Even Brody, ostensibly the most important man there, looked a bit wrinkled.
But then Cooper walked in, mini banjo in hand.
His beige suit was too hip to be beige. Maybe it wasflax. Orbiscuit. Orstone.
Whatever it was, it wasworking. Cooper looked absolutely lethal: rocking his linen suit—vest and all—and wearing the very same ice-blue tie he’d blindfolded me with.
I stared at it in horror as he strode closer.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, ventriloquist style, when he got close enough.
Cooper shrugged, like nothing was weird. “Rescuing you.”
I turned to face away from the audience so I could speak to himnormally—remembering to cover the mic. “I don’t need to be rescued, thanks very much.”
But Cooper wasn’t there to fight. He just said, “Okay. You don’t need to be rescued. But would youliketo be rescued?”
I didn’t want to give him the victory. I didn’t want to give him anything.
How dare he show up here and be nice?
Dammit!
But I was too desperate for principles.
“Fine,” I said.
“Fine, what?” Cooper said, a smile peeking through.
“Fine, you can rescue me this time. But don’t do it again.”
“You got it,” Cooper said with a little nod. “Never again.”
Then he turned around to face away from the audience, too, lining up next to me. And then, out of the breast pocket on his suit jacket, he pulled out a pair of heart sunglasses and slipped them to me like we were passing notes in class. Then he pulled out a second pair for himself.
He gave me a sideways look and a nod, likeThis is what we’re doing.
Reading his movements in sync, I slipped my glasses on just as he did his, and then I turned around when he did—Blues Brothers style—to face the room.
Like this had been the plan all along.
The room burst into cheers.
Okay, maybe I had needed to be rescued—a little bit.
With Cooper beside me, and the safety blanket of my new heart glasses, I closed my eyes and did what I was best at: I pretended Cooper and I were in my bedroom.
Next to me, Cooper started strumming our opening chords. And then I gave myself over to Cooper, and his mini banjo, and the soul-deep pleasure of singing a perfect harmony with another person. And then I justknew, in a way that I never, ever knew anything, that I was going to be okay.
Thirty
IN THE END,we got a standing ovation.
Ashley jumped to her feet, pumping her arm and whooping wildly as soon as we were done, and the whole room followed her lead and stood up. Even Brody.
Okay, this was superior to justnot dying.
I couldn’t help but feel a little good. Just try to feel bad when a full ballroom of wedding guests is cheering for an encore—I dare you.
