’d rule out morning if it’s before eight.

           
2. Do you eat meat?

Jared:
Yep. Doesn’t matter to me if it had legs or not. Some legs are delicious.

Bronwen:
Barf.

           
3. Do you care if your roommate eats meat?

Jared:
I’ve seen her eat meat. I care if she does since I know she hates it.

Bronwen:
I’m sort of hoping to turn him on to fish and pasta a little bit more.

           
4. What are your thoughts on ketchup?

Jared:
I have no thoughts on ketchup.

Bronwen:
I have issues.

           
5. Are you related to crazy people?

Jared:
Not compared to some people’s relatives.

Bronwen:
The jury’s still out. I’m thinking about demanding a DNA test.

           
6. How many days a week do you read a newspaper or news magazine?

Jared:
Couple. Three. I’ll do it more when I have more time.

Bronwen:
Every single day and sometimes more than once each day.

           
7. How many kittens do you want?

Jared:
I’d love to have a houseful for my fiancée, but I can’t. I’m allergic.

Bronwen:
Six, but I’ll settle for two, and I realize my fiancé is allergic, so he’ll just have to start taking those allergy pills he hates, which, by the way, will also alleviate his snoring, so—look—two problems solved with the help of kittens.

           
8. What’s your favorite type of music?

Jared:
Modern jazz.

Bronwen:
All that eighties crap.

           
9. Least favorite?

Jared:
Oompah bands.

Bronwen:
A child with a flute.

           
10. Do you believe in the overthrow of a corrupt dictatorship by force or diplomacy?

Jared:
Force.

Bronwen:
I’m a pacifist; if I can’t get along, I think I’d just leave.

           
11. Name three places you would like to visit in the next five years.

Jared:
China, Japan, Hong Kong.

Bronwen:
Wales, England, Austria.

           
12. Describe your perfect day.

Jared:
Any day with Bronwen in it.

Bronwen:
A day at the beach with Jared, coming home to my six—or two—cats.

Do I even need to say that I just
awwww
ed over his answer to number twelve? Okay, yes, in some ways we weren’t one hundred percent the same, but who wants that? And I already knew he was a meat-eating early riser with bad allergies.

His travel answer surprised me. I didn’t have any interest in seeing any of those places. Moreover, he had never said he did, but like he explained a while back, once he found a job, he’d only have a few weeks’ vacation each year. We’d spend them someplace we both liked—like Wales, England, or Austria.

Anyway, this was just for fun. It’s not like I asked him to analyze ink spots or the symbols in his dreams. Nothing real. Except for the question about kittens. And the one about music. And travel. And a perfect day. And maybe there were some I should have asked but didn’t.

So, yes. We had things to discuss at dinner. Possibly lots as Jared had said.

But did you see his answer to number twelve? Wasn’t that great?

He picked me up at six o’clock, looking perfectly perfect in his new blue blazer and light dress pants. Lauren
had practically bought him a whole new wardrobe for graduation. “A work wardrobe,” she called it, and I approved of every piece.

“You’re ready for
GQ
,” I said in the car.

“That’s me,” he said. “Computer engineer by day,
GQ
model by night.”

At the Club, I ordered sparkling water to Jared’s beer so that I didn’t look like a ten-year-old with a soda out with her older brother.

“I need to make a toast,” Jared said.

“Is this the huge surprise?”

“Huge,” he said. We raised and clinked our glasses. “This is to our future, which just this past week got a whole lot more exciting.”

“Really?”

“I, Jared Sondervan, super-fabulous fiancé that I try to be—”

“And are.”

“Thank you. I am the newest employee of the fastestgrowing IT consulting and services company in the country.”

“You got a job?”

“Fifty thousand a year, starting salary. Fifty thousand a year, Bronwen. Plus benefits, and if I want to go to grad school, they’ll pay for it. I start July fifth.”

“Oh, Jared. Congratulations. I am so happy for you.”

He told me more about the job—a developer/ analyst for itForce, LLC. He’d be building applications that would run via the Internet or on individual computers for the company’s clients.

