When MaryAnn opened her eyes and saw sun streaming through the curtains, she immediately rolled back over, trying to bury the sudden rush of tears in her pillow.
It was her wedding day—and none of her friends or family from back home would get to be a part of the celebration.
"Good morning, MaryAnn," said Ginger. The older girl was sitting up; she'd been awake for a while, trying to bid goodbye to every corner of the hut. She told herself it was silly to get emotional over moving; she would be less than thirty seconds away! Yet, the hut she shared with MaryAnn had been home for the past few years. The Professor's hut was not nearly as cozy. That would have to change.
"Morning," MaryAnn responded, her words muffled by her pillow. The previous night had been so much fun, MaryAnn had gone to bed confident—and maybe even enamored with her future husband. But now…now that it was the day… She burst into tears again and Ginger was immediately at her side.
"Oh, MaryAnn! Are you all right? What's wrong?"
MaryAnn forced herself to stop sniffling; to be brave, just like she'd been that day she'd eaten the poisonous mushrooms. Or, well, the day she'd thought she had eaten poisonous mushrooms. It was the courage that mattered, not the exact situation. MaryAnn sat up and swiped at her eyes.
"I'm sorry. Really. I guess I'm just missing my family today."
Ginger pursed her lips, then nodded sympathetically. "You have every right to cry! A wedding is an important event in anyone's life."
At those words, MaryAnn felt the tears welling up again.
"In fact, weddings are some of the best times, when all the people you love most are gathered together, in one location," Ginger went on.
MaryAnn thought of her aunt and uncle; her school friends and the sweet old couple down the road.
"—and since everyone is dead," Ginger was still saying, "today is—"
"Oh, stop! Please!" MaryAnn buried her face in her hands. "That's not cheering me up at all."
Ginger shrugged a little. "Sorry. I was just getting to my main point: we're your family now. And we always will be." She rubbed MaryAnn's shoulder, then stood up. "Come on. We'd better get going on breakfast. Just because we're brides, doesn't mean we get a skip day on dishes."
MaryAnn dried her eyes again, then nodded firmly. What had happened to being brave? And of course Ginger was right. MaryAnn loved her island family just as much as any of her friends back home. Ginger was like the older sister she'd never had, the Skipper and Professor were like big brothers, and the Howells had stepped into the surrogate parent role, always welcoming and kind. Gilligan, well, MaryAnn wasn't sure how he fit, but that was okay. She liked him anyway.
As Ginger was getting dressed, she was also forcing herself to stay positive in her thinking. Yes, there were plenty of faults she could find with the arranged-marriage situation, but she did like her future husband—very much, actually. There had been numerous moments—and even full days—when Ginger had gone through her ordinary routine, daydreaming about what it would have been like if the Professor had been interested in her—romantically. Sure, it was nice that he never pushed her boundaries, but...maybe it would've been a bit exciting if he had. His 'very high IQ' always spoiled her attempts at charm. And what fun was it to tease a man who was immune to her flirtations?
But that was all in the past now, so surely that was cause for Ginger to rejoice. The Professor could be as emotionless as a rock, but at least he wasn't too bad on the eyes.
And in show biz, that was top priority.
"I'm actually glad we'll still work on breakfast every morning," MaryAnn said, as she combed her hair. "And even the dishes! Since we won't be living in the same hut, it'll be our chance to chat—just like always."
Ginger closed her eyes, suddenly feeling them grow glassy with tears. She sniffed after a moment, then hugged MaryAnn tightly.
"Yes. If the goal for today is to stay positive—I'm doubly thankful for dishes."
As predicted by the Howells, the weather on the island was bright and beautiful all day long. Shortly after noon, the girls had headed to Mrs. Howell's, to start working on their hair. The wedding was now within the hour, and even though the Skipper had been dreading the day's proceedings, the previous evening's mood had carried over.
So far, at least. The Skipper kept having to remind himself that everything was going to be fine.
At the current moment, Gilligan and the Professor were both standing nearby, exchanging casual laughter and jokes about the previous weddings the Skipper had officiated—including the failed ceremony between Mr. and Mrs. Howell.
