The Second Weddins
THE SECOND WEDDING
“I have a favor to ask you,” J’s childhood friend Tom had said, nearly two months ago now. Then he clarified: “Actually, it’s a favor for Mom.”
The phrase childhood friend applies here in two connected ways: J and Tom grew up together, and as a result have a friendship forged in pillow forts and bicycle grease, video games and vague adolescent ruminations.
When J got his first guitar, Tom pleaded with his mother for a drum set.
J still plays the guitar; Tom gave up the drums in a matter of months, and he was realistic enough about his own lack of interest that when J formed his first band and needed a drum set, Tom was happy to “lend” his, never to be returned.
So, childhood friends. Friends since childhood.
Also, when they get together now, they tend to act like children. This is one of the advantages of having friends for so long—you get to extend your childhood whenever you’re with them. Unless you’ve given in to age, which neither J nor Tom has.
The downside is that sometimes their mothers ask for favors.
“Does she want tickets to my next show?” J asked. Lisbet loved getting free tickets to J’s shows. Even when the shows were free, she liked him to arrange for tickets to be waiting for her, so she could have that moment of being “on the list.”
“I’m afraid it’s something more than tickets to a show,” Tom replied.
Tom has, by and large, grown up into a likable unhappiness, loosely defined by an aggregation of minor disappointments that he’s always managed to fit under comedy’s mask.
It is possible J and Tom have never had a completely serious conversation, and J felt a slight terror that they might fall into one now if he’s not careful.
“She’s not marrying George again, is she?” he asked, mostly joking.
Tom all but gulped. “I’m afraid so.”
J laughed. “For a fourth time?”
“I’m touched. Most of my other friends have lost count,” Tom said. “She swears that this time they’re going to do it right.”
“It’s an obsession, Tom. An addiction!”
“It’s just that they get so lonely without each other. They forget how much they hate it when they’re together.”
J looked heavenward for a moment, then back to Tom. “It’s a pretty obvious pattern.”
“But it’s like a crop circle—you can only see it from the outside. When you’re in it, it’s just...”
“Crops?”
“Exactly!”
“And are you defending this pattern?” J asked. “Do I have to get your head checked, too?”
“No! I’m aware it’s ridiculous.”
“But?”
Tom sighed. “But...I think maybe my mom is at her happiest when she’s marrying George. From the moment she starts planning to the end of the honeymoon—that’s the best time for her. And, honestly, I think the same’s true for George.”
“I’ve always liked George.”
“Right? Me too. They always find a way to mess it up—but before the mess comes, it’s pretty great.”
“It’s always a good party.” The only one J missed was the last, which had happened on a cruise ship. J loved Tom and his mom, but not to a weeklong-cruise degree.
“So here’s the thing: Remember that time you were supposed to come with us to the lake house, but then you had to play a wedding in Düsseldorf?
Well, obviously I had to tell Mom why you weren’t coming, and I guess she made a mental note of that thing you do with the wedding songs, because maybe twenty seconds after she told me she and George were giving it another go, she asked if I’d get you to be their wedding singer.
She says it will make the wedding really special.
And honestly? I think she’s nervous that some of her friends won’t want to come, even though she hasn’t asked for gifts since wedding number two. You’re the lure.”
“Does your mother even like my music?” J asked. In his mind, this question was only 40% serious. But in truth, it was probably nearing 70%. Tom’s mother had once, in his presence, described his music as “like an oddball Simon and Garfunkel”—but she had clearly put her emphasis on the Garfunkel.
“She loves your music!” Tom replied. 100% sincere, maybe 64% accurate.
“When is the wedding?”
“She says she’ll plan around your schedule. But, you know, not too long.”
“And what does George say about this?”
Tom shrugged. “Not a word. They’re in that stage right now, where he understands that the road to contentment is paved with his silent acquiescence.”
“I’d say he’s a wise man...but I’m not sure if marrying the same woman four times counts as wisdom.”
“Maybe hitting sixty-five will change the pattern.”
“Your mother’s turning sixty-five?”
“You are not allowed to put that in the song.”
“I haven’t said yes yet.”
“But you’re going to, right?”
