"What do you mean you've never been to Target?" I asked, my eyes wide.
Grayson, once again, looked uncomfortable. "I've just never been, that's all. I've never had reason to go."
Suspicious, I asked, "Do you have Target in Canada?"
"Of course we have Target!" he said indignantly.
I shook my head as we walked in. Grayson did not find Target that impressive, although he did enjoy pushing the cart. I told him he could look around while I grabbed some clothes, and he did–for a bit. He circled back around ten minutes later, finding me with am armful of clothes. I had only grabbed enough for a few days, figuring my odds of finding a washing machine were pretty high.
Grayson frowned. "That's all you're getting?"
"Yes, I didn't think I needed much, maybe just a few outfits worth," I said, feeling bad about spending his money.
"No, get as much as you want. I'm not sure how long we'll be stuck in this mess anyways, so you might as well be prepared," he said breezily.
"I couldn't—"
"Look, how about this one?" Grayson suggested, pulling a green romper off a hanger. "It would bring out your eyes."
I blushed furiously at his remark. My eyes were nothing special, just brown, except some days, if I looked at the right angle in the mirror, I felt as if they had green flecks in them. Maybe Grayson had caught the semi-imaginary flecks too. Either way, I was surprised he'd commented on something so personal.
He seemed to realize that he'd slightly overstepped and quickly put the romper back. "Sorry, um, nevermind. If you don't think it's cute–"
"No, it is," I said quickly, adding it to my basket. Grayson gave me a shy smile and stuffed his hands in his pockets, almost looking proud of himself.
"Did you find anything?" I asked politely.
He held up a bag of Laffy Taffy. "American snacks! I can order anything online, obviously, but this is more fun."
So we went to join the checkout line, laden with an obscene amount of clothes and some chewy candies. I cringed when the total came up-well over a hundred dollars-but Grayson didn't even bat an eye. I'd never spent that much on clothes all at once before, especially using someone else's money, and now the thought made my stomach churn.
Grayson caught a glimpse of my expression. "Seriously, Jackie, it's fine," he said firmly as we walked outside. "If it really makes you feel bad, think of it as a sorry gift for dragging you through all this legal mess."
"Mm. Thanks," I said, his reason not helping my feelings much.
"Okay, I'll call my lawyer again. At very latest, you should be home tomorrow evening," Grayson said brightly. His optimism was kind of adorable, although I couldn't bring myself to match it.
"I'll be five minutes," Grayson promised, holding the phone to his ear and stepping away. I parked myself on a bench nearby, wishing it weren't quite so boiling hot. My wishes were sadly not fulfilled, even by the time he returned.
"Why, what's wrong?" I asked, referencing the grimace on his face.
"Apparently there's some paperwork we need. Your birth certificate and some other things. I need them too," he sighed.
"Oh, I have mine!" I said, excited that one thing had gone right. Then I wilted. "Or I did, before my stuff got lost."
"Would Kylie have them?" he asked, hardly daring to be hopeful.
"Probably!" I said eagerly. Once again, I borrowed his phone and called my best friend. An ocean of relief crashed down on me when Kylie assured me that not only did she have my suitcase, but she hadn't left for the airport yet.
"Why did you bring paperwork with you, by the way?" Grayson asked as we got in his car again.
I was a little embarrassed. "I'm kind of a nervous, overprepared person," I explained. "Not the end-of-the-world stuff, but I still try to be extra cautious. So I brought the important stuff in case of an emergency."
"Nothing wrong with that," he conceded.
"I don't suppose you happen to do the same thing when you travel?" I asked.
"Nope," he sighed. "Which is why as soon as we get your things from Kylie, we've got to fly to Vancouver. You have a passport, right?"
"Yeah." Vancouver? I'd never left the country before, and now I was headed to Canada with my Canadian husband. How things had changed in the last twenty-four hours.
We met Kylie at the airport, and I was a little jealous of how good she looked. Flawless skin and makeup, jeans and a white sweater, and black running shoes. No bags under her eyes. Her phone in her hand. Normally I wasn't that addicted to my phone, but on vacation, I needed it to get around. She looked so...put together. Collected. Not hungover, and definitely not married.
Then there's me, skipping around Las Vegas and finding hot guys to marry. I am the exact opposite of put together.
Kylie couldn't have cared less. She ran up and hugged me, gushing, "I'm so glad to see you! Last night was so fun. Remind me to send you pictures. Anyways, here's your stuff."
I immediately grabbed the handle of my suitcase, vowing never to let go of it again. Right in the middle of the airport, I knelt down and sifted through it. Sure enough, my passport, birth certificate, and my ID were all carefully zipped into the bottom. I almost kissed the documents, I was so happy.
Grayson smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, Kylie."
She crushed him a hug. "We've already met! Although, now that you mention it, you probably don't remember," she mused. "Anyways, I was the maid of honor at your wedding."
Tears bloomed in the corners of my eyes. "You were my maid of honor?" I choked out, finally receiving good news.
"It wasn't so honorable. The best man was the bellhop," Kylie sighed.
Grayson shrugged. "Decent choice."
"So like, neither of you remember anything about last night?" she asked, disappointed.
"Yup," I mumbled, still unnerved by the thought of my lost memories running around the fluffy parts of my brain.
"That's such a bummer. At least I took pictures from the ceremony," she said casually.
My whole world screeched to a halt. "You did?" I asked, hoping that if I got a chance to see some pictures, my memories would come floating back. Grayson must've thought the same thing, because he instantly brightened, almost looking like he'd tackle Kylie for her phone.
She nodded, showing us the screen. Sadly, I remembered none of it. The people in the photos might as well have been strangers to me. At least now I had figured out how I was so drunk that getting married looked cool. That grin was not my normal grin. At least it looked like we were having fun. My veil looked like a piece of tulle someone had gotten from a local craft store. I was ashamed to say that Grayson looked much nicer, wearing dress pants and shoes and a white button-down shirt.
"These would be cute if we were together," Grayson remarked sadly.
"Yeah," I murmured in agreement. The people in the picture were cute—except I didn't know them. I really hated this whole memory loss thing. My heart throbbed at the picture Kylie had taken of our wedding kiss; that felt like someone had ripped out my soul and stomped on it. It didn't seem fair that I'd had something so special stolen from me.
"I'm surprised you haven't seen these, I sent them to you," Kylie said with a shrug.
I winced. "Can you actually send them to Grayson? I lost my phone in the chaos," I said, rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment.
So the two exchanged numbers, and then Kylie hugged me goodbye and told us to have a happy honeymoon. She didn't catch my glare, unfortunately. I wasn't entirely sure that she understood that this marriage had been a complete mistake. Kylie was...not the responsible one of the friend group. Nothing wrong with that, but consequences didn't seem to impact her as seriously as they did the rest of us. To her, this was one great romantic comedy. To me, it was a disaster of a nightmare.
"You have everything?" Grayson asked as I set my suitcase on a bench and rifled through its contents, hoping everything else was there.
"Yes. Did you happen to get tickets?" I asked anxiously. I would be paying him back as soon as I got back to Virginia, obviously, but we needed to have tickets in order to get to Canada.
Grayson looked sheepish. "Er, I actually came here in my private jet."
I mouthed the words private jet. "Grayson, how rich are you? And no more being humble, because every time I'm shocked."
He squirmed a bit. "My um, title, ends in an -aire."
"And what might the first letter of that title be?" I asked queasily. Making assumptions would've been stupid at this point.
He squirmed more. "A B."
"B," I whispered to myself. "Well, let's board your private jet then."
How did it always seem to get worse?