"As long as Gilligan doesn't end up in the lagoon, I'll consider today a success," coughed Skipper, giving the first mate an extra glance. "Say…Gilligan? What are you wearing to the wedding today?"
"My clothes," Gilligan replied, swallowing half a banana in one bite. He frowned at the remaining piece of fruit, looking a little ill. "I'd like to keep them on until…well, you know Skipper."
The Professor choked on his cup of water.
Fortunately, Mr. Howell swooped in at that moment and clapped the man on the back. "Listen up, men! The wife and I have just discussed a most important matter." The millionaire smiled broadly. "We've decided we're going to decrease your future inheritances!"
"What?" The Skipper took off his hat and scratched his head. "Why, what—?"
"Er, apologies, Captain." Mr. Howell waved a hand impatiently. "Your inheritance will stay the same. And no, don't ask what that inheritance is. I don't want anyone trying to murder me again. But you two—" Mr. Howell turned to Gilligan and the Professor. In the background, the Skipper opened and closed his mouth a few times, resembling something akin to a bewildered goldfish.
"Here you are, Gilligan. And here you go, Professor." Mr. Howell dropped small shiny rings into each man's hands. "You can't have a proper wedding without the jewels. Goodness, no! Lovey would be driven to madness if she heard of such a thing!"
"Gee, Mr. Howell. This isn't your wedding ring, is it?" Gilligan squinted at a small silver band, studded with tiny diamonds.
"Of course not, boy! These are the spare rings to Lovey's spare rings."
"Mr. Howell, we can't repay you for this…" the Professor started, gaping at the expensive diamond ring in his hand.
"Which is why we're deducting from your inheritance!" said Mr. Howell, patting the pockets of his jacket. "Mind you, not too much—these rings are practically costume jewelry to a Howell."
"Thank you, Mr. Howell." Gilligan was already trying on the gold band, also in his palm. "Is this the spare ring to your spare ring?"
The millionaire snorted. "No, my boy. That's just a cigar band."
Gilligan tugged the ring back off, grinning. "Married cigars must be more expensive than single ones."
"Oh, Gilligan," the Skipper shook his head at the younger man's foolishness, while the Professor also thanked Mr. Howell.
"Of course, of course. If I can be of any further assistance, ring my secretary."
"Wait, Mr. Howell?" The Skipper held up a hand as the man turned to leave. "Would you be willing to loan Gilligan a suit jacket? The Professor already has a formal jacket, but surely Gilligan could do something with his appearance."
Mr. Howell wrinkled his nose a few times, then clapped his hands together. "Yes, I think we can arrange that. Considering how much the girls are dressing up, it would be completely ridiculous to have Gilligan show up as an ape."
"Huh?" Gilligan frowned and turned to the Professor. "I don't look like an ape, do I?"
"No, Gilligan. I believe Mr. Howell is just using a metaphor."
"And not only that, he's comparing me to a gorilla—directly!"
"I'll meet you down by the lagoon, with the jacket," Mr. Howell agreed, talking to Skipper more than Gilligan. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I've got to go check on those beautiful girls." Mr. Howell started to walk off, then froze mid step and added, "including Lovey, of course. Ooh, tell her I said that!"
The Skipper waved and turned back to his companions, both of whom were still examining the rings. "Do you think they'll fit the girls?" he asked, peering at the diamonds.
"Hopefully. If not, I may be able to heat the metal enough to resize them slightly," said the Professor. Like the first mate, he also tried on his cigar band. "What'd you know! This one fits perfectly."
"Mine's a little small," said Gilligan, tugging the band off again. "Maybe it belonged to the wife-cigar?"
The Skipper just shook his head, mentally praying for MaryAnn.
At exactly four-thirty, the group of Castaways gathered in the sand by the lagoon. Mr. and Mrs. Howell insisted on standing in front of MaryAnn and Ginger, trying to block anyone from seeing them, but Gilligan thought he caught a glimpse of a white dress.
He was really getting married! If his mother had been around, she would've probably fainted in surprise.
