Days became weeks, and for a while, it seemed the Castaways had returned to their normal routine—that nothing terrible had ever happened. Rescue could be just around the corner. They would surely be back on the mainland soon, and then—
Then they would remember. A few heavy minutes of silence would ensue, but after that, life would carry on. However, everyone was getting quite uncomfortable with one another, and they knew that something had to change—soon.
Mary Ann could hardly even look Gilligan in the eye whenever he complimented her on dinner. The Professor seemed to avoid Ginger at all costs, and the Howells were getting quite blatant with their comments.
"Dear me, I do believe my spring shawl has a snag in it. Perhaps I should shorten it into a dress. It would only fit a child of course, but perhaps sometime we'll have a child on the island. Don't you think that would be lovely, Thurston? A little child to dote on?"
"Ah yes. I could teach the little tyke quite a bit, I reckon," Mr. Howell would say, with less enthusiasm than his wife.
One night, as they were sitting around the fire after dinner, it got to be too much and Skipper jumped to his feet, looking equally upset and embarrassed.
"Everyone, I think we ought to have a discussion," he started.
Mary Ann and Ginger glanced at each other in panic. The Howells grinned connivingly. The Professor stared at Skipper nervously, and Gilligan looked up in calm surprise.
"Okay, Skipper! What are we having a discussion about?"
"About the fate of the human race," said the Skipper, perhaps a little too dramatically.
The firelight only made everything that much more serious.
"We've already talked about this—" Ginger started, "Mary Ann and I can't just do nothing!"
Unfortunately, she spoke at the exact same time as the Professor, who said, "We can't doom anyone else to a life spent trapped on this island."
Everyone just stared at each other. Gilligan finally raised a hand. "Are we talking about kids again? I think it would be awful fun to show a kid our home."
"That's right—this isn't just some island, it's our home!" said Mrs. Howell, giving the Professor a somewhat antagonistic look. "The rest of the world is dust."
"Yes," said Mr. Howell grimly. "Even the French Riviera. We might as well stay on this island. At least we have a golf course here."
"Like we have a choice of leaving," sniffed the Skipper, before raising his voice and getting the group's attention again.
"We need to be in agreement about this: do we have some weddings…and hopefully births, or do we continue on as we are?" He took off his hat and scratched his head. He found it funny—he would rather face down storms at sea than sit around and talk about repopulation.
"Well now, I'm sure you all know my opinion," began Mrs. Howell, waving a gloved hand as she spoke. "I would quite love to see children again before Thurston and I pass on. And I do love weddings! I will organize everything. How does a double-wedding in June sound? Both girls will look lovely in white!"
"I second that," said Mr. Howell. "Not the lovely in white part—though that is quite true—but the rest of the matter. I need to have someone to leave the Howell inheritance to, after all."
"So two people in favor," said Skipper. "Though your votes really shouldn't count."
"Ooh, I'm in favor," Gilligan piped up, again raising his hand. "I mean, I'm pretty sure. What exactly are we voting on again?"
No one answered him, but Mary Ann raised a hand timidly. "I'm…I'm willing to have children. I mean, I always wanted a family…this is not quite how I expected it to go, but I'm okay with making the most out of this situation." She firmed her jaw and took a breath. For days she'd been coming to terms with her lot and was almost surprised at how truthful her words were. In fact, the idea of growing old and never having children was almost heartbreaking. Even being married to Gilligan wouldn't be all that bad. He would never be cross with her, and at the least, he would constantly make her smile with his sheer ridiculousness.
"Count me in as well," said Ginger, her voice projecting confidence that her eyes didn't quite display. She tipped her head high, calling upon every acting skill she'd ever learned to help cover her uncertainty. "I'm going to save the world, just like a heroine in a picture."
"Professor?" The Skipper turned to the man beside him. "What's your vote?"
