Phoebe takes the Mercedes to the Breakers alone. The ride is so beautiful, and the car is stocked with so much champagne, that even without the bride, it still feels like an event. Phoebe studies the mansions along the way, wondering how many of the people living in them are actually happy. She wonders what they wish for when they wish for different lives. She wonders if this is why she has always been interested in nineteenth-century novels about rich people—it's a giant human experiment. It asks the question: What does a person still need once they have everything? What does a bride still desperately lack as she stands in the lobby just before her big, beautiful wedding?
It is Phoebe who walks down the aisle to tell Gary. She makes sure to look at him the entire time. It is tempting to look at the ocean behind him, but she refuses to be a coward. She doesn't want to hide from his eyes or leave him alone in this moment. He searches her face for some kind of information, even though he must already know. Why else would Phoebe be the one walking down the aisle?
"Lila is not coming," she whispers when she is at his side.
And of course, of course. He nods with the stoicism of a soldier who has just been shot. It seems the man will go down without a single expression. He nods, looks at his shoes, nods again and again, as if watching blood drip to the floor.
Phoebe turns around. Surely the wedding guests know now, too. But someone has to say it aloud and make it official.
"Lila and Gary will not be getting married today," Phoebe says. It is good practice, speaking with finality. Being direct. Saying the hard truths in front of the wedding party. Phoebe wants to get better at that. Phoebe *will* get better at that. She knows this is the only way she wants to live. She must say the terrible thing, even when it's hard. She must think the terrible thing, even when it's scary. "She thanks you all for your support and love, the time and money it took for you to get here."
The crowd murmurs. Phoebe wonders how much they all spent. She wonders how many times Uncle Jim and Aunt Gina will say, "Five grand! Five grand just to watch someone not get married!" all the way to the airport.
"Jesus Christ," Patricia says. "What a production. Where is she?"
"At the hotel," Phoebe says. She imagines Lila in the bridal suite, slowly undressing until she is no longer a bride. "But then she's going to Canada."
"Canada?" Suz asks.
"What's in Canada?" Nat asks.
By the time Phoebe answers all the wedding guests' questions—the same questions they would have had about Phoebe if she killed herself (*But did she say why? Did she leave a note? What was she thinking?*)—Gary is gone. Gary has left the Breakers. He must have slipped out the other door. He must be feeling something terrible, but what? Phoebe wants to follow him through the door, comfort him, be with him forever, but it doesn't feel like her place to chase after him. It's too soon.
And there is Matt, standing in the aisle waiting for her. They wait until all the wedding guests file out of the Great Hall, just as they waited on their own wedding day. Then Matt and Phoebe get into the car like husband and wife.
"So, what happened to the bride?" Matt asks in the Mercedes.
"I'm not going back with you," Phoebe says.
She has to say it right away or she'll never say it.
"To the hotel?"
"To St. Louis," she says. "I'm not returning. I'm just not."
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 to give 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.