"All right, shall we get started?" The Skipper asked, holding his hat in his hands. The Professor and Gilligan both had their suit jackets on, and though they looked anxious, everything seemed just as orderly as ever. Mrs. Howell's flowers hung on the raft and petals decorated the sand. The lagoon looked like a glamorous spot for a wedding. Or a somewhat-forced double-wedding.
"Professor, Gilligan, let's get on the raft," said Skipper. The Howells remained where they were, hiding the girls until the men were all standing on the bamboo stage.
"Are you ready, MaryAnn? Ginger?" Mrs. Howell asked, practically bursting with giddiness.
The girls both nodded. "As ready as we'll ever be," said Ginger.
"Now this is where you hear an imaginary bridal march," announced Mr. Howell, gesturing to the men on the raft. With a smile at his wife, the two stepped aside, letting the girls walk forward.
The Professor swallowed quickly, even though his mouth had gone very dry. Why did Ginger have to be so…so…so physically attractive? Some days—like that day—she made it hard to breathe.
Gilligan just opened his mouth a little, sure that MaryAnn was the prettiest girl he'd ever known.
The Skipper helped the girls onto the raft, once again trying to bury any feelings of jealousy as they both smiled at their future husbands. "All right, anchors aweigh!" The Skipper used a pole to push the vessel onto the water, and the Howells clapped and tossed flower petals from the shore.
"Don't float us too far out to sea, Skipper," cautioned Gilligan. "There are sharks out there, remember?"
"Yes, Little Buddy, I remember," mumbled the Skipper, watching the water's depth below them. They were at least a couple feet above the ground. That was good enough.
MaryAnn's heart skipped a little as the Skipper turned to them, projecting his voice so the Howells could hopefully hear.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of these two couples." He folded his hands in front of him, then whispered, "Who wants to say the vows first?"
Skipper's four raft companions blinked at each other in unison. "Uh, age before beauty?" Gilligan finally squeaked, his voice cracking.
"Gilligan!" scolded Ginger, as she tipped her head haughtily. "I'm glad I'm not marrying you."
In all honesty, the Professor wanted to laugh. Instead he managed to nod to Skipper, agreeing to the suggestion.
"Very well. Do you, Professor Roy Hinkley, take this woman, Miss Ginger Grant, to be your lawfully wedded wife? And to have and to hold and all that?"
"Skipper!" Now Ginger chided him. "Can't you try to make the speech a tiny bit more romantic?"
"Er, sure," the Skipper cleared his throat. "In sickness and in health, for better, for worse, till death do us part? Or…rather, till death do you part, since you're not marrying me."
Ginger rolled her eyes, but stood quietly by the Professor. He had a bit more compassion for the Skipper. Marrying his friends off to each other was probably uncomfortable.
"Professor?" prodded the Skipper. "What do you say to all of that?"
"Oh! I do."
"And Miss Ginger Grant, do you take this man, Professor Roy Hinkley, to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better, for worse, till death do you part?"
"Very nice Skipper," said Ginger, smiling. She glanced down at her blue flower bouquet, then snuck a nervous look at the Professor. "I do."
"That's…good," said the Skipper. "Professor. The rings?"
"Rings?" MaryAnn and Ginger both spoke in unison, their faces lighting up.
"This one's for me," said the Professor, handing Ginger the cigar band. "And this one…is for you."
"Oh!" She gasped as he reached for her left hand, slipping the sparkling ring onto her finger. "It's beautiful!"
The Professor smiled. She also reached for his hand and slipped on the cigar band. His hand was shaking a little, but Ginger decided that was endearing.
"All right. I'll have Gilligan and MaryAnn say their vows now too," explained the Skipper. He had everyone shuffle around a little bit, catching his breath when the raft swayed. After a moment or two, the raft leveled out and the younger couple was standing before him.
"Mr. William Gilligan, do you take this woman, Miss MaryAnn Summers, to be your lawfully wedded wife? And so on, and so on."
"Huh?"
"Oh, you know… All the vow-stuff I just said a minute ago!"
"Oh. That so on and so on." Gilligan smiled and nodded. MaryAnn was counting on him to say that he agreed. He couldn't bear to make her upset with him by playing chicken.
