“I have all of that information for you,” Maria says. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ll introduce you to the priest performing the ceremony, and he can tell you when you’ll be singing.”
Hugh calls out to his groomsmen, “It’s asurprise. From Tara. I swear...” The groomsmen murmur in response, nod.
J can see Hugh reading the room, understanding the situation and his options within it. He can’t quite muster an apology, but he does say to J, “Look—no hard feelings.”
J echoes this: “No hard feelings.” Even as he does, he thinks there are two ways to take the phrase. He’s always heard it withhardmeaningnot soft—you shouldn’t carry around feelings you aren’t able to swallow or digest. But right now the other meaning ofhardcomes to the fore, and he realizes people like Hugh who say “no hard feelings” are actually asking for all their feelings to be easy ones. They resent having to deal with any complications.
It’s Maria who says “I’m sorry about that” as they leave the larger ballroom and step out onto the sweeping balcony where the ceremony will be held, with the skyscrapers of Manhattan looking on. “I told her I don’t like surprises at this stage. But she was so excited to have you here, and to have you perform the song. It’s a great song, by the way. She had me stand there and listen to it as she played it on her phone. Anyway, will you and your girlfriend be staying for the reception? I don’t think we planned for that.”
“No,” J says. “I think we’ll make our exit after the ceremony.”
“Yes, I think that’s for the best.”
Maria heads off to find the priest, and J places a quick call to V.
“Hello?” she answers.
“What are you doing right now?”
“I was washing the dishes until I had to answer the phone.”
“Look—I need you to come to this wedding.”
“Has something happened?”
J fills her in.
“I told you!” V laughs. J can’t say he’s particularly missed this brand of self-satisfaction in her voice.
“Just come for the ceremony. Meet Hugh. And then we’ll run off. There’s a great view here.”
“Where are you?”
He tells her the name of the hotel and where it is.
“You want me to come to New Jersey?!?”
“It’s not likeThe Sopranos. Much less gunfire. Possibly less therapy.”
“And you need me there in an hour?”
“Ideally. I can order you an Uber.”
“How do I let myself be dragged into these things?”
“Because of your love for chaos. I promise, this is a chaos site. And also, I need you.”
He makes theI need yousound site-specific, although as he says it, it feels bigger than that.
V says, “I’ll send the address. Order that Uber and screenshot the driver info for me. If you need me right away, I’m not going to change for the event. What I’m wearing is nice enough.”
J does not see Tara until her father (around the same age as Hugh) walks her down the aisle. V, sitting next to J at the extreme left of the front row, whispers, “She’s not what I pictured,” and J wants to ask her why she bothered picturing anything at all. And with the veil, how can V tell what Tara looks like? J isn’t sure himself...although in this case the vague sense of Tara under the veil matches his blurred memory perfectly.
The ceremony itself is so traditional that J wonders whether he should have rewritten his song in Latin. The vows have been composed with a hand so heavy it might as well be God’s—you are my possession and I am yours, and nothing will ever stop this chain of mutual ownership. Or something like that.
The veil is lifted, and Tara comes a little more in focus, both in person and in memory. For all J knows, sheisthe one who got away. But probably not. Almost certainly not.
The priest admonishes Tara and Hugh to be kind to one another, to be beacons for their children, and to live a good life together.
