The Fourth Wedding #4
“I would never trust anyone who claimed to be an expert in love,” she says.
“Surely you understand that? Love has more unknowns than knowns, more questions than answers. Why delude yourself into thinking otherwise? It’s the second largest thing we experience, after life itself.
There’s no way you’re going to get all of it right.
You just have to hope you get enough of it right, with other people who also get enough of it right. ”
It’s only when she stands that J realizes she never even took off her coat.
“Andreas has told you where to be?” she asks. “Ramberget at one? Right by Keillers Park. Andreas will send you the coordinates. It’s a nice spot.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
J stands to say goodbye. They hug with the awkwardness of two people who’ve crossed the line from strangers but haven’t yet made it to the territory of friends.
“I hope I gave you enough to work with,” Kerstin says.
J looks at his notebook on the table, and the few lines scribbled within it.
“It’s enough,” he promises.
He runs some errands, but as he does, the song is forming.
A number of his thoughts are melding, preparing the words to be there when he reaches for them.
There are too many words, and not all of them make sense.
But they are being assembled. Dancers at the ready, waiting for the choreographer to show up.
The problem is, when he finally sits down to summon the song, a lot of the dancers end up looking like V.
He puts them off by focusing on the chords, the melody.
He puts them off by picturing Andreas and Kerstin on a hillside, Kerstin in her scarf.
He puts them off by vowing not to call V, not tonight.
Then, nearing midnight New York time, he calls her.
He’s surprised when she picks up, and surprised further when her “hello” seems friendly, when she doesn’t immediately ask him why he’s calling.
His mind cycles through all the things he doesn’t think he can say— I just wanted to hear the sound of your voice, I have been thinking about you all day, I feel it’s time we had a talk but only if that talk leads to us being back together without question .
Finally he lands on, “Hi. Do you remember Andreas? The antique dealer?”
“Yes. What a sweet man. Please don’t tell me he’s dead.”
“No! He’s getting married. An instant wedding. He wants me to play.”
“Of course he does.”
Don’t say it like that. Why do you have to say it like that ?
“I talked to the couple today—I think you’d like her. Now I have about seventeen hours to write them a song.”
“So you called me for inspiration?”
I don’t need to call you for that. Right now you’re underneath every thought I have about love .
“I called because it’s been over a week since we talked.”
I miss you .
“It’s been so busy here. I can’t explain it to you—I’m not even sure I can explain it to myself.
At any given moment, there are a hundred things to do, and I’m lucky if I get to one of them each day.
It’s a barrage, and the scary part is that everyone thinks I know what I’m doing, and I sense that if they knew how out of my zone I am, everything would fall apart. ”
“That sounds very stressful.”
“You could say that.”
Don’t fight. Please, let’s not fight .
“It was wonderful to see Andreas so happy. After the disaster of the cake wedding, it’s a relief to see two people who only care about each other, and not how everyone else will see them. Because no one else will be there. Well, except for the officiant and me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m just telling you something that happened today. Are we not doing that anymore?”
There is a long pause. He can hear V take a deep breath, then exhale.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling very burned out right now. I am a puddle of wax and the ashy remains of the wick.”
“Whatever’s happening between us,” J ventures, “I still want us to talk. Talking to each other is our thing.”
As he says this, it rings true, and it rings false. True because they do love to talk. False because they love to talk face-to-face. They are crap at everything else.
V surprises him by saying, “It is our thing. And, believe me, I wish I had that in me right now. Which leaves us at the same impasse.”
“Okay. I’ll stop.”
There’s another pause, as if V is checking the clock, or maybe changing the channel on the TV in the background.
“So,” she says, finally, “Andreas is getting married. Is that why you called?”
I need to see you .
I need us to be in the same place .
“No,” J says. “I actually called to tell you I’m coming to New York.”
It feels right to say this, even if it surprises him as much as it (hopefully?) surprises her.
“When?”
“In two weeks.”
“No,” V replies. “That’s not a good idea.”
“It’s not for you. I’ve been asked to sing at a wedding in Brooklyn. Though of course I want to see you as well.”
“Whose wedding?”