“Building applications. That’s—that’s what I’m good at. That’s what I want to be doing, and this company—Bronwen, you wouldn’t believe how great this company is. Super-nice people. Bright. Interesting. I spent three days there, and I swear it’s like a family. A big one, but still, it’s this great feeling, and you should see the offices. The building’s two years old. Quiet. Windows, smoked glass. It’s—it’s more than I ever imagined starting out. Everything’s falling into place for us.”

“Yes. For us.”

We clinked glasses a second time.

“There’s just one tiny little hitch,” he said.

“Is there a commute?”

“Not really.”

“Then what?” I asked.

“It’s in Columbus, Ohio.”

The server, Jared, and I all helped mop up the water I spilled when I dropped my glass. It didn’t break, so that was good.

Sorry, sorry, I am so sorry
, I wanted to say but couldn’t. Couldn’t speak at all, just mopped.

“That was…graceful,” he teased once the table was dry and my glass was replaced.

“Columbus. Ohio. You’re going to Columbus.”

“Well,
we’re
going to Columbus, if I take it.”

“Columbus.”

My heart pounded and I might have excused myself to the safety of the ladies’ room had Jared not reached for my hand and held it tightly.

“Now, listen. I know you’re upset, but listen. This isn’t a bad thing. It’s an incredible thing.”

“It’s a big thing,” I managed.

“Oh. Huge. But now just listen. This isn’t just for me. It’s for us,” he said again. “Us.”

I could see the excitement in his eyes, on his whole face, and, oh, it drew me into him.
Us
, he said.
It’s for
us.
My hands shook, and I found it a little difficult to catch my breath—this was unsettling news—but I was an Us now, and that’s where I found my anchor.

I wasn’t just Bronwen anymore. I was Bronwen-and-Jared. Someone Else and Someone Else’s. And I loved being an Us and loved that there was at least one person in this whole, strange world who not only made me into an Us but actually thought about doing things
for
Us. It’s what I’d wanted all along.

This would be okay. It would take some serious getting used to, but it would be okay.

“What about—”

“School?” He grinned at me. “I knew that would be your first question. And I’ve already taken care of it. You have three choices, all in the city of Columbus. The Ohio State University, where, I’ll have you know, the campus paper comes out three times a week. Then there are two small liberal arts colleges, exactly like Hope. And get this. They’re all in the same athletic league as Hope. They’re practically the same thing.”

I brightened. “Really?”

“There’s Otterbein College and then Capital University. I saw them both, and you’ll love them, and, keeping with me being your super-fabulous, soon-to-be gainfully employed fiancé, I got applications to all three of them for you.”

“Where are they?”

“In my car. The only thing is that you couldn’t start anywhere until January, and I know—believe me, I know—this is happening quickly. I didn’t want to tell you
any sooner in the event I didn’t get the job, and then you’d feel sorry for me and worry about money, and I just didn’t want to go into all that. But this—don’t you think this is even better? It’s so much less stress if you think about it. You’ll have all those months to get to know the city, and you already know my friend Zach. He lives there. He can show us around. And here’s the best part.”

“There’s more?” I asked, half excited, half overwhelmed.

“My parents are giving us a down payment for a condo as a wedding present. Zach and his parents are looking into places for us already.”

I puffed a little laugh of sheer disbelief at all the news.

“It’s wild, isn’t it?” he asked. “Well, as wild as it could be for the Midwest. But Bronwen, you’re going to love it. And the best part is that we’ll really be on our own, not living in my parents’ cottage like we’re little kids. It’ll be us.”

Us!
I sighed at the sound of it.

“Yes. Yes, it’ll be Us,” I said.

He talked about Columbus and the job all through dinner. I didn’t remember ordering, never mind eating. Could have been a burger for all I knew. His enthusiasm coupled with my ideas of Us swept me into a whirlwind of excitement and, yes, some apprehension, but nothing unexpected, nothing I couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t until after dinner, when Jared was explaining the news to Mother’s and Whitt’s stunned faces, that
I began to feel a pain in my stomach—probably the burger I didn’t eat—and a general light-headedness I couldn’t fully explain. But I forced a cheery grin to my face to match Jared’s and felt a certain amount of relief when, after he left, Mother approved the plan, cautiously, by saying, “January gives you much more time to get settled into your new life.”