The Professor sighed, crossed his arms, and sighed again. "I think you all are taking for granted one important consideration. I may have some medical skill, yes, but I have never delivered a child and I only have one chapter in my entire library that has anything to do with prenatal or antenatal care." He glanced at Mary Ann, then at Ginger. "I couldn't promise you safety. And are you both aware that delivery without trained professionals or modern medicine could go very wrong very quickly and it will most certainly be agonizingly painful?"
"Oh Professor," chided Mrs. Howell. "None of our grandparents or great-grandparents had modern medicine or comforts and yet here we are. Stop scaring the poor girls."
Mary Ann and Ginger were both a shade paler, but neither changed her vote.
"Professor?" The Skipper tried again. "I'm assuming you're voting no?"
The Professor tried not to meet Ginger's eyes. "Correct. It's too dangerous and I would feel responsible. Plus, I'm still not sure it's fair to bring children into a world that's been decimated."
"Our island is beautiful," countered Ginger, sounding more than a little annoyed. "They would never have to see the destruction. We live in a tropical paradise. What more could anyone want?"
The Professor had no answer and the Skipper glanced around at the group, folding and unfolding his hat in his hands. He didn't like the direction things were going, but what could he do about it? The numbers were telling. If he and the Professor were both the only no's, that meant they were outnumbered, five-to-two.
The Skipper swallowed heavily, as if he was announcing a funeral rather than two weddings. "I guess that settles it. We're going to continue the human race. Or, more accurately…" he put his hat back on his head, feeling ill as he nodded to Mary Ann and Gilligan, and then to the Professor and Ginger. "You four are."
"Oh, how wonderful!" exclaimed Mrs. Howell, clasping her hands together. "Mary Ann, Ginger—come girls. We must talk wedding arrangements. Everything has to be right and proper, you know, even if this is all so unconventional."
The Professor looked concerned, but also somewhat resigned, like he'd been during his short-lived engagement to the visiting socialite years ago. Gilligan though, was starting to look panicked.
"Skipper? What's happening? Are Mary Ann and I actually…engaged? As in…married?"
"I would say so, little buddy," mumbled the Skipper. Of course, this meant he would now be the only bachelor around, the seventh wheel living alongside a bunch of married couples. It wasn't the greatest realization, but he had been coming to terms with it for days now.
"But Skipper—where's she going to stay? We only have two hammocks in our room."
A sudden lump was growing in the Skipper's throat. As the Professor began to patiently explain that Gilligan would move into the girl's hut to be with Mary Ann (since Ginger would be moving to the Professor's) and that way they wouldn't have to construct any new living spaces, the Skipper wandered away from the firelight and stared at the ocean in the distance.
Why again, had he initiated such a discussion? He hated change.
And this would be a change to last a lifetime.
The Professor was in his hut, looking through his medical books and musing to himself in concern when someone strode through the door, not bothering to knock.
Unsurprisingly it was Ginger. He supposed he would have to get used to her barging in if she was going to be living with him in a few short weeks.
The actress didn't bother with formalities. She put her hands on her hips and glared. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?" she asked, when he stayed silent.
Now the Professor had already explained his reasoning, and figured it would be redundant to do so again. The reason Ginger was mad, he deduced, was because of his reluctance to be engaged to her. She was clearly taking it personally.
"Ginger," he started with a sigh, "you should know I have nothing against you—"
"But yet you can't even bring yourself to look at me," she interrupted. "Am I really so hideous to you that the mere idea of marrying me has you moping about like a…a…a convicted prisoner?!" she finished haltingly.
"Quite the contrary." The Professor set down his book and stood to face her fully. "Ginger…you are most certainly not hideous. Any man in the world would be lucky to marry you, but—"
"But you don't like me?" She interrupted again, this time looking on the verge of tears.
"No! Of course I like you," the Professor quickly clarified. "You're one of my greatest friends. But I'm just…reluctant…because I fear for you. Both for your safety and well, your emotional health." He cleared his throat, deciding it was as good a time as any to be upfront. "I'm afraid I will let you down, Ginger. I'm not some suave leading man. I'm just…well…me."
