“Why not?” Phoebe asks.

“You’re like, so not his type.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re just very brainy. In a really lovable kind of way. But you’re not a cheerleader type, you know? You’re a little … well, suicidal.”

Phoebe is shocked by how casually she says it. As if it’s no big deal to be suicidal. To have shown up here wanting to die. As if this is just another one of Phoebe’s lovable quirks.

“Yeah. And did you ever wonder why I was suicidal?” Phoebe asks. “Did you ever once ask me, Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Well, I didn’t want to pry.”

“No,” Phoebe says. “You just wanted to talk at me. You don’t care what I have to say.”

“That’s not true,” Lila says. “I literally asked you to stand up and give a speech at my wedding.”

“Yeah, and then you cut it.”

“I really don’t have time for a fight,” Lila says. “This is my rehearsal dinner.”

So perhaps they aren’t going to be friends. Perhaps they are back where they started, Lila obsessed with making sure that nothing ruins her perfect wedding, and Phoebe, always just about to ruin it. Perhaps there really is no such thing as friendship, just as Phoebe thought on the darkest nights back at home.

But Phoebe can’t let herself fully believe this. It seems truer to say that friendship is just hard. It requires radical honesty. A kind of openness that Phoebe felt for the first time in her life that night she arrived at the hotel, so free and unburdened by anything. So ready to leave this world. But now she is no longer free—she is a person at this wedding, and the responsibilities of being a good friend have already started to change her. She can feel herself wanting to hide things from Lila. Nurture secret feelings in the dark of her mind, because total honesty is terrifying. It feels like it can ruin everything. And maybe this is what Patricia meant about saving yourself. What the Sex Woman meant when she said that Phoebe, for the rest of her life, would have to keep “checking in.” Look in the mirror and repeatedly ask herself, Am I being honest right now?

“Can I be honest with you about something?” Phoebe asks.

Phoebe doesn’t want to be like Mia. She doesn’t want to pretend that her feelings for Gary aren’t a real thing growing between them. But she doesn’t know what being honest in this moment means. Is telling the bride about her feelings for the groom the most selfish act or the noblest act? She doesn’t know. The only thing she can think to do is let the bride decide.

“I mean, when do you ever hold back?” Lila asks. “Isn’t that kind of your thing?”

“Is it?”

“The first time I met you, you told me you wanted to kill yourself.”

Phoebe nods. It seems unbelievable to her that she would have told a total stranger that, but now Phoebe can see it clearly as an act of desperation.

“I’m sorry I did that to you,” Phoebe says.

“It’s all good,” Lila says. “But I seriously can’t handle any more honesty right now after Jim’s speech. I really just need the night to go smoothly. And some floss.”

“But I thought you wanted to stop pretending.”

“And I thought you were my maid of honor.”

“I am,” Phoebe says.

“So help me.”

Phoebe opens her bag. “Here,” she says. “Use this.”

“Your table card?” Lila asks, but takes it. Starts using the sharp corner of the card to poke between her teeth. She gets it out. Victory. She reapplies her lipstick. Smacks her lips. Looks at Phoebe like she couldn’t be more grateful.

“When we get back there, I want you to give your speech,” Lila says. “I’m sorry I cut it. I really want to hear it. I just get so worked up sometimes, you know?”

“I know,” Phoebe says.

BUT WHEN THEY return to the patio, they find it nearly empty.

“I told everybody to head down to the fireworks,” Gary says. “We’ll meet them there.”

“But Phoebe hasn’t given her speech!” Lila cries. “And we didn’t even eat any of the palate cleansers, did we?”

“You don’t eat palate cleansers, you have palate cleansers,” Marla corrects.

“Jesus Christ, Marla, who cares?” Lila says. “We didn’t eat or have any of them, am I right?”

“I do not recall a palate cleanser, no,” Gary says.

“For the best,” Jim says. “I’m stuffed.”

He rubs his belly like it got bigger during dinner, which it didn’t.

“But we paid for them,” Lila says.

Lila signals for help, but it’s not the waiter who comes over. It’s Pauline.

“Yes, I’m so sorry,” Pauline says. “The waiter came to me with your concerns, and we made the decision to omit the palate cleansers so we could get you all to the fireworks in time.”

“You omitted the palate cleansers?” Lila asks.

“I am afraid we did omit them, yes,” she says. “The meal was taking a little longer than planned, and we made an executive decision.”

“Oh! As long as it was an executive decision,” Lila says.

“Lila,” Gary says. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay! This is unacceptable. We ordered one hundred and sixty palate cleansers!”

“I hope you’re donating them,” Marla says.

“Do people donate palate cleansers?” Phoebe asks. “That just seems … cruel.”

“Oh my God, can someone just tell me what a palate cleanser is?” Juice asks.

“Like a lemon thing on a spoon,” Jim says.

“A lemon thing on a spoon?”