“Well, ‘marrying’ might not be the right word,” I say, backtracking. “He offered to maybe marry me in a legally nonbinding ceremony, just for show, just to help out Brooklyn Jewels, because he knows that this business means everything to me.”

“Maybe?” Sophie echoes.

“What do you mean, maybe?” Jess asks.

“Well, he’s still thinking it over,” I explain.

Sophie stares at me for a moment, looks at the to-do list on my computer screen, then actually tips her head back to cackle.

“Wow, you’ve outdone yourself this time,” she says, once she’s composed herself. “You’re really planning a wedding with no actual groom in sight, aren’t you?”

I angle my laptop away from her. “He’ll be there, okay? Just watch. He’ll show up and say yes,” I insist.

Sophie throws up her hands. “Fine. God forbid you ever do anything like a normal person. Have fun ruining your own life.” She gets up and heads into the back room.

Jess looks at me blankly.

“I, um, have some work to do,” I say pointedly.

She snaps her attention back to her own laptop.

I feel incredibly self-conscious as I dial the first number, the event manager. The line rings once, twice, three times. I’m on the verge of hanging up out of nerves. But then someone picks up the phone.

“Hi, this is Eliza Roth, I’m looking for Sharon, the event manager?” I ask, slipping into my most professional, take-no-bullshit voice. It’s go-time.

By one o’clock, I’ve made my way through three-quarters of the list. I was careful with my language, subbing in “the groom” instead of Raj’s name. I didn’t specify on any of the calls exactly who I was marrying. I break for lunch and head to Sweetgreen for a salad. I order my kale Caesar salad to go and carry it the few blocks back to the store. I’m distracted by texting Carmen updates from last night, so I don’t notice anything strange through the glass window of the shop. It’s not until I’ve reached the door that I notice our CLOSED sign. I look up from my phone in confusion and enter the shop.

Raj is standing alone in the middle of the shop. His usual duds—the old hoodies I’ve seen him wear a thousand times—are replaced by a pair of charcoal gray dress pants and a pale pink button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up just so. As I enter the shop, he presses something on his phone and a familiar song that I can’t quite place fills the room. The first few chords are bouncy and upbeat.

“Hi,” I breathe, taking all of this in.

“Hi,” he says, grinning.

“I’ve never seen you dressed like this,” I say cautiously.

“Special occasion,” he says.