“Yes, the one forThe New Yorker.”
“Honestly, I’ve lost track. Although that presupposes I was ever keeping track, which I don’t think I actually was.”
“Wow, you’re in a mood. Are you sure you’re alone there?”
“Do you honestly think I would be on the phone with you if I had someone else here?”
J’s mind immediately went to all the nights his texts went unanswered. But he was at least smart enough not to air these thoughts. Instead he said, “I’m sorry I’m keeping you awake. I’ll let you go.”
That last sentence got a laugh.
“What?” J asked.
“Nothing.”
“No. What?”
“It’s just...all evidence points to you not, in fact, letting me go.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?”
J didn’t like this. Not at all. He debated: Attack or retreat? Attack or retreat? Attack or—
“Look,” V said, sounding completely exasperated. “When I came here, I didn’t think you were going to follow me. But that’s exactly what you’ve done. And I don’t want that. I’ve never wanted that.”
There was a moment she could have taken it back. Could have said,I’m sorry, I’m just tired. Let’s talk in the morning. J gave her the opportunity to have that moment. He waited.
But she didn’t take it back.
She just hung up.
And J didn’t call her back.
Return to me, return to me, return to me,J thinks. Then he realizes Nick is talking to him.
“Next up is the Abramovitz wedding. The interns tell me you’re going to like this one.”
The door opens, and a male couple walks in. One of them, cute and bearded, takes one look at J and actually gasps and steps back, the way singing show contestants on TV do when they realize that the guest coach is someone they adore, like Dolly Parton or Ariana Grande. The bearded guy’s spouse seems more amused than annoyed by this.
“C’mon, David,” he says. “Just breathe.”
David takes some quite visible breaths, then comes over to J and says, “When they said there was a singer who wanted to do a spontaneous wedding song for us, I thought, well, okay. They didn’t say your name or anything, but then one of them mentioned that you’d come all the way from Sweden, and I thought, it couldn’t possibly be...but—I’m freaking out here a little—it actually is you. And that’s, like, the most rad wedding surprise a guy could ever ask for.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” J says, and he means it with every ounce of his soul, even though a bittersweet note is being struck somewhere inside him. How has it gotten to a point where he can bring strangers such ebullient joy, but not the woman he loves?
“I hate to interrupt,” Judge Pao says, not unkindly, “but I believe there’s a wedding that needs to be performed? And I’m afraid you can’t eat that in here.”
This last part refers to a giant cake that one of the guests is carrying.
“Oh, we know,” the bearded groom says. “It’s just...we couldn’t just leave it out there.”
“It took so long to bake it,” the clean-shaven groom says, “and he’ll never have that recipe agaaaaaaaain.”
J laughs, and the clean-shaven groom adds, “He really did bake it. I’m not saying I’m marrying him because of his baking. But...it’s certainly in the plus column.”
The ceremony is as sweet as J imagines the cake to be. When his turn comes, he sings to them:
