The sigh returns. Were V a tire, she’d be out of air by now.
“I don’t know when I’m returning,” she says. “It might be a few weeks or it might be a little longer than a few weeks. But I know for sure we’re not moving here so Thor can keep his dog. Okay?”
J says it’s okay.
But it doesn’t feel okay.
Neither J nor V is a fan of any particular sport. J will turn on the World Cup, maybe. V thinks the Williams sisters are incredible, but she never got much thrill from watching them play full sets. Highlight reels were enough.
Still, even if neither of the two people involved in this conversation is sport-inclined, a sporting truism occurs to each of them at this point. It’s actually one of the most basic truisms in all of sports: You don’t get much of a game if both sides are on the defense. Pride might be saved, but the match won’t be won.
It stands to follow, then, that if you’re both going to be defensive, you might as well save the energy and leave the field.
“You know what,” J says, “you’re right. Itislate. Iamtired.”
A soothing tone returns to V’s voice. “I know. And I’m super stressed and, frankly, sick of working late every night.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“Good luck with the rest of your night.”
“Sleep well.”
J knows he is not going to sleep well. He knows he shouldn’t have been the first one to say “I miss you” because the “I miss you, too” is never, ever as satisfying to receive. All V needed to say was “I can’t wait to come back to you, whether or not Thor has a dog.”
J loves that V will always avoid being an outright liar. But that makes it harder when there’s a truth he wants her to confirm and she steps away from it rather than addressing it.
J feels alone in his apartment and stuck in his aloneness. Because the only person he wants to call is the person he’s just hung up with.
At 6:14 p.m. the next evening, J clicks the video chat link.
At 6:15 p.m., another box appears without its camera on.
“Please hold for Celestia Vaughn,” a voice—presumably the assistant’s?—intones.
J waits. And waits.
At 6:28 p.m. the shades of another virtual window are drawn and he’s face-to-face with a woman who can only be Celestia Vaughn. She is no doubt younger than J, but already has the semi-android look of someone who is using surgical means to tame all the personality from her face. While J is at his kitchen table, lit by the usual lighting fixtures, Celestia is ring-lit, in a study where the book spines have been arranged into striped patterns. Books with small titles have been deliberately chosen, since longer titles would interfere with the effect.
None of this is particularly unexpected. What is unexpected is when Celestia opens her mouth and takes the tone of an early teenager who’s had a little too much fruit punch at the slumber party.
“Oh my god, it’s so amazing to see you!” she launches with. “I’m honored, really. I’ve been listening to your albums nonstop since Iread that article, and the fact that you’d be willing to even consider our wedding—I can’t tell you what that means to me. Truly. I was telling Roger, ‘You have to listen to this guy. He knows things about love that you and I really need to learn.’ The fact that you write songs for couples—what a kind way to share your talents. A gift. Like, totally a gift.”
J doesn’t know what to say to any of this except “Thank you.”
“Now, before we get into it, I also have to apologize to you for the sum we quoted in our initial email. That was before I heard your music. Roger would hate me for saying this, but we’re definitely willing to go higher.”
Again, J finds himself thanking her. The weird part being: He can tell she’s not bullshitting. She actually listened the songs, and they meant something to her. That means as much as the money, although the money of course is more helpful when he’s out in the wider world.
“So tell me, how does it work?”
He gives her the rundown about the conversations they’ll have so he can shape the song, then the two sets he’ll perform—one with favorites of theirs, one with the wedding song. They can incorporate the sets into their wedding wherever they see fit.
Celestia starts to flutter her hand in front of her face. Her eyes are tearing up.
“That’s just so...special,” she says. Then she looks to her side, sees someone, and gestures for them to come closer.
