“I don’t!”
She shook her head. “By the way, the photographer’s second shooter said she knows your band,” she said. “She was really hype about it, actually.”
“Cool,” Scott said warily, knowing this could presage either a great interaction or an unsettling one.
“Okay, I’m gonna go tell the photographer to find the coordinator, then?”
“Sounds great,” Letty said with an exaggerated thumbs up.
After Naila pulled the door shut again, Scott said, “I’m serious that this has no lasting implications whatsoever.”
“That just doesn’t sound true to me,” Letty said, “because I sense Carver is on the verge of blowing up his life, and you’ve clearly never fully gotten over him —”
“— not true —”
“So why do you still ask me about him?”
“To be polite,” Scott spluttered. “I’m a nice guy, I’m polite.”
“Oh, yeah?” she said. “Do you ask me about my other cousins, ever? I have eight cousins, Scott.”
“I didn’t lose my virginity to any of those people!”
“You’re gonna get me in such shit with Aunt Nora. She’s gonna axe-murder me and make Sana a widow. She’s gonna ask for her wedding money back with interest.”
“Hey, speaking of your wedding, I’m gonna go downstairs and rehearse now, okay? Is that cool?”
Letty closed her eyes and massaged her forehead. “I do think that is what you should go do, yeah.”
“Sorry I stressed you out on your wedding day. I love you. You look beautiful.”
Letty snorted. “Go. I love you. Go fuck yourself. Go fuck my cousin.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. It’s fine, seriously. Let’s get on with the day’s program, okay?”
“Sounds good.” Scott pulled the door back open, letting in the loud chatter of the bridal suite. “If I don’t see you again before, uh — good luck out there.”
“You too,” Letty called after him as he slipped away.
Carver was the second in the house to finish getting ready, behind his dad, who had been waiting for the rest of them in the car since 1 p.m. He was fully groomed and dressed by 1:30, at which point everyone else was still milling around and calling to each other, “Where’s my —?”
Bailey was stomping around sulking because she had lost the flower girl position to Priscilla’s daughter Kimmy, who was younger and more closely related, and Carver somehow only made it worse when he reminded her that she’d been the flower girl athiswedding. “I don’t even REMEMBER that,” shescreamed as if demonically possessed, and Carver had no choice but to flee the foyer for higher ground.
He was attempting to avoid his wife, who was getting ready with Conway so they could both make use of Lillian’s absurdly expensive beauty products. (“Maybe she’ll find a husband at this,” Lillian had told Carver earlier. “She’s a pretty girl, she’s just got that tall, round-faced German milkmaid look that isn’t reallyinright now. She’d probably do better with men in a recession, don’t you think?”) So he made his way to his parents’ bedroom, which was otherwise not his first choice but currently felt like a demilitarized zone, and knocked.
“Come in,” Nora called, and Carver entered.
“Don’t,” protested Chip, who was sitting at Nora’s vanity while their mother daubed liquid concealer under his eyes with a beauty sponge. “I don’t need him in here while you’re puttingmakeupon me, Christ.”
“You look beautiful, man,” Carver said.
“Don’t forget this is your fault, you little prick.”
“Boys,” Nora interrupted. She looked over at Carver, peering at him through her reading glasses. “Oh, you look so handsome, sweetie.” (Chip rolled his eyes.) “That’s a great tux.”
Carver looked down at himself, fidgeting restlessly. He’d barely slept the night before, and the earlier Xanax had almost sent him back to bed, so an hour ago he took a modafinil then crushed and snorted a second one. It was doing its rocket fuel job and working politely with the benzo, but the excess physical energy always begged to spill out. “Thanks,” he said, flattered. “It’s a good fit?”
