Page 29 of Maid of Dishonor

Just before we enter, I pull Carter to the side. “All right. Full disclosure: we are here because I’ve been dying to see this place.”

“Thisplace? Really?” he says, looking skeptically at the building—which admittedly is pretty, but not necessarily anything to write home about.

“Yes!” I say, grinning. “The reviews were so intriguing that I really had no choice. So apparently there are themed rooms, right, but they aren’t, like,normalthemes,” I go on, getting more excited again. “Like at first I was thinking okay, maybe a room that looks more modern versus a room that looks more classic. Or maybe something more rustic—that’s still a big thing, I think—and then something elegant.”

Carter nods, looking perplexed. So I continue.

“Butno,” I say, waving at the building in front of us.“That’s not what they meanat all, Carter. I think this is one of those specialty places that’s almost more of a novelty rather than something that actually gets used a ton.”

“Why?” he says, still looking totally lost. I don’t blame him. “What are the themes?”

I shake my head. “I can’t tell you beforehand. You really just need to go into this blind.” I rub my hands together in excitement, smiling at him. “Are you ready? Oh,” I say, startling as my phone rings.

I hold up one finger to Carter, digging my phone out of my back pocket and smiling at the doors in front of us. “Hello?” I say.

“Hello, Ms. Quinn? This is Stacy from Holden Oaks Nursing Home—”

“Hi, Stacy,” I say quickly, my smile dimming. Stacy doesn’t have to introduce herself—there are only three receptionists at Holden Oaks, and by now I know them all by voice—but she still does, every time she calls.

“I’m just calling to confirm your visit with Marjorie this weekend, Saturday—”

“Saturday at three. I’ll be there,” I say quietly. My standing appointment, so to speak. I try to see her more, but if I can only get there once a week, it’s on Saturdays at three.

“Wonderful. Thank you, Ms. Quinn.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks, Stacy.”

I hang up, and then I look back to the building in front of us.

I’m no longer smiling.

So I give myself a second to refocus on the task at hand, taking a deep breath and pushing away the tangled-up knot that lives inside me. Then I turn to Carter.

“All right. Are you ready?” I ask again.

He looks at me for just a second before taking my cue to move on. “I…don’t know,” he says disconcertedly. “I’m sort of worried now.”

“Nah,” I say, waving this away. “You’re ready. Come on.”

And because it’s something I would have done before I decided to give us a romantic shot, I link my elbow through his and practically barrel through the main entrance, dragging him behind me.

It looks much like a hotel lobby inside, the decor neutral, the background music bland. The receptionist—an older woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose and a bouffant of graying hair—greets us unenthusiastically, and when I tell her we’ve come to tour the different event rooms, she just points us to the right, down a wide hallway.

“Follow the signs,” she says in a nasaly voice. “Someone will be with you momentarily to answer any questions and discuss the event packages we offer.”

I nod, and still pulling Carter along by the elbow, I follow the receptionist’s directions. Several yards down the hallway leads us to a large set of double doors, labeled simplyEvent Room A. I’m not sure which one this is, but I pull open the doors eagerly anyway. The lights flick on automatically, and I enter without hesitation, Carter trailing behind me.

There are a few seconds of silence before either of us speak. Then, finally, I can’t contain myself.

“Look at it.Look!” I say, gesturing to the large room. I smile widely and clap my hands before twirling around like Julie Andrews does in that meadow inThe Sound of Music.I probably look ridiculous, but I don’t care. I’m enjoying myself too much, and all lingering thoughts of my mom finally dissipate.

Because it looks like the sixties threw up in here.

The room is maybe just over half the size of a standard school gymnasium, with high ceilings. There’s thick shag carpet from wall to wall, and on the far side of the room is a fireplace to end all fireplaces. The stone takes up most of the wall, and it goes all the way to the ceiling.

“It’s so…orange,” Carter says from behind me. There’s real awe in his voice, and when I look over at him, his eyes are wide, his jaw dropped slightly. “It’s just—it’s so—”

“Orange,” I agree, my smile wide.

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