“If I don’t, she’ll make me watch some Bette Davis movie with her.”
“That only happened once!” (She had caught them staying up late, sneaking a comedy famous for its female nudity on cable, and had told them if they were going to be up past midnight watching a movie, it was going to be the movie of her choice.
Neither of them can remember its name, only that it was black and white, starred Bette Davis, and was not at all what their eleven-year-old selves could bear to watch.)
“No, it’s fine,” J said. “I can’t say no to your mother. Which is, I believe, something I learned from you.”
“Fair enough. I’m considering that a yes. Thank you.” Tom kicked J’s foot lightly in gratitude.
“I’d say ‘any time,’ but honestly I will not play the fifth or sixth wedding. Please make that clear.”
“Holding out for the seventh—noted.”
“Will it be a big ceremony?”
“More like a party. And I’d guess it’ll be big. Mom doesn’t really do things on a small scale. Don’t worry—you’ll get a plus-one. You can bring V.”
Tom’s tone was 91 percent playful as he said this. But J still couldn’t help but think, There it is. I knew it .
Tom’s simple statement— You can bring V —could be interpreted in two ways:
1) V is your girlfriend, and of course she will be your plus-one. How nice it will be to have her there.
2) May I remind you that I, Tom, was on a second date with V the first time you met her?
And while I appreciate that nothing happened between the two of you until months later, well after V decided there wouldn’t be a third date with me, and while I have come to peace with the fact that V’s decision to not go on a third date with me was in no way related to the fact that she wanted to go on a first date with you, and while I naturally feel like farthest point of the triangle whenever the three of us get together, since I don’t currently have a girlfriend myself to balance such situations out—despite all this, I hope I have proven to be nothing but welcoming to the fact that the two of you have proven to be a better couple than she and I ever would have been, and expressing my desire to have her at my mother’s fourth wedding is merely another gratuitous confirmation that I am totally okay with the fact that had I not brought my date to that party, the two of you might never have met.
“I’m sure she’d love that,” J replied, addressing (1) instead of (2), just as most men would.
“Wonderful! I’ll tell Mom.” ( How much, J wondered, does Mom know ?) “Do you have your calendar on your phone?”
Soon a few dates were sorted, and Tom’s mother was called on speakerphone.
J appreciated how unapologetic she was about the fact that she and George were getting married for a fourth time, as well as the fact that at no point did she promise that this would be the last time, that this would in some way be different.
No, it sounded like they just wanted another spin on the dance floor.
..and if they wanted him to play some songs as they followed their steps, who was he to say no?
Now, nearly two months later, the wedding is upon them, the weekend following Jun and Arthur’s wedding.
V isn’t sure she can attend.
“If Thor has to fly out for this meeting in New York, I have to go with him,” she tells J. “You know this.”
Thor (not his birth name) is V’s boss. V can sense that J would love to say, Thor’s a big boy—he can take care of himself .
But the problem is that while Thor is still a boy, he’s not a particularly big one.
Rarely can he take care of himself. He’s only nineteen, and it’s an open debate whether he’s a genius or just really lucky.
When J and V first reconnected after her inconsequential dalliance with Tom, the conversation seemed to hit an invisible fence when J asked her what she did for a living.
“I can’t tell you,” she said. “It’s a secret project.”
She didn’t say this to tease, but as a contractual obligation. J could tell she was embarrassed to find such words coming out of her mouth. So he let it slide, and over the course of their next few dates, he pretended she worked for an organization called Secret Project.
This had unintended consequences.
Before working for Thor, V had been working at a publishing house, and when it shut down, she looked for employment with a certain desperation, since her time in publishing had not led to a deep reserve of savings.
When she was approached about Thor’s endeavor by a friend of one of her former professors, she wasn’t too interested.
Then they told her the starting salary, and she became very interested.
Long story short: As a kid, Thor had started programming an online world-building system for himself and his friends, where you’d design an elaborate space for your friends, invite them over to experience it (like a party), and then when the party was over, the space would go away and you’d start all over again.
And that had been the jumping-off point for something much larger, involving a whole lot of new technologies that V barely understood.