I jolt awake yet again, my head smacking against cool glass. I'm sitting up this time, and the hum of a vehicle lets me know I'm in a car. Cautiously, I turn my head to find Nessa staring at me from across the backseat, her arms folded and her lips pressed together.
I close my eyes and sigh. How drunk was I last night? Surely I wouldn't have gone back to the reception? But what was the other explanation? She certainly hadn't come to find me last night. But how had I fallen asleep at the bar and woken up in a car with her.
"Christ," I whisper, bending over to hold my own head. "I'm sorry, Nessa."
"You should be."
I hang my head lower between my arms.
"I need someone to calm my wedding day jitters. How am I supposed to do that if you're snoring like a chainsaw?"
I snap my head up. "What?"
"You keep denying you snore, but it's true. I shared a room with you for four years, trust me. I know."
"What?" I repeat, squinting.
"Do you remember that time the fire alarm woke us up?" Nessa continues, then shakes her head. "I was already awake. Because I had a dream where I was in this earthquake, and everything was rumbling. Constantly. It never stopped. It was so bad, I woke up, only to find that the noise was actually you"âshe pokes me for good measureâ"snoring your lungs out."
"Okay," I agree. She can tell me I snore, even though I don't. I'm too glad she's still talking to me to argue. "But why would you have wedding day jitters? You're already married."
"What?"
I frown at the genuine confusion on her face. "What?" I ask back.
"Wait, why would you think that?" Nessa presses. "Who told you that?"
"What? No one, Iâwhat day is it?" I interrupt myself, dread blossoming in my stomach. This can't be happening again. I wrestle with my pocket until it relinquishes my phone and stare at the screen. June 1, 2018. The screen is nice and big and notched.
But it should be June 2. Because I passed out in a bar on June 1, and now it's light out, which if the universe is still obeying the laws of physics and the apocalypse hasn't wiped out my phone's link to the atomic clock, means that the date should have advanced.
I grab Nessa's phone out of her hands, noting their stickiness, and compare the date on her lock screen with mine. They're identical.
Am I still dreaming? But why are my dreams more like memories? And why are they so real?
I remember my insane conclusion during last night's dream. Time travel? Was that really possible? Maybe I drank so much after the disastrous reception that I died of alcohol poisoning, and now I've been sentenced to live the worst days of my life over and over again in an endless cycle.
"Am I dead?" I blurt.
"Yes, if you don't tell me who's spreading rumors about me and Connor on our wedding day!" she exclaims, snatching her phone back. "It's Connor's aunt, isn't it? She seemed twitchy when I met her last week. I knew I didn't like her!"
"It was no one," I assure her quickly. "I just woke up with a scrambled brain. Sorry. I...must've dreamed the wedding or something."
I'm still not sure which part was the dream, if any.
Nessa sighs. "You swear?"
I cross my heart with my finger, and she nods.
The car stops, and she throws her door open. I wish I could tell her the truth. Not about going crazy and time travelingâshe'd have me committedâbut what I tried to tell her last night. Connor isn't around to misinterpret and take credit for my nonexistent feelings toward him. I can actually talk to her.
"Are you getting out, Miss?" the driver asks, startling me.
"Yes. Sorry." I recognize him as the same man who drove us here yesterday. Or today. The last time I did this. My head is exploding.
I don't want to get brain matter all over his poor car, so I follow Nessa into the church's parking lot.
"Can you go in first?" Nessa asks at the door. "Just to make sure Connor isn't inside."
I oblige, even though it's more likely that Connor will appear outside. He's never late, but he's never early, either. Especially not by several hours.
However, I rethink my logic when I find Cam pacing the pews, setting folded paper programs down on the benches. He looks up when I enter and winks.
Effing Cam.
Okay. We're the only two without plus-ones at this thing, so maybe we should stick together.
"Hey, is Connor here?" I ask politely instead of swearing at him. If I have a chance to do this over again, maybe I can start off on the right foot with him instead.
"No, just the better version."
Nope. Not going to work. "I hope that's not you."
"Hm, wanna find out?"
All I hear is Connor's voice asking if I want to get out of that bar.
"No thanks, I'm good," I say firmly, then flee for the parking lot.
"Please," I tell Nessa. "Come inside. Save me from the Mariani curse."
She hesitates.
"Cam," I add.
She sighs in relief and follows me in.
"Hey Nessa?" I venture as we step into a small room off the entrance, where the dresses are already laid out and waiting for us.
"Yeah?"
I hesitate. "Do you remember St. Patrick's Day five years ago?"
She eyes me. "Of course. It's the day Connor and I met."
She conveniently fails to mention it's also the day she walked in on me and Connor, and I'm glad for that. It's not my intention. "And then we ordered pizza."
"I ordered pizza," she corrects, visibly relieved at the direction of the conversation. "You slept through the whole thing. Which, now that I think about it, was pretty unlike you. I've never known you to turn down food."
"Yeah," I mumble absently. "I guess I wasn't feeling like myself that morning."
So my options are still asleep, dead, or time traveler. If I'd dreamed the wedding and party yesterday and then woken up in her car, she wouldn't remember me conking out before the pizza. Because in real life, I was the one who placed the order.
Asleep would be the most reasonable explanation, except that I never dream like this. Dead would be unfortunate, but apparently not the end of the world. Time travel would be theoretical at best. This isn't a science fiction novel.
"Lana, could you help me with this?"
I glance at Nessa as she holds up her dress, and I set to work.
Two hours fly by when you're busy tying your secret crush into her wedding dress like it's some kind of prison. The bridesmaids filter in, Connor's cousin and two old high school friends of Nessa's. I smile briefly at them before turning back to the bride's monologue.
"Do you think the programs are on the seats? Do you think there are enough? I didn't count them. I said a hundred and fifty, but I never double-checked...."
"Nessa, I'm sure it's fine," I try to reassure her, but she only gnaws on her lip. "I'll go check, okay? You stay here."
I hesitate, a comment about how beautiful she looks hanging on the edge of my tongue. But I bite it back and step outside to take stock. The church is filling up quickly, quiet murmurs overlapping each other into a thunderous cacophony.
"Lana, thank god. Is she in there? Is she ready?"
I blink, trying to wrestle out of the painful grip Connor closes around my shoulders. "Yes. And yes."
"Is she going to come out? Not right now, butâyou know, when it's time? She's still going to do it, right?"
"Connor," I say, slowing my words down so he can keep up. "I don't have time to hold your hand today. Nor do I want to."
"Right." He seems to realize that for the past five years, we've avoided touching each other at all costs. His fingers disappear from my arms immediately, but his face is just another reminder of what I will never have.
"Leave it to me," I request.
I understand the hesitation I see in the first step he takes back. We don't have the best relationship, so why should he trust me with his future wife? But it's not like he knows I want her for myself. So he concedes himself to my maid of honor title.
"Hey," I call after him, remembering the new night we met.
He turns back slowly, like I'm a bomb about to go off in his face.
"Whatever happened to not getting married?" I ask.
He averts his eyes at the reminder of our deeds and shakes his head. "We were wrong."