There are a few chairs at the side of the room (“for when the pole dancers need a break, presumably”). J sits down and Skye turns their chair around so they can straddle it and lean on its back, putting J and Skye face-to-face in a strangely intimate way.
Skye can’t hide how glum they’re feeling.
“If history’s any indication, Detroit’s blowing us off. Not deliberately. But I’m sure he got caught up in something—or someone—else, and when he loses track, there’s no point in waiting for the train to arrive.”
“It’s not a big deal. We can just talk about how it’ll go, and you can pass it on.”
“I know, I know,” Skye says. “I just thought maybe Detroit would show up for, you know, our wedding rehearsal.”
“I mean, it’s not a real wedding rehearsal.”
Skye stands up, swings the chair around, and sits back down. “Oh, I’m very aware of that.”
“Do you want it to be a real wedding rehearsal?”
Skye leans back and laughs. Then they lean forward and touch J gently on the knee.
“Thank you. You are the only person who’s actually asked me that, Detroit included. And the simple answer is, unfortunately, very complicated. Do I wish we were getting married tomorrow? No, I do not. But do I wish that our relationship was in a place where it would make sense for us to get married tomorrow? Well then, yes, I do.”
“You want to be monogamous?”
“Hell no! But I do want to be that important to Detroit. Or someone. I would like to have the confidence to say to someone else, ‘You. You’re the one I want in my life for the rest of my life.’ Doesn’t mean there can’t be anyone else. But as much as I believe in an open relationship, I also believe in constants. Is Detroit the closest thing I have to a constant right now? Absolutely. But does that make Detroit an actual constant, an absolute, enthusiastic constant? Well...”
“You’ve only been together two years, no?”
“I know. But shouldn’t it be long enough to at least know whether there’s the potential?”
J thinks of V. “Maybe. But even if you feel the potential...that’s no guarantee that you’ll arrive there. Life gets in the way. Or maybe you get in the way.”
“Would you fight for her?”
“What do you mean? Like a fistfight?”
“Just answer the question. Would you fight for her?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure it would matter.”
“I think Detroit would fight for me. But only if I found a way to make him realize he needed to.”
“It sounds like neither of us is in an ideal relationship.”
“Come on,” Skye says, reaching for J’s arm. “I’d settle for something really good.”
Skye’s hand lingers a little, then goes back to their own lap. It again occurs to J that there might be some flirting going on. But it also could just be the way Skye is, the affection not held back by any self-consciousness.
“Okay,” J says, trying to bring it back to business, “let’s talk the run of show.”
“Sure,” Skye replies, sitting up as if they’re about to take dictation.
It’s pretty basic, really. There will be about seventy “guests” if they’re lucky, bribed into attending with drink tickets, Detroit’s treat. A friend of theirs who goes by the name Sarah Burnheart will be the officiant. When the time comes, she’ll welcome guests (i.e., tell everyone to shut up and listen), give a brief comment on the present state of matrimony (spoiler: not great), and then ask Detroit and Skye to share their vows. This, Skye says, is the true performance art part, because they’ve been working on them separate from one another, “like a real married couple,” and the vows could take two minutes or twenty. No telling. (“Mine will probably take three, tops,” Skye promises.) Then Sarah Burnheart willintroduce J, who will play his songs. Once he’s done, Sarah will ask if anyone objects, and there should be at least a half dozen plants in the audience who will do so, strenuously. Chaos will ensue. The wedding will be called off, and then everyone will drink a little more and go home.
“We have the place until midnight,” Skye concludes. “But I’m guessing we’ll be done by eleven. Detroit often invites people to the apartment after. You’re more than welcome to join, although I can’t predict what we will be doing with those people. Could be an orgy, could be a spirited game of Charades. It’s hard to say.”
J can’t tell if Skye is joking or not and errs on the side of believing they aren’t.
“Any questions?” Skye continues. “Anything I missed?”
“No, I don’t think so. Do you have any questions?”
