The Second Weddins #2
V was brought on to do PR, thinking it wouldn’t go anywhere.
Much to everyone’s frustration, while Thor was good at world-building, he sucked at words, and for far too long, the site was only known as Untitled Thor Project.
Then one day, V made a joke in a meeting about how the guy she was dating called it Secret Project.
..and that was the missing piece, the phrase that got everyone excited.
In what could only be called a frenzy, Thor got more funding than most charities ever saw, and big American companies started sniffing around, thinking they smelled The Next Big Thing.
At this juncture, the sniffers had turned into suitors, and it was decided that V’s ability to judge character was crucial, since Thor would have probably sold the company for jellybeans if they’d been the right color.
J still likes to think of V’s employment as something between a lark and a dark comedy.
Most times, V agrees with this assessment—the stakes shouldn’t be high when dealing with imaginary worlds.
But she will also admit (often to herself, occasionally to J) that she’s become invested in Secret Project’s fate.
Both literally (if it becomes the next Minecraft, she will have more money than she ever imagined having) and figuratively.
After telling J that Thor might need her in New York, she prepares herself for the joke, the jibe, the groan. She is unprepared for J to lean in the doorway of his bedroom and say, “I know he needs you...but I would love for you to be there. I have no other plus-one in my life.”
“Come on,” she says, keeping her voice light. “It’s her fourth wedding. I missed the first three. I can’t imagine my absence will be noticed.”
“I’ll notice it,” J responds. There’s a vulnerability in his voice that’s not characteristic; he doesn’t usually get pre-show jitters.
“It’s going to be weird for me. Besides Tom and his family, odds are good that other people will be there who’ve known me since I was a tadpole.
I want it to go well...and having you there always helps. ”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I doubt the trip will end up happening. The money guys want to make the Americans come to us. And if we’re going to New York, it’ll probably take more than a week to organize.
Thor is neck-deep in the Beta, and I don’t think the design team wants to lose him, even for forty-eight hours. ”
“I don’t get it,” J says.
“Which part?”
“Why do they call the demo stage ‘Beta’? Shouldn’t ‘Beta’ be second? Who are these people?”
They’ve swapped back to their old positions—now J is joking, and V is feeling like the serious one.
“Also,” he adds, “how many chances do you get to see the same people married for a fourth time?”
V knows she should take some satisfaction in being so needed. But instead of filling her up, it drains her a little, and she isn’t even sure why.
After J had agreed to sing at her wedding, Lisbet took him to lunch. Tom came along because J wouldn’t let him get out of it.
Lunch with Lisbet wasn’t a particularly risky endeavor, as long as you didn’t plan to say very much, and as long as you weren’t the server.
(“I don’t think this glass is clean” was a particular favorite of hers.
Back when J was a teenager, he’d once seen her return three water glasses in a row, due to smudges his own eyes couldn’t locate.)
For a half hour, she told them about the details of the wedding—especially how exhausting it was to put up with the planner’s shortcomings. George’s name wasn’t mentioned once, not even when the subject veered into J’s field.
“About the song,” Lisbet said, after at least ten seconds of staring at a lettuce leaf with intense displeasure. “There will be an original song, correct? Tommy told me you write a song for all your weddings. It’s a darling conceit.”
J had been hoping he’d get out of writing a song for George and Lisbet.
At their third wedding, the highlight had been a sterling rendition of Shania Twain’s “You’re Still the One”—somehow seeing a middle-aged, third-time’s-the-charm couple dance to it made it uncommonly moving.
J had assumed he would just have to whip up some similar hits from bygone eras.
Now, Tom was looking apologetic even before J turned his way.
“Of course there will be a song,” J replied.
Lisbet used her fork and knife to cross out her salad, then pushed the plate away as if it had been inching closer to attack her.
“Look,” she said, “this is very important to me: I want you to be truthful . I know that often your songs attempt to be funny, and I know there’s an audience for that.
But not at my wedding. I am aware—painfully aware, one might say—that there are people who are laughing at me for going through with this yet again.
As far as I’m concerned, there’s already been enough laughter on the subject.