Ginger sniffed once and tried to calm her swirling emotions. "You think I don't know that? I'm the one who tried to give you romance lessons, remember?"
The Professor felt his lips twitch in what might have been a smile. "I remember. I was hopeless."
"Yes." She nodded for emphasis. "You were completely hopeless." She didn't know whether to groan or laugh at the memory. "But what I want to know now is whether you care for me—and not just as a friend," she added. "Do you think you could love me? Even just a little bit?"
The Professor was silent a moment, mentally regarding all their experiences together. When he had first met Ginger, she most certainly had made him feel something. Nervous, maybe? And when the surfer had come to the island hoping to get lucky with her, the Professor had definitely felt angry and protective. When he had been engaged to Erika Tiffany, he certainly hadn't felt love for his fiancée. It had been Ginger who was his confidant—his friend. They'd argued together, laughed together, shared in near death experiences… Though the actress was the flightiest, silliest flirt he had ever known, he cared about her more than any other woman in the world. So perhaps that was love, right there.
"Ginger…I think I could, if I don't already," he said almost abruptly. "Love you, that is."
She looked slightly relieved. "I've never really considered marriage all that seriously," she confessed. "I've enjoyed, well…"
"Teasing every man you meet?" the Professor suggested.
"Of course not!" She sounded scandalized. "I don't flirt with every man. There was once a really horrid producer I knew." She shuddered. "You couldn't have paid me to flirt with him."
"Okay, well, almost every man," the Professor amended.
Ginger made a face, but then agreed. "Settling down just never sounded fun. To be honest, it still doesn't. But…I think I could stay true to you."
"Oh good. You're not going to leave me for Mr. Howell."
Ginger narrowed her eyes. "There's no need for your snark, Professor. I shall love you quite well."
The Professor felt his ears burn and he cleared his throat, glancing down at his textbooks for a lack of a response.
"Professor," Ginger started, stepping closer. Then she suddenly stopped, for she was considering how odd it was that she never called him by his actual name. "Roy," she tried again, the name feeling quite unfamiliar on her tongue.
The Professor glanced up at her, somewhat surprised, but apparently not enough to comment.
"I want you to do something for me," Ginger continued, still moving closer.
Not trusting his words, the Professor stayed quiet, hardly breathing as she reached out a hand to touch the side of his face. This was Ginger—he told himself—she knew how to flirt and he was going to have to get used to being on the receiving end of her affections, that was all.
Still, he didn't feel any more comfortable. His heart was pounding much too fast.
"I just want you to kiss me," Ginger said softly, her voice dropping into a whisper. "Don't try to talk or tell me about germs or anything, just kiss me." She then smiled, probably the first genuine smile the Professor had seen on her in days.
"According to Mrs. Howell, we only have three weeks until the wedding," continued Ginger, rolling her eyes and then smirking. "Romance lessons are beginning again, and in this subject, I'm the professor."
Seven days later, Mary Ann was looking at the sample flower arrangements Mrs. Howell had laid out for the wedding. It was all so strange—so sudden. In two weeks' time, Mary Ann would be married.
The whole thing was so bittersweet she didn't know how to feel about it. She had always thought that her family and friends would be there—to give her advice and help sew her dress and soothe her fears. But they were all gone.
And she was marrying Gilligan.
As much as she liked the first mate and thought he was sweet, she could hardly wrap her mind around the fact that he would soon be her husband. For her sake, she sincerely hoped the Skipper had finally gotten around to talking with Gilligan about the birds and the bees. Mary Ann had enough worries as it was.
"Now dear, do you like the pink ones better, or these bluish flowers?" There was Mrs. Howell again, chatting a mile a minute. "Personally, I think you ought to take the pink ones and let Ginger have the blue, so that the pink won't clash with her hair. Besides, reds and pinks have always looked good on you. And for the something borrowed, something blue, I have decided to loan both of you my pearl bracelets. The cord that connects the pearls is really an odd blue color, so I think we can kill two birds with one stone that way." Mrs. Howell suddenly clasped her hands together, shuddering. "Oh, I hate that expression. How about we feed two birds with one seed?"
