After J had agreed to sing at her wedding, Lisbet took him to lunch. Tom came along because J wouldn’t let him get out of it.
Lunch with Lisbet wasn’t a particularly risky endeavor, as long as you didn’t plan to say very much, and as long as you weren’t the server. (“I don’t think this glass is clean” was a particular favorite of hers. Back when J was a teenager, he’d once seen her return three water glasses in a row, due to smudges his own eyes couldn’t locate.)
For a half hour, she told them about the details of the wedding—especially how exhausting it was to put up with the planner’s shortcomings. George’s name wasn’t mentioned once, not even when the subject veered into J’s field.
“About the song,” Lisbet said, after at least ten seconds of staring at a lettuce leaf with intense displeasure. “There will be an original song, correct? Tommy told me you write a song for all your weddings. It’s adarlingconceit.”
J had been hoping he’d get out of writing a song for George and Lisbet. At their third wedding, the highlight had been a sterling rendition of Shania Twain’s “You’re Still the One”—somehow seeing a middle-aged, third-time’s-the-charm couple dance to it made it uncommonly moving. J had assumed he would just have to whip up some similar hits from bygone eras. Now, Tom was looking apologetic even before J turned his way.
“Of course there will be a song,” J replied.
Lisbet used her fork and knife to cross out her salad, then pushed the plate away as if it had been inching closer to attack her.
“Look,” she said, “this is very important to me: I want you to betruthful. I know that often your songs attempt to be funny, and I know there’s an audience for that. But not at my wedding. I am aware—painfully aware, one might say—that there are people who are laughing at me for going through with this yet again. As far as I’m concerned, there’s already been enough laughter on the subject. I do not intend to sit there at my wedding and give an opportunity for further jocularity. Can you see where I’m coming from?”
J couldn’t help but smile.Can you see where I’m coming from? was Lisbet’s inadvertent catchphrase. Memorably, in the middle of a silly fight over staying out late for a Weezer concert, Lisbet had asked this question and Tom had foolishly replied, “The kitchen, Mom! You’re coming fromthe kitchen!” There had been hell to pay for that.
It was a lesser hell to be paid for the smile now—but the smile was noticed. To J’s horror, it was met not with anger or rebuke, but with a flash of sadness.
Oh, no,J thought.She thinks I’m laughing at her, too.
Quickly, he collected himself and tried his best to look sincere.
“I promise I’ll stick to the truth,” he said. “It’s a truth worth celebrating.”
“Exactly,” Tom said. “That’s exactly right.”
Lisbet leaned back, satisfied.
The truth.
The truth is that the wedding is three days away and J hasn’t written a word yet.
The truth is also that J has never gotten back with an ex for any lasting period of time. Not for lack of trying.
Getting back together three times is unimaginable.
He wants to talk it over with V, which is both scary and thrilling. In the past, his creativity was a castle where he’d wander from roomto room, pacing the chambers and ransacking the drawers to find the perfect phrase or the right instrumentation. The castle was his and his alone—all others were requested to stay on the other side of the drawbridge, allowed in only when it was time to perform in the ballroom. At first, the drawbridge applied to V...but she must have found an underground passage, maybe a service elevator from the dungeon. Whatever the case, he started to bump into her when he wandered the halls. Every now and then he’d ask her if she’d seen where he’d placed his chorus, and she’d tell him to check the closet off the vestry. Then she’d keep walking, leaving him alone again.
Now J is in his apartment, trying to get to the castle. V is working late, and he’s starting to wonder if he needs to talk to her to find his way.
While he waits, he tries to find the phrase that will gain him entry.
The fourth time’s the charm when it comes to love....
No, not that.
Can’t live with you,
Can’t live without you
Please.
Fuel my folly
And hold me tight
Grow old with me
