“I’d like to be sober for my wedding,” Lila says, and Patricia looks confused.

“I can’t see why anyone would choose that,” Patricia says and pours her daughter some champagne that Lila does not drink.

Phoebe waits for Lila to lash out at her mother, but there is something serene and stoic about Lila this morning. Maybe this is Lila’s better self. Or maybe something is wrong?

Phoebe wishes the others would go away. She wishes she could know what happened last night with Gary after he left. What did Gary do when he went back down to the fireworks? Did they sit under the exploding sky and hold hands and say very honest things and reaffirm their love for each other on the blanket? Did Lila confess to having a crush on Jim and did Gary confess to having a crush on Phoebe and did their confessions somehow make them stronger, the way that confessions usually do? Or did they say nothing at all? Did they just hold hands and smile at each other and proceed forward like normal? Is that why Lila is still here, in her bridal robe, the pastel flowers dotting her hair?

Phoebe doesn’t know. She can’t know. She must sit there, must tolerate Tiff’s hot breath on her face and answer each one of her questions.

“A professor,” Phoebe says. “St. Louis.”

It’s a relief when all the hair is up and off her neck. The other women are done, too, and headed out the door—Marla has ironed herself flat like usual in front of a tiny mirror. Juice has a series of braids woven into her hair. The three stylists pack up their things and say goodbye to the bride.

When they are entirely alone, Lila finally turns around. Phoebe stands there, waits for Lila to accuse her of something.

“How does it look from the back?” Lila asks.

Phoebe often thinks brides look cartoonish, and Lila is no exception on this morning. There is too much makeup, because it’s not done for the people in the room. It’s done for the photos.

“I went classic,” Lila says.

“It’s beautiful,” Phoebe says.

“And the front?”

“Even more beautiful.”

It’s true. Phoebe walks over to the bride, helps her put on her dress. “It’s Victorian,” Lila says.

But not truly Victorian, Phoebe thinks. Lila wouldn’t want that. Lila wants to be a Victorian bride, but without all the ruffles. Vintage, but hot. And this dress is hot. It has an entirely open back with delicate jeweled lace across the chest.

“Don’t mess up the hair, please,” Lila says, when Phoebe puts on the veil.

“I won’t mess up anything,” Phoebe says, and she means it.

Lila looks back out the bay window. “It’s not even going to rain. It’s a perfect day. I can’t believe it.”

“It really is.”

“Nothing is going to ruin my wedding.”

“No.”

“Not even you.”

“Not even me,” Phoebe says.

“I was so certain something was going to ruin it,” Lila says. “For two years, something kept ruining it. At a certain point, I was convinced it was never going to really happen. And when I saw you in the elevator that first day, I thought, Oh my God, this is it. This woman is going to turn my wedding into a crime scene.”

“But I didn’t,” Phoebe says.

“Then I thought maybe Gary was going to call off the wedding. Because he gets like that, you know? He doesn’t really get too invested in anything. Like if we’re trying to make it to a concert on time, and we’re running late, and then it rains, and everything gets too complicated, he gets overwhelmed and says, Okay fine, let’s just not go? We’re adults! We can decide to do things like that.”

“But Gary would never call off a wedding,” Phoebe says, and as she says it, she realizes it’s true.

“You don’t think so?”

“Of course not,” Phoebe says.

“Why not?”

Because he doesn’t break his promises. Gary has an insufferable sense of loyalty. Gary is a doctor who doesn’t really like being a doctor and yet he continues being a doctor. He is a man who lost a wife and continues raising his child through the biting depression and dissociation and then goes out to shovel the driveway. Takes a drive just to try to admire a painting on his dead wife’s wedding anniversary.

“Because he loves you,” Phoebe says.

It’s what Phoebe is supposed to say as maid of honor. She is ready to tell any lie. So the transformation is complete: Phoebe is one of the wedding people now.

“Do you really think so?” Lila asks.

But Phoebe can’t bring herself to say it a second time. “It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what you think.”

“I hate when people say that.”

Pauline pops her head in. She announces details they already know: The new car will be downstairs in fifteen minutes. The champagne will be stocked.

“Thank you,” Lila says. She stands up. “It really is such a beautiful day.”

“It really is.”

The wedding is happening. And what did Phoebe expect? Gary is not the type to call off a wedding, and neither is Lila. Lila has spent a million dollars on this. The champagne flutes were shipped here from France six months ago. Brides who plan weddings this expensive actually go through with them. People do what’s expected. People get in their grooves and never crawl their way out. They make their decisions about plate patterns, then eat off them for the rest of their lives. She can’t think of one real person she knows who ever called off their wedding the day of. And so that is it: Lila will marry Gary.

Yet Phoebe is in disbelief as they head for the door. She feels she is headed toward the wrong event, the wrong world.

“You look different,” Lila says.

“Side bang,” Phoebe says.

“No. It’s something else.”

Phoebe doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to explain the small and large ways this week has changed her.

“It’s the side bang, I’m telling you,” Phoebe says.

Lila stops just before the door. Looks at the one hundred and fifty-nine spoons. She picks one up. She eats it. She nods, like she’s had an experience.

“Anything in my teeth?” she asks, smiling at Phoebe.

“No,” Phoebe says. “Perfect.”