Everything Changes

ahead,” Rael said, leaning against Jed. “I’m just catching my breath.”
    The song was “Wonderful Tonight,” and as we danced, reflections from the ballroom chandelier sparkled like Roman candles in her eyes. “Rael told me about Lisa,” she said.
    Lisa, whom I’d been dating for the last few months, had broken up with me last week because, as she put it, we’d “maxed out our emotional connection.” I didn’t disagree, but I’d been hoping we’d last a little while longer, so that at least I’d have a date for the wedding.
    “I’m over it,” I said with a shrug.
    Tamara fixed me with a look. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “I told Rael.”
    She stopped moving and looked up at me, eyes wide and demanding. “Zack,” she said. “Rael and I are married. We haven’t merged into one being. After all the long nights I put in talking to you about your love life while Rael was snoring away, I would hope that you’d look at me as a true friend, and not simply an extension of Rael.”
    “Point taken,” I said. “I guess with the wedding only a few days away, I didn’t want to rain on your parade.”
    She nodded, mollified, and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek. “You’re too sweet, Zack,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder as we finished the dance. “Lisa didn’t deserve you.”
    “Who does?” I said.
    “I don’t know. But she’s out there. And we’re going to find her.”
    “We?”
    “Damn right, we,” she said, pulling back to look at me. “You’re my best man too, and that makes you my responsibility. Now, dip.”
    “What?”
    “It’s the end of the song,” she said. “Dip me.”
    And so I dipped her, taking in the triangle of soft flesh beneath her upturned chin as she threw her head back, and when I pulled her back up, Rael was there to dance with his bride. “I’ll take it from here,” he said, grinning at me.
    “She’s all yours,” I said, and then watched as he led her away from me, vaguely troubled by the intense feeling of loss that momentarily came over me. But then Jed stepped up behind me and threw his arm over my shoulder, and the feeling disappeared as suddenly as it had come on. “And then there were two,” he intoned gravely, steering me toward a group of women in lavender taffeta congregating near the bandstand.
    “Don’t date the bridesmaids,” I said dully.
    “Don’t date the
fucking
bridesmaids,” Jed corrected me, maintaining our course.
    “The swear is integral?”
    “Imperative.”
    “Why’s that?”
    Jed sighed and downed the rest of his drink in one savage gulp. “Because we never fucking learn.”

Chapter 20
    I get off the train at Eighty-sixth, but rather than go home, I walk slowly toward Central Park, relishing the cold sensation of the rain soaking my skin through my clothes. Wet weather has always seemed to me to be an invitation to extreme action, and, having just behaved extremely, the stinging spray is a welcome, retroactive justification. Leaving work in the middle of the day is erratic behavior, to be sure, but nothing that can’t be explained away. Kissing Tamara, on the other hand, was just plain reckless, and it leaves me feeling perplexed, ashamed, and undeniably excited. I want to take it back and do it again, all at the same time. I think of Hope in London, sifting through recondite paintings in a musty basement, dust mites collecting on her designer clothing, and I feel a deep pang of guilt. I think of Tamara and wonder what she’s thinking about me, if she’s reliving that kiss over and over again the way I am. Best not to think about that too much. But still . . .
    I step into the living room an hour later, teeth chattering, to find Matt and Jed napping in front of the television, Matt sprawled on the floor and Jed on the couch. A romantic comedy plays itself out on cable; a mistaken identity has been perpetrated by the woman in the name of unrequited love, but the deception will ultimately be forgiven, since both parties are just so good-looking and because only a fool would overlook the soundtrack and lighting cues that make it clear where the happy ending lies. A worn copy of Nabokov’s
Laughter in the Dark
lies facedown on Matt’s chest. Despite the tattoos, earrings, and other assorted accoutrements of his trade, Matt’s not at all what you’d expect from a punk rocker. He’s passionate about literature, is majoring in it on his protracted route through college, which explains the Nabokov