I do not intend to sit there at my wedding and give an opportunity for further jocularity. Can you see where I’m coming from?”
J couldn’t help but smile. Can you see where I’m coming from ?
was Lisbet’s inadvertent catchphrase. Memorably, in the middle of a silly fight over staying out late for a Weezer concert, Lisbet had asked this question and Tom had foolishly replied, “The kitchen, Mom! You’re coming from the kitchen ! ” There had been hell to pay for that.
It was a lesser hell to be paid for the smile now—but the smile was noticed. To J’s horror, it was met not with anger or rebuke, but with a flash of sadness.
Oh, no, J thought. She thinks I’m laughing at her, too .
Quickly, he collected himself and tried his best to look sincere.
“I promise I’ll stick to the truth,” he said. “It’s a truth worth celebrating.”
“Exactly,” Tom said. “That’s exactly right.”
Lisbet leaned back, satisfied.
The truth.
The truth is that the wedding is three days away and J hasn’t written a word yet.
The truth is also that J has never gotten back with an ex for any lasting period of time. Not for lack of trying.
Getting back together three times is unimaginable.
He wants to talk it over with V, which is both scary and thrilling.
In the past, his creativity was a castle where he’d wander from room to room, pacing the chambers and ransacking the drawers to find the perfect phrase or the right instrumentation.
The castle was his and his alone—all others were requested to stay on the other side of the drawbridge, allowed in only when it was time to perform in the ballroom.
At first, the drawbridge applied to V..
.but she must have found an underground passage, maybe a service elevator from the dungeon.
Whatever the case, he started to bump into her when he wandered the halls.
Every now and then he’d ask her if she’d seen where he’d placed his chorus, and she’d tell him to check the closet off the vestry.
Then she’d keep walking, leaving him alone again.
Now J is in his apartment, trying to get to the castle. V is working late, and he’s starting to wonder if he needs to talk to her to find his way.
While he waits, he tries to find the phrase that will gain him entry.
The fourth time’s the charm when it comes to love....
No, not that.
Can’t live with you,
Can’t live without you
Please.
Fuel my folly
And hold me tight
Grow old with me
Because what other choice do you have?
Tom’s mom would kill him.
V comes home at ten, which is three hours later than planned, and (to her) at least an hour earlier than expected. The office is in Thor’s house, and he often forgets that his employees have a longer commute than he does.
“Why would you marry the same person four times?” J asks as soon as she comes through the door. If she is surprised by this, it doesn’t show.
“Addiction? Boredom?” she answers, hanging up her coat and kicking off her shoes. “Love? Loneliness? Whatever the condition, it has to be mutual.”
“It’s like a wound you don’t want to heal.”
V shakes her head. “It’s a game you keep pausing but still want to get to the next level.”
“No. It’s a flavor you forget, so you have to keep ordering it again.”
“An old shirt you keep deciding to wear.”
“A crime scene you keep returning to.”
V, who has walked into the bedroom, pops her head back into the living room.
“That one. That works.”
The drawbridge lowers a little. J squeezes in, and V leaves him alone in the castle as she reheats some chicken and watches the news, because (perversely) it helps her relax.
It’s only when J emerges from the castle ninety-seven minutes and six lines later that he asks how her day went.
“New York is off,” she says. “For now. Thor’s become a little...obsessed. He wants our person to ask for a Times Square billboard as one of the terms.”
“Has he been to New York before?”
“On a school trip. I think they took lots of drugs and wandered around the city. Whenever it comes up, he says, ‘It’s so inspiring. Such an inspiring city. An inspiration for the world, because of all its inspiring qualities.’”
“Just don’t leave me if Secret Project suddenly becomes a big American company based in New York,” J requests.
She comes over to him and kisses his forehead.
“Don’t worry. I don’t find New York nearly as inspiring.”
“Good. And I hope this means you’ll be joining me at the wedding.”
V smiles. “A crime scene I keep returning to, it appears.”
Later that evening, J works on his song while sitting on the toilet (clothed) with his guitar, while V gives notes (naked) from the tub.