“It does,” I agreed and excused myself to bed.

Yet, upstairs, I found I couldn’t sleep. I pulled all the college materials Jared had collected in Columbus from the envelope he gave me and glanced haphazardly over brochures and applications. The glossy photos of brick buildings, shaded walks, and smiling collegians soothed a little of my anxiety since they appeared so similar to Hope. And maybe if I had heard about these schools—the smaller ones; no offense, Ohio State—a little earlier, I’d have put them on my College Choice List. Maybe. I didn’t know. I might have looked more closely at them. Like I was just then.

And it
was
just then, at the thought of my College Choice List, when I dropped my hands onto the mess of papers and buildings and walks and collegians on the desk in front of me. This wasn’t my list. This was Jared’s list. Yes, it was his list for
me
, and, yes, Capital University and Otterbein College looked as inviting as Hope, and Jared knew me, knew what I liked, knew I could be happy there, so that was good, but it was still his list. And he made it without consulting me.

Okay, but wait. Columbus would be good for Us. He was right. I wholly understood his argument. But shouldn’t
he have asked me first, anyway? And then what if I said no? He turns down his dream job?

No, that’s no good. This isn’t about me. It’s about Us.

I had to keep reminding myself of that.

Kirsten cried in my bedroom the next day. In all the years I had known her, she had only cried once in front of me—four years earlier, when her grandmother died—but she dissolved into tears when I told her my new plan, and I let myself join in the sob for a few seconds.

“I know we weren’t going to live together at Hope, but I thought I’d at least see you every day,” she said, drying her eyes.

“I know, but Columbus is just six hours away. I can come home every weekend if I want.”

“You’re not going to come home every weekend.”

“No,” I said. “But I’ll still come up all the time. And you’ll come down.”

“People say that, but they never do.”

“Kirsten, people say they’re going to get married on a beach, and they never do, but I am,” I said, squeezing her hand a little, trying to get her to smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just can’t feel happy about this right now.”

“I’m marrying Jared. And I love him, and he loves me. Can’t you be happy for me about that?”

“I’m trying, Bronwen, but I have to be honest, I really don’t know that I can be. I mean, I’m looking at you thinking whatever Jared wants, you do.”

“It’s what I want too,” I snapped. “It’s just a change of plans. And I love him. And he loves me.”

“You said that. But all I see is you rearranging your entire life for him.”

“That’s because it’s what’s best for Us. We’re both thinking about Us. That’s how it works when you’re not just dating, when you can just be selfish and do whatever you want, and everything’s easy.”

She cleared her throat, stood up, walked to the door.

“Kirsten, I didn’t mean that you’re selfish. I just mean that you don’t know what it’s like to plan your life with someone.”

“What happened to planning
your
life, Bronwen?”

“You’re not listening to me,” I nearly shouted. “I
am
planning my life. Plans change. I didn’t know I needed your permission or approval every time that happened.”

“I didn’t know my opinion meant so little to you.”

“Yeah, well, right now you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine. Tell yourself that when I say you’re making a huge mistake,” she said.

And she left.

After that—I’d show her; I’d show everyone—I pulled one of the applications from the pile of them—Capital University, sure, why not—and filled the thing out. By Monday afternoon, I had copies of every single record I needed to complete the packet. And I licked the envelope and sealed it shut and
pound, pound, pound
just to make sure nothing was going to slip out between Grand Rapids and Columbus, and I mailed it, and Jared cheered over the phone when I told him it was done.

Only it wasn’t.

It wasn’t the Capital University admission application I sent.

It was the Hope College Roommate Questionnaire.

And it wasn’t an accident.

I hadn’t grabbed the wrong envelope.

I had no idea what I was doing.