So instead he says, “This whole thing is a sham. My sham. You’re all here so I could debut two new songs. This is something my record company likes us to do, surprising strangers to launch new music. It’s huge on Swedish TikTok. Detroit and Skye are just playing along. They have no desire to get married. There’s no such thing as the Church of the Internet.”
(There actually is, but J doesn’t know that.)
J has faced some tough crowds, but actual booing is rare. The Brooklyn performance art community does not like being scammed. At least not by a singer-songwriter.
“I think you need to leave,” Sarah Burnheart says into the mic. This gets some applause.
J doesn’t have to be asked twice. He takes his guitar, and the crowd parts for him. People say, “Are you for real?” and, “There’s no way those songs get traction on TikTok, not even in Sweden,” and, “Well, the kiss was a nice touch—c’mon, itwas.”
Out on the sidewalk, he reaches into his pocket to check his phone for directions. As he does, he hears someone call his name and turns to see Skye coming out the door of the bar, alone.
“Hi,” they say.
“Hello,” J replies. “That was...something.”
“I don’t even know how to begin to thank you.”
“I got you into this mess in the first place.”
Skye shakes their head. “The mess was already there. You just managed to find a reason for it to be on a stage tonight. Which was, in retrospect, maybe a mistake.”
“I’m the last person to give relationship advice, but...you should be with someone whose vows match yours. They don’t have to be the same. But they should match.”
“I know. But I think the important thing for tonight was...well, not getting married.”
“Mission accomplished.”
“I know, I know.” The two of them hang there for a moment; there’s either a lot more to say or nothing more to say, and both instinctually retreat to the latter. Skye goes on, “I suppose I should get back in and make sure Sarah doesn’t forge my signature on whatever paperwork she printed out from the internet. But...I hope you don’t mind, but can I ask you one more favor?”
“Sure,” J says. He knows it’s not going to be an invitation to the after party.
“Can you send me the song? I just...it would mean a lot to me to be able to listen to it. Just a little life raft I can keep with me at all times.”
“Of course,” J tells them.
“One last hug,” Skye says. J obliges. They hold for as long as Skye needs. Then they say goodbye and Skye heads back into the bar.
J genuinely has no memory of how to get back to Julia’s apartment. He hates that he is so dependent on his phone, but it’s either that or catch a cab. Except the address...is also on his phone.
He powers it back up, and while he’s on the maps app, he gets a notification of a text message from V. He quickly swipes over to read it. He’s expecting an excuse, or maybe to be told to stop texting her.
Instead she’s written:
The three of you make such a beautiful throuple.
Best wedding I’ve been to in years.
THE SIXTH WEDDING
J writes back:But what did you think of the songs?
To his surprise, V replies immediately.I think it’s clear who your favorite was. It was sweet to see you inspired by such sweetness.
J ventures,Is it the kind of song you’d want to hear again? Or perhaps you have other requests?
V volleys,A private performance?
J looks at the Brooklyn storefronts around him, their eyes closed for the evening. How long ago did V leave the venue? He curses himself for not paying more attention to the crowd...and is disturbed that he didn’t notice her. He doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Could she be hiding in a doorway, watching him text?
