Save the Date

“Yes,” Bill said, giving Linnie a smile. “And he should be along at any moment.”

“How does that sound?” Rodney asked, widening his eyes at me in thanks as he took the donut plate. Linnie nodded, looking like she was starting to pull herself together, but before she could answer, the landline rang.

The handset was closest to me, and I tossed it to my mother, who caught it with one hand. “Honestly,” she said, shaking her head. “What is with you kids and not answering the phone?” She pressed the button to speak, her annoyed tone immediately turning into something more polite. “Eleanor Grant.” She listened for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was warm, like she was thrilled to be talking to whoever was calling. “Yes, hello. If you’ll just hold on a moment, I’ll take this in my office.” She pressed the button to put the call on hold, then grabbed her donut and headed across the kitchen. “That’s the Times,” she said to us as she headed toward the door Rodney had left slightly ajar. “So if you could not get on the line for the next twenty minutes or so, I won’t have to disown any of you.” She pushed her way out through the door, heading across the backyard toward her office, the one she’d built when the strip really took off and she could no longer work from the kitchen table.

“The Times?” Bill echoed, looking after my mom, his brow furrowed. “Like—the New York Times?”

“Yeah,” Rodney said, gesturing toward the donut box. “Did you want a donut?”

“Thanks,” Bill said, taking a step closer to the box, still looking confused.

“I’m going to try to see what’s happening with this alarm,” my dad said, taking his mug with him as he headed upstairs, ruffling my hair as he passed me and giving Linnie’s arm a squeeze.

I took a restorative bite of my donut and a long drink of coffee, though I wasn’t sure I needed it—the last few minutes had been more than enough to wake me up.

“Okay,” Bill said. He set his glazed donut down and picked up the binder he’d been carrying. It was green like his fleece and had the Where There’s A Will logo printed across the front. Underneath it was written GRANT-DANIELS, and just the sight of it—proof that someone was organized and was going to be keeping this wedding on track—was making me feel better. When I’d pictured this weekend—all of us together, everything going perfectly—it had not allowed for things like an embezzling wedding planner disappearing on us. “So it looks like everything is pretty much on—”

The kitchen door flew open with a bang, and everyone in the kitchen jumped, including Bill.

“Well, well, well,” J.J. said from the doorway, glaring at each of us. Then, maybe feeling like this hadn’t been enough, he added, “Well.” My middle brother had arrived.

CHAPTER 3

Or, Acronyms Are Not Always a Good Idea Or, AANAAGI

* * *

HEY, MAN!” RODNEY SAID, SMILING at J.J. “Welcome home. Want a donut?”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” J.J. spat.

“Um . . . sure?”

J.J. scoffed. But just as he’d done ever since he’d read this phrase when he was twelve, he said the word “scoff” instead of just making the sound, and none of us had been able to convince him this actually wasn’t correct. He strode into the kitchen, dropping things—his jacket, a garment bag, a suitcase—as he went. “Like a donut is going to make up for being abandoned.” He looked around and, maybe seeing he was out of things to drop, took off his Pirates cap and flung it to the ground. “All of you have disappointed me. Linnie, Rodney, Charlie—” He was glowering at all of us in turn, but he faltered when he got to Bill. “Who are you?”

“Hi there,” Bill said, taking a step closer to him. “I’m—”

“Do you know how long I was waiting at the airport? Assuming someone in my family would come and get me? Looking at all the cars driving past, and none of them for me?”

“Uh . . . ,” Rodney said. “Did you tell anyone to pick you up at the airport?”

“Of course I did!” J.J. exploded. “Do you think I would have just . . . just . . .” He trailed off, his expression changing from angry to thoughtful. “Actually, let me check one thing,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through it. “Huh,” he said after a moment. “You know, looks like that e-mail never made it out of drafts. Whoopsie.” He put his phone back in his pocket. “So hi!” He strode over to us, now smiling. “How’s it going, family?” He and Rodney did one of their back-pounding hugs, then he gave me a quick one-armed shoulder squeeze.

“Hey,” I said, squeezing him back. “Glad you’re here.”

“Good to be here,” he said, then headed to Linnie, giving her a bear hug that picked her up off her feet. “Happy almost wedding!” He spun her around once and then set her back on the ground and smiled down at her. “How are you feeling? Happy? Excited?” He glanced back at Rodney and lowered his voice theatrically. “Second thoughts? Cold feet?”

“Stop it,” Linnie said, shaking her head even though she was smiling. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks,” J.J. said, stepping over the bag he’d dropped and pushing himself up on the counter. He reached for my coffee and took a sip of it before making a face and pushing it away. “God, how can you drink that, Charlie? It’s like drinking warm milk.”

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound mad and knowing I was failing. The kitchen with my siblings in it was my favorite place to be, and it was finally starting to feel like home again. “Get your own coffee.”

“But I just got here,” he protested, and I rolled my eyes. Jameison Jeffrey Grant was eight years older and six inches taller than me, with unruly light-brown curly hair that he’d only really learned to deal with a few years ago, thanks to some Swedish grooming paste Linnie found for him in Boston. He had brown eyes like Mike and our mom, and eyebrows that Linnie had once described as “Bert chic.”

“So what’s happening?” he asked, peering into the donut box. “Is Danny here yet, or can I take both maple frosteds?”

“He’s on the six a.m. out of San Francisco,” I said, hurrying over to the donut box. “So he’ll be here at two. And you’re not taking both donuts.” I pulled a maple frosted out of the box, put it on a plate, and then grabbed the plastic wrap out of the cabinet to cover it.

“Oh, so Danny’s schedule you know,” J.J. said, shaking his head. “Scoff.”

“You didn’t actually tell anyone,” Rodney pointed out. “How did you even get here?”

“Took a cab,” J.J. said, grabbing a donut, then pausing. “Oh! He’s actually still out there. I just came in to get cash to pay him.”

“The cab is out there with the meter running?” I asked.

“Yep,” J.J. said, taking a bite of his donut. “Who’s got cash? I’ve only got nine dollars, and half of that’s in change, and half of that’s Canadian.”

“Why Canadian?” Rodney asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“From the last time we played the Blue Jays.”

“How are you a functioning adult?” Linnie asked, throwing up her hands. “How on earth did MIT let you graduate?”

“You have to bribe the right people,” J.J., his mouth full of donut as he gave her a wink. The fact that J.J. had held a fairly important job for years now, apparently successfully, had been a bit of a shock to me as well. But the fact was, out of all my siblings, he’d had the most consistent success. He was a quantitative analyst for the Pittsburgh Pirates, using sabermetrics data to help build the strongest team possible and, therefore, get the most wins. At least, that’s how he explained it to me—I still didn’t really understand it, even after he helpfully gifted me a copy of Moneyball one Christmas. All I really knew was that J.J. had found a way to get paid for combining his two loves, math and baseball.

“You didn’t come in from New York, did you?” Linnie asked.