“No one you know. It’s a secret wedding.”
“A secret wedding? What does that even mean?”
J has no idea what it means.
“It’s...They want it to be a surprise. Something semi-spontaneous that seems entirely spontaneous. I think at least one of their parents disapproves of the match. So it’s like an elopement, in terms of family. But their friends will be there.”
“You realize you’re not asking me if you should visit—you’re telling me you’re going to visit. I know you mean well, but I also have to point that out to you.”
“I’m sorry. How would you feel about me visiting? If you don’t want to see me, that’s fine. But I hope you will.”
“ Of course I want to see you. How could I not see you? I’m only worried it will make things more confusing.
I am trying to get my footing here. And.
..I’m also enjoying coming home at night and being alone.
No, enjoying isn’t the right word. It feels necessary for me to come home and be alone. My mind needs that space.”
“I don’t need to stay with you,” J proposes. “I can find somewhere else to stay. I know how busy you are.”
Another pause. Then: “If you don’t mind, I think that would make things much easier for me.
There is so much going on, I’m not sure two weeks is enough for me to get into the headspace of having you here.
I mean, in this apartment. I do appreciate you offering.
And if we just see what happens. I don’t want it to become a big deal. Do you understand?”
J says he’ll keep her posted as it develops, no pressure either way.
“I’m not sure there’s such a thing as ‘no pressure’ these days,” V says.
“But I suppose without some pressure we’d all just float off, no?
” She yawns. “I don’t even know what I’m saying—it’s late, and I am more exhausted than I thought was possible.
I just want...I guess I just want you to know I have no idea what I want. If that makes any sense.”
“It’s nice to hear your voice, even if it’s exhausted,” J replies.
V laughs tiredly. “I hear your voice all the time; Thor has you on half the office playlists. I’m almost used to it by now.”
This information is a jolt to J. It has to mean that she hasn’t told her coworkers they’re through...doesn’t it? And what reason would she have to keep such news from them...unless she herself didn’t believe it.
“V, I—”
“No more talking. Really, I need to go to bed. Good luck with Andreas’s wedding. I hope he’s very happy.”
“Goodnight,” J offers.
“You too, darling J,” V says, then disconnects.
It’s time to reckon with the song. He must block out V’s voice—or, more accurately, push it below the surface, since there’s no way to be truly rid of it, not right now.
He must forget about the fact that he’s just invented a wedding in New York and will need to find a real wedding to save face.
He must forget about V, which really means forgetting about himself.
J finds an instrumental track on his computer and decides to use it as his foundation. He studies the few scribbles he made in the café. He closes his eyes. He walks into the theater. The dancers, too many of them, are waiting for him on the stage...
It is a good thing that Andreas has sent coordinates, because Ramberget is, for all practical purposes, a mountain overlooking Gothenburg, although guidebooks like to call it a “hill,” because that sounds more pastoral, less intimidating.
Andreas and Kerstin have been blessed by a warm, cloudless day. J is less blessed; he thought it would be too childish to text Andreas to ask what to wear, so he is in a suit and tie, carrying a rucksack and his guitar. Already he is hot. He’s misjudged the coordinates and parked in the wrong lot.
To get to the spot where the couple and the officiant wait, J must walk through Keillers Park.
From a panoramic perspective, it makes sense for Andreas and Kerstin to have chosen a spot called “the view point” on the east side of the mountain.
The problem is that J walks the winding road for minutes without feeling he’s getting much closer to it.
By the time he is, in fact, closer, he has sweat through his shirt and into his eyes.
He is fifteen minutes late, but nobody mentions the lateness, or seems to care.
He is, by a stretch, the most formally dressed person in their party; Andreas is wearing a loose blue shirt, buttoned at least one station lower than J thought Andreas would go.
Kerstin is wearing a white summer dress covered with blue and yellow flowers.
Her sister, the officiant, is wearing a red t-shirt, jeans, and sandals.
Undeterred by the sweat or the strain in J’s breathing, Andreas gives him a hearty hug of welcome. Kerstin introduces her sister, Elin, who shakes J’s hand and says, “Shall we?”
