“Go ahead.”
“I happen to like that brand of canned vegetable. Their carrots in particular.”
She knocks back the rest of her drink. J likes to think of that as a signal.
“May I propose?” he asks.
“So soon?”
“I propose that we each get our own drinks and head to the balcony on the second floor to continue this conversation without so much noise around.”
She smiles at him, an invitation of a smile...but at the same time, a man taps her on the shoulder.
“Hey! There you are!” he says.
The man is handsome in a lacrosse-player way, and the tap on the shoulder effortlessly becomes a hand resting on the same shoulder. He’s covered in plastic jewelry and phone cords. An ’80s-style phone receiver sits on his head. J immediately knows what he’s up against.
Hotline Bling.
“Stephen’s the one who freed me up so I could drink,” Straitjacket Heart explains to J.
“Only left her because I promised my mother a dance!” Hotline Bling says. His hand will not leave her shoulder. J minds this more than she seems to.
Hotline Bling goes on, “You and the band were great, man. This is such a great idea for a wedding! I get to free my new friend here from her straitjacketandsee a concert at the same time.”
“You’re a lucky man,” J mutters.
“I know! What were you guys talking about? It lookedintense.”
Straitjacket Heart swivels away from J to face the Bling.
“He was just sharing a carrot cake recipe with me. Ends up the secret is for the carrots to be canned.”
“That’s cool—you singandyou cook. Way to go, man.”
All it would take is one wink from her. Not even an actual wink, but a slight tilt of the head that recognizes a wink would not work in this situation but that if she could be winking at J, she would be. J searches for that. For anything. But instead she asks Hotline Bling to get her another drink.
“Cool. Then you better eat something before they clear it all away. The crab cakes are to die for. Seriously.”
To J, it has all the harshness of the end of a good therapy session. To be stopped midflow. To be told time is up. To be reminded that the only reason the other person is there is because you made an appointment. To be reminded that they don’t care about you nearly as much as you care about yourself.
“I think I’ll go see what’s happening outside,” he says.
Before his straitjacketed companion can reply, Hotline Bling holds out his hand and says, “So nice to meet you, man. Keep up the good work!”
J shakes it as forcefully as possible. Then he goes outside as quickly as he can without the spectacle of actual running.
Outside it’s crowded with people smoking in the parking lot. The party is at Sockerbruket, an arrangement of buildings that look like offices aspiring half-heartedly to be castles. J angles through the parking lot to take a break by the river, and as he does, a lit cigarette grazes one of his balloons (deliberately or not) and pops it. Atleast two people scream. J keeps walking, wanting to be as far as he can get from the wedding without leaving it. When he gets to the water, he feels how chilly it is—he couldn’t wear a jacket over his balloons.
He knows he has one song left, but he feels the urge for going. Jun and Arthur suddenly seem like strangers again. J wonders why he’s doing this, why he’s spending so much energy on going to strangers’ weddings when there are better ways to build a career. Then he wonders why there’s a cold, heavy rock in his stomach. He doesn’t have to wander very far in his wondering. The answer is clear, and it’s currently having drinks with Hotline Bling.
He sees a woman exit the wedding venue. She’s wearing a big rose-shaped hat and far too much lipstick. She scans the crowd and then looks to the distant, antisocial shore where J has claimed citizenry. When she sees him, she scampers over.
It’s only when she’s closer that J recognizes her as Olivia, the friend of Jun and Arthur’s who helped them plan the wedding.
When she gets to him, she says, “Kiss from a Rose,” without him having to ask. He smiles. Of course.
Olivia tells him, “We’re about five minutes away from the toasts, which means we’re anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes away from your wedding song, depending on how much the toast-givers have been drinking. Is that a word? Toast-givers?”
