The Eighth Wedding #3
The second wedding party is dressed entirely in Yankees gear. The bride and groom wear jerseys that have brIDE and GROOM written on the back where the players’ names ordinarily would be, as well as the number 7. The wedded couple isn’t wearing caps, but everyone else is.
J desperately tries to remember anything he can about baseball for when it comes time for him to sing.
You make me feel like I’ve hit a home run
With the odds: a billion to one
The ball’s on fire, leaving the stadium
I’m doing my victory run
First base, second, third, and fourth
I’m back where I begun
I want you on my team from now on
Put on this ballcap, sign here, and we’re done
The next two couples take a pass on having a wedding singer, but J then quickly returns for wedding number three.
This time it is just the couple, Mahogany and TJ, and a friend—they didn’t tell the interns much besides the fact that TJ has a dog named Lucy, who they wanted to be a witness for the ceremony, but apparently when it comes to legal paperwork, dogs don’t count.
They ask if J wouldn’t mind being a witness instead.
J, not really knowing what this meant, said yes.
His first response on seeing them is to think, Wow, they’re children .
They are, in fact, each twenty-one, but that’s the tricky thing about age—the older you get, the younger twenty-one looks.
They are dressed simply but respectfully for the occasion—her in a white summer dress, him looking a little awkward in a shirt and tie.
Their friend is wearing a Beyoncé concert t-shirt.
J wonders if this was a deliberate choice, or whether he was asked to be at the wedding while he was doing something else.
Because he is old enough that twenty-one looks really young, J feels the urge to tell them to stop for a second, really think about what they’re doing. It is clear from their body language how in love they are, and he wishes that this will be enough.
If Judge Pao, who is even older than J, has any hesitation, she doesn’t show it.
She beams as if the room is full of family and friends.
When she asks Mahogany and TJ if they’ve written their own vows, they look panicked.
The judge quickly tells them not to worry and pulls two laminated cards out for them to read to each other.
It is full of the standard pledges, to have and to hold, and both Mahogany and TJ stumble over them in their nervousness.
It’s only as they are putting the rings on each other’s fingers that they start to truly smile, and when Judge Pao tells them they may now kiss as husband and wife, they make it a long one. Their friend videos the whole thing.
Mahogany and TJ step from the platform, ready to leave.
Judge Pao reminds them there are some papers to sign, and also that J is going to sing a song for them.
They seem to have forgotten the second part—J wonders if the interns really spoke to them or not.
Nick gives him a little nod, and he realizes he has to play. He sings:
Hello my name is Lucy and I’m TJ’s dog and best friend
I’ll tell you how Mahogany came into our lives one evening
I was on TJ’s lap as he swiped on Tinder back and forth
When I saw Mahogany’s face I stopped him abruptly with my paw
I guess I like keeping my pack together, must be a dog thing
Other girls I’d growl at, but this one I liked by instinct
I’m a brilliant matchmaker but pickier than most,
the application list officially closed
the moment Mahogany got down on her knee and proposed
The couple and their friend don’t applaud, but J can tell he chose the right angle. Judge Pao asks J to come sign the marriage certificate as the second witness.
Once he’s signed his name, he gets shy thank-yous from both bride and groom, and a hasty display of TJ’s phone screen, which shows a very happy-looking dog. Judge Pao doesn’t need to tell them it’s time to leave—they are out quickly, leaving J up with the judge.
“So young,” he says, because he needs to say it to someone.
“Yes, but they know what they’re doing. For the most part,” the judge says. “You can tell the ones who don’t really know what they’re doing. But I marry them anyway. Because it’s their call, not mine.”
The thing about meeting someone when you’re both in your thirties is that you know you’ll never be truly young together. But still, you can try.
Julia had been home when J finally got to her apartment from JFK, and after he put his things down, she made them some tea, and they sat in the kitchen and caught up.
V was the first thing he talked about, and he kept talking for about fifteen minutes.
Was he any different from a teenager as he did this?
He waited until it was late at night, which was a mistake because his body thought it was even later at night than the clocks showed.
Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake at all, because he was so tired that his actions felt like they had all the consequence of a dream.
After so much build-up, after so many times deciding not to text to her, it ended up being so easy to just pick up his phone, click on her name, and knock a few letters into the shape of words.
I’ve made it to New York, he wrote. I wanted to let you know the plane didn’t crash .
Five minutes later, her reply:
I’m glad. Aren’t you tired ?
Yes, he typed. But happy to be here. “Here” being Julia’s apartment. Not the Ace Hotel .
OK. Thank you for that information .
Is this a bad time ?
Is 12:34 a.m. ever a good time ?
Were you sleeping ?
No. But I want to be .
I thought you’d want to know I’m here .
Now I know .
Is something wrong ?
Why don’t people ever ask, “Is something right ?”
Do you want me to ask that ?
No. I want to go to sleep .
J wanted to ask Are you mad at me ? But he knew that the question itself could be perceived as an act of aggression. Because he was tired, he thought maybe if he dressed it up, made it a little less serious, if would float more easily over the transom.
Are you irate with me ? he asked.
Yes .
Why ?
Don’t do this. Don’t force this conversation .
What conversation ?
Thirty seconds went by. A minute.
It was unbearable.
J called V.
She didn’t pick up.
Please pick up, he texted.
He tried again.
Seriously. You have me worried now. Please pick up .
This time, she answered.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked immediately.
“Is it so bad that I want you to know I’m in the same city as you? In the hope that I will get to see you?”
“J, you were just here.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He hears something in the background. A voice.
“Is someone there?” he asked.
“George Clooney,” V replied. “And Brad Pitt. And Julia Roberts. And even Don Cheadle. Are you jealous?”
“So it’s the TV.”
“Seriously, it’s time for bed. I’m sure you have a wedding thing tomorrow.”
“Yes, the one for The 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.”