"Yes, Skipper. I do."
The Skipper swallowed tightly, unexpectedly feeling quite emotional. He shuffled his weight a little and felt the raft sway again. "Sorry, I, well…" He coughed and continued on. "Miss MaryAnn Summers, do you take this man, Mr. William Gilligan, to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"Uh, Skipper? You mean, 'husband'?"
The Skipper blinked. "Yes! Of course! Did I not say that?"
"No. You called me a girl," Gilligan said, disapproving.
The Skipper shook his head again. The sooner the ceremony was over, the better.
"Sorry, Little Buddy. Uh, MaryAnn…do you take him as your lawfully wedded husband?"
"I do!"
"Good. Gilligan? It's time for the rings."
MaryAnn looked practically giddy as Gilligan reached into his pocket. He frowned for a moment and everyone started to panic, but then—
"Oh, they're in my other pocket." Gilligan withdrew two shiny objects and handed the diamond one to MaryAnn. "This is yours."
"Thank you, Gilligan! It's lovely."
"Just like you," he parroted back, feeling a bit proud when she smiled.
The Skipper cleared his throat again as MaryAnn and Gilligan put on their rings. "All right then, I suppose all that's left is…" He paused as the raft swayed again. But this time, no one was moving. What was—?
"Skipper, look to your left!" The Professor pointed at the corner of the raft, where a few shards of a glass champagne bottle were still wedged between the bamboo poles. Poles that were surely drifting apart. "Why…it's the alcohol!" The Professor snapped his fingers. "It must have eaten through the pitch we'd been using to keep the bamboo together."
The Skipper didn't particularly care why the raft was coming apart; he was more concerned with the fact that it was!
"Okay, let me hurry this up." The Skipper rubbed his head, his nervousness returning. "Where was I?"
"You were on the raft," said the first mate.
"Thanks a lot, Gilligan." The Skipper figured it would be poor form to hit one of the grooms during the wedding ceremony, so he restrained himself. "I think I was about to pronounce you all as—"
"Ahh! This corner's coming apart too!" cried MaryAnn, quickly jumping away from where she'd been standing a moment previously. The whole raft pitched a little. Gilligan felt like he was back at sea for a moment.
"Don't worry, MaryAnn! I've got you." He grabbed the girl and pulled her away from the edge, bumping into Skipper as he did so.
For a moment, the Skipper pinwheeled his arms, and it looked like he was going to catch his balance on his own. But as the Professor and Ginger moved forward to help him, the raft tipped the other direction and it was all no use. The Skipper fell overboard with a splash.
"Skipper!"
"Captain!" Even the Howells on the shore were shouting.
Meanwhile, the raft was still rocking—and pulling apart much more rapidly.
"Ahh! My heel!" Ginger's shoe slipped between two of the poles, and she grabbed the Professor's jacket frantically. He managed to pull her up, but the continued movement wasn't helping anything. The raft began to split right through the middle. Gilligan, still holding onto MaryAnn, pitched overboard. The bride's bouquet went flying.
In seconds, all five were in the water, clinging to the floating remnants of what had been a very nicely decorated raft.
"Gilligan!" screamed the Skipper. "What did I tell you earlier about not ending up in the lagoon?!"
The first mate spit water from his mouth. "Sorry?"
The Skipper shook his head and looked around at the others. Everyone seemed fine, though the girls weren't very happy about the state of their wedding dresses.
Right. There was still a wedding to finish.
"Everyone, grab onto the frame of the raft for a moment and pick your feet up, so you're not touching the ground," the Skipper barked.
His companions seemed a bit confused, but they were too distressed to argue.
"Professor and Ginger—by the power vested in me as your Captain, I pronounce you man and wife. Gilligan and MaryAnn—you're also man and wife. You can kiss when we get to shore." The Skipper let go of the raft and stood back up again. The others followed suit.
"I kinda think that was the most exciting wedding ever," said Gilligan, grinning a little.
"Our poor dresses," moaned Ginger, staring at MaryAnn's soaked gown.