"Sure," Mary Ann replied, still busy trying not to think about her upcoming wedding. Or anything that came after that.
It's for the sake of humanity, she kept repeating to herself. But a noble cause still didn't chase away the nerves of an arranged marriage.
"So that's a yes to the flowers, then?" Mrs. Howell was already sorting the samples, oblivious to Mary Ann's internal fears. "I can send Gilligan out to pick more of these the day before the wedding. I'm sure he won't mind. He's been such a dear about this."
"Mhmm." Mary Ann nodded in absent agreement.
Mrs. Howell finally paused long enough to look at the younger girl. "Oh dear, you don't look too well. A bit pale, really. Perhaps you should take a break and lie down."
Mary Ann jumped at the opportunity to escape. "Perhaps I should. I'll be back later. Thank you, Mrs. Howell." And then it took all of her self-restraint to keep from sprinting away.
Outside of the hut, she could at least breathe. The air was still a little hazier than usual, but much clearer than it'd been when Harold Crispin had shown up—oh, that dreadful day! Mary Ann sat down on a log and tried not to have a breakdown.
"Mary Ann?" An almost timid voice spoke from behind her. "Um, are you okay?"
Gilligan. The last person Mary Ann wanted to talk to. Nevertheless, she had been raised to be polite and now wasn't the time to forget any of her parents' teachings.
"Hi Gilligan. I'm all right," she said quietly, turning to face him. She even forced a smile onto her face.
Gilligan had just come from a long talk with the Skipper, and for the first time in his life, he wasn't really in the mood to visit with his future spouse either. But she had looked so sad… Gilligan swallowed heavily, hoping he wasn't the cause of her grief.
"Mary Ann… I'm sorry," Gilligan said, deciding that if they were already talking, they might as well talk about their arranged future.
"Why are you sorry?" Mary Ann asked, a questioning frown creasing her forehead.
Gilligan sank onto the log beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry that you have to marry me. You didn't get much of a choice."
He sounded tired, so unlike the usually energetic-Gilligan that Mary Ann did a double-take. "Oh, but Gilligan. I really would rather marry you than the Skipper or the Professor."
"That's still not much of a choice," Gilligan pointed out.
Mary Ann had to agree. They sat in silence for a moment, before Mary Ann found the courage to remind him that he was still the right choice. "You'll be a loving father, Gilligan. I can already see it."
Gilligan didn't say anything. In fact, he stood up and wandered off. Mary Ann raised her eyebrows, then sighed. If Gilligan was anything, it was unpredictable.
She stared back out toward the ocean and tried to keep from crying. Then suddenly, Gilligan showed back up!
He walked around to the sand in front of her and dropped down on one knee. He offered her a bouquet of tropical flowers and smiled. "I think you at least ought to have one more chance to back out of this. Do you want to marry me, Mary Ann?" His expression was such a mix of shyness and excitement and hopefulness that Mary Ann couldn't stop the giggle that burst from her throat.
Yes, there were going to be some awkward moments and even hard times in the near future. But didn't all marriages come with similar promises? And at least she had Gilligan. He would make her laugh and just like that—her bad day would seem a little better.
She nodded, realizing Gilligan was still waiting for her to take the flowers and respond. "Yes, Gilligan. It'll be all right." She pressed the flowers to her nose and sighed at the sweet scent. It would be all right. Truly.
She smiled back at the first mate, a little teasingly. "Do you want to marry me?" She started to hand the flowers to him and he nearly fell into the sand, his classic-Gilligan laugh echoing around them.
"You can't propose to me! I'm a boy!"
"So? Do you want to marry me?"
Gilligan frowned for a moment, then nodded, his familiar enthusiasm coming back into his eyes. "I think it'll be okay. We'll be okay."
"I think so, too," Mary Ann murmured, pressing the wild bouquet close to her heart.