It is her fantasy, finally playing itself out. She is leaving him. But it doesn’t feel like her fantasy because he has already left her. And when she says it, he doesn’t shout “No!” and she is glad for it. She doesn’t want him to be upset by this. She doesn’t want this to feel like an Ibsen play. She wants him to just say, Okay. I understand. For the first time since he left her, she wants him to actually be okay. And this feeling of goodwill—it’s a promising sign.
“I was worried you would say that,” Matt says. He asks her a series of reasonable questions like, Are you ever coming back? What are you going to do?
“I’m going to go on medical leave,” Phoebe says, “assuming adjuncts can do that.”
It’s an old joke, an old feeling, this making fun of their university.
“Oh, I’m sure they can’t, now that I think about it,” Matt says, and they even laugh a little.
“I’m sure Bob will be like, Well, turns out, adjuncts aren’t allowed to receive medical treatment,” Phoebe says.
“Turns out, adjuncts have to pay the administration a small fee every time they get sick.” He reaches out for her hand. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says. “But you need to go home.”
He looks out the window while she tells him what she wants—to sell the house, to live in the nineteenth-century mansion and write.
“Write what?” he asks. “Your book?”
“Anything,” she says.
“Maybe it’s for the best,” he says. “I do have a lot of grading to do tomorrow.”
It’s a joke, his attempt to lighten the mood, but he bites his finger to keep himself from crying. He looks like a little kid. Like Jim standing up giving his speech. A little boy in pain. A little boy who wasn’t expecting life to be this confusing. She squeezes his hand, which makes him cry harder, as if the idea of joking with her, of laughing together after all these years of not laughing, makes him sob again.
“Shit, I need to get myself under control.”
“Why?” Phoebe says. “I don’t care if you cry.”
“I care,” he says. “You know I look like shit when I cry.”
“I’m not sure I ever really saw you cry.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It is.”
“I cried when the Phillies lost the World Series.”
“My point exactly.”
The analysis of his own tears has calmed him. Brought him out of his emotions and into his brain. That’s where her husband likes to be. That’s where he’s comfortable. But Phoebe can’t live there anymore. Phoebe wants to be in her body. She wants to enjoy this beautiful dress. And her side bang. She almost forgot. She is embarrassed by how much of a difference it makes. But it’s the small things. She leans over and grabs the champagne. Pops the bottle open. Why not? Nobody is going to drink it now, except them.
“What are we toasting to?” Matt asks.
“Your first adult cry unrelated to sports?”
“I’ll toast to that.”
They clink glasses.
“This is good champagne,” he says.
She tastes it. “It actually is.”
She wonders how much Lila spent on it. She takes another sip. She is happy that she has lived long enough to learn the difference between decent champagne and really good champagne, which she now knows doesn’t just taste good on the first sip, but the entire way home.
The whole mood of the Cornwall is different without the bride and groom. It’s too quiet, and it feels rude to still be enjoying the spa water now that the wedding has been called off. Even Pauline seems subdued, fielding questions with a solemn voice.
“Yes, the pool is now open again,” she says, and, “No, I’m so sorry, but we cannot give you a refund for tonight,” and, “Had I known your husband was allergic to oranges, we would have left them out of the spa water.”
Phoebe gets in line behind Nat and Suz, who are already back in their high bun and neck pillow, making declarations about the wedding in low whispers.
“I truly can’t believe it,” Suz says. “And yet, I’m not surprised at all.”
“I knew Lila wasn’t in love with him,” Nat says. “I just knew it.”
“I didn’t know that,” Suz says. “But I knew something wasn’t right when we were with the Sex Woman.”
“Do you think Pauline will give us our money back for tonight if we really beg?” Nat asks.
“No,” Suz says. “But at least we got our flights changed.”
“You’re leaving tonight?” Phoebe asks.
Nat misses Laurel. Suz misses the Little Worm. Then they both go on a long tangent about their own wedding days, how fun they were, how in love they were. But Phoebe is not ready to leave. Phoebe wants to stay at this hotel forever.
“Checking out?” Pauline asks Phoebe as she approaches.
