The Third Wedding #5
The easy out would be to say, “I don’t want to think of you as a brand.” But instead he starts with “You’re...” and then lets it trail off.
“That’s my brand, then? Invisibility?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready for the question.”
“That’s alright. You may be more accurate than you know. I’m really good at being other people’s voices. But I have to work on my own.”
“I like your voice.”
“I know you do.”
But it’s not enough . She doesn’t say it, but J hears it in her voice.
The rest of the conversation is strained.
She asks him about his days, but it doesn’t feel like she’s a part of them.
He asks her what’s going on at work and he doesn’t really understand what she’s talking about.
Thor’s growing relationship with Meta is the only thing he can really wrap his head around, because when something really big is happening, wouldn’t you want someone to share the excitement with?
He does not ask V this question.
Two days before Celestia’s wedding, at 6 p.m. New York time and 11 p.m. Gothenburg time, J gets a text from V: WE HAVE A DEAL!
He calls her immediately and is pleasantly surprised when she picks up on the second ring.
“Congratulations!” he cheers.
“Thank you. We’re all celebrating here.” He can hear Motown blasting in the background, and giddy laughter.
“It’s a good deal?”
“It’s a great deal. Not just because it’s a lot of money, but because these investors really believe in what we’re doing and, frankly, have more expertise than any of us do in terms of how to get it done.”
“That’s amazing,” J says. “And it means you can come home now?”
There is a pause, and at first J doesn’t understand why. He’s asked a fairly straightforward question.
“Really?” V says. “You’re bringing that up now ?”
J is still lost. “I just assumed that since the deal is done, I’d get you back.”
“I am telling you we’ve pulled off this incredible feat, and all you care about is when you’ll ‘get me back.’ You you you you you .
Do you ask me how we pulled off this deal?
Do you even ask me who the deal is with?
Do you ask me what the next steps are or what my role is going to be? No no no. You you you.”
J knows he’s taken a misstep, but V’s thrown up a wall before he can step back to where he was. So he digs in. “It’s selfishness to want you back here?” he asks. “The last time I checked, it wasn’t only my ego that was missing you. My heart was in there, too.”
“What you don’t seem to understand is that I miss home as well.
More than I thought I would. That’s one of the reasons we stay in the office so much, because when we’re here together, we can pretend we’re still back home, with each other.
This wasn’t my plan at all. But you know what?
I know it isn’t that much of an achievement, it isn’t that special, to be one of four or five people involved at the ground level of a start-up company.
Those come and go. But it is an achievement, and it’s a big fucking opportunity, to be one of four or five people involved at the ground level of a start-up company that strangers are willing to invest tens of millions, potentially hundreds of millions, to support.
This is the wild ride, and I’m on it. So, no, I’m not coming home.
I’m staying where I have to be. And when everything settles down, I will figure out where I want to be. ”
J can’t believe that after pining for so long to have her talk to him, this is what he’s hearing. “I don’t factor into this decision at all?” he asks, his voice taking on a plaintive tone that he rarely uses with V, or anyone else.
This time there isn’t any hesitation before the response. “Of course you’re a factor. But you can’t be the decisive factor. Even though I’m sensing you want to be.”
Now it sounds like the people behind her are laughing at him, celebrating her liberation.
“So we’re through?” J asks. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“That was never my intention,” she says, her anger subsiding into something that sounds more like sadness. “It still isn’t my intention. But if we’re going to stay together, you’re the one who’s going to have to adapt for once. And right now, I’m not sure you’re capable of that.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”
“Look, I’m going to go. You’re ruining what was, up until this point, one of the best days of my life.”
“Well,” J can’t help saying, “that was never my intention.”
“I’m going.”
“I’ll talk to you later.”
“We’ll see, J. We’ll see.”
Then she hangs up.
J puts the phone down before it can do any more damage.
He can’t figure out if his relationship just fell from the sky, or whether it’s been at the bottom of the ocean for weeks now, and nobody bothered to tell him.
Some people would drink in response. Get stoned again. Put a fist through a wall. Sob.
J paces. Back and forth through the apartment, back and forth. Tiger in a cage, pendulum with a loose leash. It gets him nowhere.