"Good grief, Gilligan!" shouted Mr. Howell, cupping his hands around his mouth as he yelled. "You're going to ruin my blazer!"
Mrs. Howell tapped her husband on the shoulder and whispered something.
Mr. Howell called to Gilligan again. "Sorry, my dear boy. Mazeltov. But PLEASE get out of the lagoon!"
Half an hour later, the Professor had a fire going, MaryAnn and Ginger were setting plates on the table for dinner, and Gilligan and the Skipper were pouring coconut milk. Everyone was still soaked, but it was a warm day and MaryAnn insisted that all the moving around would help dry out their layers of wet clothes.
Mr. and Mrs. Howell were already at the table, sitting and giving commentary on what they'd witnessed from shore.
"It's no wonder we can't build a boat and sail off this island. We can't even get a raft to last ten minutes!" Mr. Howell proclaimed.
"The Professor said it was your bubbly's fault," Gilligan informed the man, refilling the Howells' drink cups.
"But who dropped the bubbly?" mumbled the Skipper, staring pointedly at the first mate.
Mr. Howell didn't seem to hear that comment. He was up-in-arms about Gilligan's statement. "How dare you accuse an innocent 1950 champagne! And you killed it first, so now you're sabotaging its reputation post…post…post-mouse? What's that word, Lovey?"
"Posthumously?" offered the Professor, looking up from his firewood.
"Ah, yes. That's what I meant. So you see, Gilligan, that's quite an unfair accusation, quite unfair."
"Sorry, Mr. Howell. Sorry, everyone. But at least I didn't lose the rings in the lagoon."
"Oh yes," MaryAnn said quickly, jumping to his defense. "I'm still in awe over my ring. I've never owned anything so beautiful in all my life!"
"Mine is gorgeous too," Ginger said, stopping mid step to stare at it.
"Yes, and the important thing is that Skipper finished the ceremony legally and we're all married now," said the Professor. He stood up from the fire, while Gilligan raised a hand.
"That's not true. We're not all married. The Skipper's still single!" Gilligan grinned at his friend. "That means that next time a fat headhunter girl comes to the island looking for a husband, you get to go through the marriage-tests."
The ceremony is over now, thought the Skipper. He took off his hat and smacked Gilligan with it.
During the previous day, everyone had worked hard to help get ready for a feast. Now, as the girls brought out platters of fresh fruit and fish, even Mr. Howell decided that supervising a fishing line had been worth the effort.
"And don't forget the cake!" Ginger cried, rushing back into the hut to help MaryAnn carry out an impressive pineapple cream dessert.
"That looks amazing, girls," complimented the Skipper.
"Hopefully it tastes even better," said MaryAnn, smiling.
Everyone sat down to eat and Mrs. Howell proposed a toast. "To Ginger and the Professor, and to MaryAnn and Gilligan! May you all have wonderful marriages and many many children."
"Heavens to Fort Knox, that sounds like the toast my mother-in-law gave us," Mr. Howell mumbled. But he raised a glass and drank happily.
Everyone else drank to the toast as well, but there was again a certain level of nervousness in the air. By the time they got to the cake, none of the newlyweds even ate more than a few bites. Celebrating a wedding for the sake of love was one thing. Celebrating a wedding for the necessity of children was a bit different.
"That cake was absolutely delicious," Mrs. Howell praised the girls. "And even after falling in the lagoon, you've dried off nicely. You look just as lovely as ever."
"Indeed," said Mr. Howell, stifling a yawn. The sun had started to set and the firelight glowed brightly around the clearing. Mr. Howell yawned again, then got to his feet. "I hate to be the first to leave any party—unless I'm making a social statement—but two late nights in a row is not recommended by my doctors."
"Today was truly beautiful though," Mrs. Howell gushed. "We ought to do it again sometime."
"Yeah, when Skipper marries a fat headhunter girl," said Gilligan, giving the Captain a cheeky grin.
"Gilligan…" growled the Skipper. Strangling a man on his wedding day was probably just as rude as smacking him during the vows. But if that boy made one more joke about headhunter girls…
"Goodnight, all," said Mrs. Howell, standing beside her husband and waving formally.
