Page 189 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“I mean, yeah, kind of.”

“Why would you want to get involved in someone else’s love life?”

Good question.

And this might seem weird, given the uneven state of my own relationships, but I’ve always loved weddings. All that love on display. Two people facing each other, promising that their love will last through time. Then that first married kiss, sealing the troth, making it clear that forever starts today.

Forever.

That’s the hope. To do better. To do right. To treasure.

Even—if you kink that way—to obey.

An idea worth preserving, I think. Worth helping come true.

All I’m saying is, there’s a reason people are suckers for romance.

“I like putting things together, you know that.”

“So, a match is just another mystery to solve?”

“In a way.” I catch his hand and twine my fingers through his. Our foreheads are touching now, and it’s almost like we’re dancing. The sun is setting over the Pacific, the sky outside the windows that amazing orange hue that only lasts for a few minutes. White-sailed boats bob on their moorings, and the air is tinged with the ocean’s special brine.235 “It takes work, you know, finding two people who’re right for each other.”

He tilts his chin toward me and now we’re almost kissing. “Oh, I know.”

“Are we going to dance, or what?”

He reaches for my waist without saying anything and pirouettes us onto the dance floor. I laugh, happy, as I tuck my chin on his shoulder. We turn slowly past Emma and her husband, and they look happy, too, as they should.236

“Enjoying yourself?” Oliver asks as we navigate past the other dancing couples.

“What’s not to enjoy?”

“You seem distracted.”

“Oh, I’m just… plotting.”

“No rest for the wicked.”

I laugh.

“Every couple I’ve matched is still together.”

This is true.

Until today, that is.

Not that I don’t consider today’s wedding a success. The ceremony took place, the promises were made, and Emma was beautiful in her white sheath dress that looked simple but cost an astonishing amount. The reception is tasteful and full of glamorous people, and they will be together until death parts them.

So, it’s not my fault that when I leave Oliver on the dance floor to use the facilities, I find one of the wedding party splayed out on the floor of a supply closet, the cake-cutting knife sticking straight up out of their back like someone tried to serve them up for dessert.

Is it?

Ah, shit.