He thinks about calling back and then tells himself calling back will only make it worse.
He paces some more, his footsteps beating out a tune for What-is-happ-en-ing? What-is-happ-en-ing ?
He decides he needs to distract himself. Might as well rehearse Celestia’s song a few times before the wedding. He picks up his guitar, starts to sing—and doesn’t make it past poodles .
So that’s not going to work.
What do I feel ? he asks himself.
Then: What do I want to feel ?
Then: How can this be saved ?
He still has the guitar in his hands.
He stops pacing. He sits down.
He stays up another seven hours.
Then he sleeps for seventeen hours.
He misses the wedding rehearsal. Which means that when he wakes up there are seven messages from Mikhail and none from V.
He looks first to social media, imagining he’ll find lots of ecstatic posts from V, dancing in celebration with her colleagues. But there’s no word there, either. Possibly because she’s still hung-over. More likely because Secret Project has to remain a Secret Project.
Then J listens to Mikhail’s seventh message—he sees no point in listening to the first six—and texts him back, assuring him that he’ll be on time—early, even!—for the wedding the next afternoon.
After some coffee, he checks his phone and finds a six-hour-long voice memo, confirming that last night he crawled into the dark cavern of his most morbid creativity, and decided to record whatever came out.
There is a lot of wallowing in the key of gibberish. There is some profanity. There are many questions. At one point, there is a lapse into a bastardized version of Celestia’s wedding song.
At this point, panicked, J checks his call log, and he is relieved to find there is no record of any contact with V for the last twenty-four hours.
Amidst the doggerel and the bluntly articulated misery, there are a few phrases that stick, especially one he implores over and over: We’re working on a script .
Meaning: This isn’t over.
Meaning: By being honest with each other, we’re finding our way.
Meaning: Even if our way is rocky right now, that’ll only get us to the smoother terrain.
After the six-hour-long voice memo, there is a much shorter one, only twenty minutes long.
The phrases are gathering now. It’s shapeless, rambling, with a few da-da-da-da’s for lines he hadn’t yet written.
It’s about that first big fight in a relationship, how unsteady it makes you on the balance beam, wondering if all it takes is one big wobble to make you fall off completely.
It’s strange that J can’t really think of a major fight that he and V have had before—they’ve bickered and been temporarily nasty to each other, but never on the level that calls the whole relationship into question.
J picks up his guitar again and starts to shape his thoughts.
An hour later, he has written a song in his notes app. And the song has convinced him that this doesn’t have to be the end. No, a fight can also be an opportunity to work things out.
That is what he and V are going to do.
Since it’s still early evening in New York, he records the song as another voice memo and sends it to her.
It sits on her phone, unopened for minutes, unopened for hours.
He works on the song some more. Sends her a new version.
It’s almost sunrise again, and he knows he needs to get some sleep and set an alarm this time.
He can’t be a mess for this wedding.
They’re not paying him this much to be a mess.
He wakes up at seven in the morning because the wedding is in Torekov, a small coastal town a three-hour train ride away.
There are more texts from Mikhail, and a call asking him to confirm he knows the time and place of where he needs to be and that he’ll be there.
Mikhail also says to be sure to leave time to change into the sponsor’s suit.
J had forgotten he wouldn’t be wearing his own clothes and wonders if he gets to keep the suit after. Probably not.
There is still no word from V.
And J...
Well, J is starting to wonder if there’s ever going to be a word from V again.
He knows this isn’t rational. At the bare minimum, she’ll have to be in touch for her things. But also—there had been some tenderness, even in that final (not final final!) phone call, hadn’t there?
We’re working on the scene.
We’re working on the script.
How could she not answer? Or is a lack of answer her answer?
J plays the song, over and over, as if a new verse will emerge from her point of view. He barely rehearses Celestia’s wedding song.
So many things of V’s are scattered throughout the apartment.
J imagines they’ve turned against him, too, hold him responsible for their abandonment.
The hairbrush in the bathroom wonders what will become of her.
The unread books on her side of the bed assume this is the point where she gives up on them completely.
A blouse in the closet pledges to wait, however long it takes.