“What do these two bring out in each other that is special, unique? That nobody else in the world can bring out?”

“That’s two questions, not one,” he says. “And how am I supposed to know that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Is it?” He gives her that inquiring look again.

“Hasn’t Gary ever said anything about why he loves Lila?”

“Has Lila ever said anything about why she loves Gary?”

In all their talking, Lila has mostly listed fears and complaints—his beard, his gray hair, his family.

“He’s good to her,” Phoebe says.

“But Gary is good to the cashiers at the grocery store,” he says. “He’s good to everyone.”

Phoebe nods. Jim sits back in defeat. “This is a weird wedding, no?” Jim says.

“It is,” Phoebe says.

“Do you know what we need? What every writer famously uses when they have writer’s block. Drugs.”

“I think that’s just a myth.” Phoebe tells him about the writers who were famously derailed by drugs. But Jim doesn’t care. He was gifted a pound of edibles by one of Gary’s cousins who bought more than he could bring back on the airplane.

“I’ve never used marijuana,” Phoebe says.

“Spoken like someone who has never used marijuana,” Jim says. “I’ll have two weeds please.”

Phoebe laughs.

“How have you never smoked weed?’

“I think it’s as simple as nobody has ever offered it to me. It’s like people can look at me and somehow tell that I don’t want to do drugs.”

“That was the first thing I noticed about you,” Jim says.

IN JIM’S ROOM, he gives her a quarter of his edible.

“Now what?” Phoebe asks.

“Now, we wait.”

“How long does it take?” Phoebe looks at the bag.

“It won’t say on the packaging.”

“So we have no idea how much vitamin A we’re getting.”

Jim bursts out laughing. “You’re funny.”

“Will I get paranoid?” Phoebe asks.

“It sounds like you might already be paranoid.”

“I am, I think, suddenly very paranoid about becoming paranoid.”

“If you get me paranoid about you being paranoid about being paranoid…”

“Shit, it’s happening. I really do feel something.”

“Are you going to narrate the whole thing?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, as long as you do it like a movie.”

“In a world where a woman does drugs after a lifetime of not doing drugs,” Phoebe says. “God, my mouth is dry. Is that normal?”

“Okay, let’s set some ground rules so we can cut the paranoia before it takes over,” Jim says. He looks her in the eyes, holds her hands. “Repeat after me. We’re safe. We’re grown-ass adults. We’re not going anywhere tonight until we write these speeches.”

“We’re safe. We’re grown-ass adults. We’re not going anywhere tonight until we write these speeches.”

“We stay right here in this room.”

“No moving.”

“No vehicles.”

“No swimming.”

“If we get hungry we can order food.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” he says. “So take a deep breath. Relax. And let yourself go.”

“Okay,” she says. She sits down on the floor, lays out until she is fully stretched. “I’m gone.”

“You’re gone.”

“Goodbye.”

Saying goodbye makes them laugh.

“This is a weird wedding,” Jim says.

“You already said that.”

“Because it’s that weird,” he says. “Maybe it’s just because it’s the only wedding I’ve been to where I truly don’t know anyone except my dead sister’s family. And I can’t even talk to them about the one thing we have in common because my brother-in-law is getting married to someone who refuses to acknowledge her existence.”