"Oh, thank you for everything!" MaryAnn and Ginger both got up to hug the older woman, again expressing gratitude for the decorations and the dress alterations.
"Yes, yes, goodnight to all of you as well," said Mr. Howell. He shook hands with Gilligan and the Professor—and then the Skipper too for good measure.
As soon as the Howells had left the clearing, the firelight seemed to dim a little. "Maybe we should start cleaning up?" suggested MaryAnn.
"Oh, sure. We'll all help," said the Skipper, feeling the need to say something. However, many hands did make light work, and within twenty minutes, no one would've known that there had been a feast.
"I, well…I guess this is my cue to turn in for the night too," said the Skipper, awkwardly faking a yawn. He couldn't help but feel unsettled; he would have to return to his hut—which for the first time ever would be empty—while all his companions…
Nope. The Skipper didn't want to think about anything. It was just an average night. "See you all in the morning."
"Thanks for the marriages, Skipper," said MaryAnn, her voice soft. She and Ginger both rushed to hug him and Skipper felt another emotional lump well in his throat.
"Right. Er…congratulations, all of you," said the Skipper. He glanced again at Ginger and MaryAnn, then also hugged the Professor and lastly, Gilligan. "See you around, Little Buddy."
"Around? You'll see me at breakfast! I'm married, not dead."
That was a good reminder. Everyone laughed a little and the Skipper gave Gilligan a second hug. After that, he made a quick exit. The Skipper had already experienced enough emotions for one day.
The fire was nearly gone now. The four newlyweds all stared at each other for a moment, then the Professor broke the silence by reaching for Ginger's hand. "Well, congratulations Gilligan and MaryAnn. We should probably all call it a night as well."
"Right," said MaryAnn. "Congratulations too! See you both…at breakfast."
"Do you think we can make pancakes for breakfast?" Gilligan asked.
"Sure, sure! That'd be great," MaryAnn replied, her voice an octave higher than usual.
"Okay, see you then," said Ginger, quickly stepping forward to give MaryAnn a hug. She embraced Gilligan as well, while the Professor and MaryAnn hugged too. What was it about weddings—and shared nerves—that made everyone so friendly?
Ginger finally returned to the Professor's side and they began walking toward his hut. On impulse, she grabbed his hand—which was still shaking a little.
"Well…Roy…I hope you're okay with a little redecorating in the coming weeks," Ginger said, as they paused outside the doorway. "Your window looks so bare without a flower box."
"Oh," said the Professor, quite eloquently. He proceeded to stand frozen, not saying anything.
Ginger couldn't bear her friend's—no, her husband's—anxious silence. She was about to start chattering over something else trivial, but then he looked at her and nodded—almost triumphantly.
"I remembered an old tradition," said the Professor. His smile faltered, but he cleared his throat and pressed on anyway. "You know I'm not superstitious—nor romantic. But here's a tradition that forces me to pretend I'm both."
And then, before Ginger could say another word, he scooped her into his arms and carried her over the imaginary threshold.
A few huts over, MaryAnn and Gilligan had reached their new home as well. Gilligan wandered in and sniffed the air. "It still smells a bit like Ginger in here." He then laughed and shrugged. "That's probably better than whatever I smell like."
"Oh, you don't smell. At least, not right now," amended MaryAnn. She drew courage from the simple joke. Talking with Gilligan was so easy…they could be themselves and conversation came naturally.
Maybe Mrs. Howell's advice was useful after all.
"Gilligan," MaryAnn started, watching the first mate—her husband—as he lit a candle across the room. "I don't want you ever to be anyone but yourself, all right?"
Gilligan turned to face her, then smiled. "That's good. Because I think I'd be pretty bad at being the Skipper or the Professor."
MaryAnn laughed a little, grinning genuinely. If Gilligan was as sweet and goofy as ever, and she was as sweet and practical as ever…
"Should I…start kissing you now?" Gilligan asked, his shadow flickering in the candlelight. MaryAnn blushed at the simple request, which was out of character for Gilligan…but yet…still so Gilligan-like.
Yes, she thought. They too could survive marriage just fine.