There is enough of an outcropping for her to stand with space for Andreas and Kerstin to face each other in front of her, the city and everything around it spreading out at her back. Andreas and Kerstin take each other’s hands.
“Would you like me to take a picture?” J offers.
“It’s okay,” Andreas says. “We’ll remember.”
J lifts his guitar out of its case, stands to the side.
Elin begins. “It is my honor and my pleasure to be here to recognize the love of these two people as they garner legal recognition for a love that goes far beyond this ceremony. Andreas and Kerstin will first regard each other, and then each of them will reflect. This regarding and these reflections will act as their vows.”
Elin then closes her eyes, as if leaving the room they’re all in.
For a minute, maybe two minutes, Andreas and Kerstin hold hands and look at each other.
J doesn’t know whether he is supposed to close his eyes or not, but the couple doesn’t seem aware of him at all, so he keeps watching.
On Andreas’s face he sees many emotions unfold: A smile of recognition; an intensity of purpose; a sigh of admiration.
A wonder. And tears, tears in his eyes. Gratitude.
Without any discernable cue, Kerstin says, “This is it. You and me.”
“You and me,” Andreas echoes tenderly. “Near and far.”
“High and low.”
“Easy and hard.”
“Good and bad.”
“Old and new.”
Kerstin smiles. “You and me.”
Andreas smiles back. “Yes, you and me.”
Without having to be told, they kiss.
Elin opens her eyes and applauds. J applauds, too.
The kiss doesn’t end as much as it pauses. The couple turns to J.
“I believe you have a song?” Elin prompts.
“Oh, yes,” J says.
He sings.
Everyone I tried to love
Sang the same old song
A choir of “why don’t you love me’s”
Drowned out my own voice until it was gone
Every “I love you” was a question
It was loaded like a shotgun
But with you
With you I can hear my own voice
With you I can hear my own heart
With you I can hear what it wants
With you I hear its response
Its complete renaissance
What used to be so mute
Now speaks in tongues
Now when I’ve learned how to use it
Every syllable is music
Oh with you...
With you I can hear my own voice
With you I can hear my own heart
With you I can hear what it wants
So thank you
Thank you for listening
Thank you
Thank you for listening
For letting me take the lead
While you gently harmonize with me
What does J feel as he sings this song?
He feels gratitude to be singing in the open air, gratitude to be part of the sunshine, part of the day.
He feels hope that this song is the right gift for the two lovers in front of him.
He feels sadness to have fallen into the gap between singing about himself and singing about them.
He feels worry that this is only a song, only a moment, and that no couple is truly prepared for near and far, high and low, easy and hard, good and bad.
He feels fullness in knowing what he’s singing is true.
He feels emptiness in his uncertainty that what he’s singing is true for him.
He feels power, because this song is, in fact, what he wants to put into the world.
As soon as he is done, Andreas lets out a huge cheer, while Elin and Kerstin applaud. Somewhere, a car honks its approval.
Andreas corrals everyone into a group hug. The car honks again.
“That must be the cab!” Andreas says. “Wondering where we are.”
“Thank you so much,” Kerstin says to J. “That was perfect. The only gift we could possibly want.”
“In that case, I’ll take my towels back,” Elin says.
“We’re off!” Andreas exclaims, hugging J one last time. “I’ll be in touch when we return!”
Laughing, Andreas and Kerstin join hands and run down the hill like schoolchildren at the end of the school day. The taxi waits just out of view.
“Do you need a ride?” Elin asks J.
“No, I’m good.”
“Well, it’s been nice to meet you.”
“Where are they going?”
Elin shrugs. “I have no idea.”
With that, she heads to her car, at a safe distance behind the married couple.
J packs up his guitar, pulls a water bottle from his rucksack, and takes in the view as he drinks.
The wedding is over so quickly, it would be easy to wonder if it actually happened.
But J senses Andreas is right—this is indeed something they will all remember.
Now that it’s done, now that he doesn’t have a song to retreat into, all J’s other cares seem to rise from the city and reenter his thoughts.
He can hear his own heart, but V can’t.
He needs to find a way to talk to her.
And he needs, right away, to start planning a fake wedding in Brooklyn.