London Is the Best City in America

“It’s you,” I said in disbelief.

“It’s me.” He smiled down at me, putting his hand on my shoulder tentatively. He had a line of small sweat beads right above his mouth, running slowly down the sides of his face. “You look nice,” he said, which I knew was also his way of saying we were okay.

In spite of everything—or maybe because of it—I couldn’t ever remember feeling so relieved. I smiled at him, a genuine smile, and told him that he did too. I didn’t say anything about the sweat on his face.

I did feel compelled to say something about it being bad luck, Josh seeing Meryl before the wedding. I couldn’t help it. As far as I was concerned, at this point, they really needed some good luck on their side.

“It just doesn’t seem wise,” I whispered. “To take any risks. You know what I’m saying?”

“I hear you,” Josh said, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “But I don’t think Meryl’s big on bad luck right now. She wanted me to walk her down there. I’m just doing what I’m told.”

I handed him her orchid, making sure he took it tightly, from the middle, so it didn’t sag. “She’s all yours,” I said, already moving out of the suite to give them some time alone.

But then, as if on cue, Meryl appeared in the living room doorway in full attire. I had helped her get ready, but I hadn’t seen her completely ready. Her dress was beaded and mermaid-shaped, flipping out, in a circle, on the floor. She was wearing these long, sparkling earrings that fell down all the way to her shoulders, a soft lace veil falling loosely behind her ears.

She looked like an absolute dream. I could hear Josh breathing in, a sharp intake—his hand, with the orchid in it, moving instinctively to his stomach. And I wish—I really wish—that I could begin to describe what it was like seeing her being seen that way by him. It was like watching a memory.

“You look amazing,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, looking right back at him.

I looked back and forth between them. They didn’t take their eyes off each other, not even for a second. Eye to eye, unblinking.

It made me think of a story that I’d read about Quaker weddings: how if you looked at each other a certain way, for a certain period of time, you married yourselves. That that was the whole of it. The deal done and sealed. It was so intimate a moment—so intimate a thing to watch—I wished I could disappear instantaneously, leaving the two of them alone. It was also hard not to look.

But before I could make my exit—before Josh could move closer to Meryl or Meryl could move closer to him; before Josh even said hello to Meryl, really—there was a loud noise in this glamorous hotel room, the loudest of noises, almost like someone had dropped a two-ton brick right above us. Or two hundred of them.

Then—in the quickest succession—the lights started to flicker brightly, and then less brightly, and there was a loud whoosh and the water spurted out of the air conditioner and the dimmers stopped being dim and everything all around us went completely out and off.

And everything went black.

One of my very first nights in Narragansett, a storm came in off the water, and the entire town lost its power. I was sitting downstairs at the Bon Vue, a local oceanside bar that—with the exception of college Thursdays—was exclusively frequented by town natives: carpenters and fishermen and store owners, the people who lived nearby. When the lights went out, everyone got quiet for a second, one lone voice calling out, “Here we go again.” Then the candles were pulled out, the battery-radio turned on high, and everyone went back to drinking. Not so in one of the most prestigious hotels in New York City. First came the screeching, almost in harmony, coming out of almost every guest room. Doors were opening and closing, opening again. It wasn’t so much the loss of light, but the loss of cold air—the air-conditioning reserve already starting to soften, heat coming up and in from the outside.

From up in Suite 2401, there was no way to know exactly what was going on downstairs: people running through the lobby and out onto the street to see if the power outage was widespread or exclusive only to the Essex House. Someone would say it was definitely all of Central Park South, someone else arguing that the Plaza, down the block, was fine. Hotel staff were gathering candles and towels in preparation for the night, starting to empty out the refrigerators. Thirty-four pounds of fresh fish were put on ice and then thrown away. For good measure, one hotel guest fainted center lobby, announcing she had heat stroke. Then she asked for a better room.

Upstairs, where we were, people were walking outside onto the balconies, into the natural light, talking to each other. What had happened? Where was the power? The guy on the balcony next to us announced that he was a scientist, and he was certain this had something to do with “overexertion of the main air-conditioning mechanism” downstairs.

“That takes a scientist?” Meryl whispered to me, walking back inside.

She took the hotel freesia candles out of the bathroom, and we sat in a semicircle around them on the living room floor.

“Aren’t you worried your dress is going to wrinkle?” I said. “Let me get you a towel to sit on.”

She waved me off. “Don’t worry about it. In a couple of minutes, this dress is going to be stuck to me like glue anyway.” She started to smile at me, her eyes lighting up. “It’s kind of amazing though, isn’t it? My mother is literally going to have a nervous breakdown.”

I started to tell her not to worry about it—not to worry about any of it—that they’d get the power back on before the ceremony. But on a Sunday afternoon, during a holiday weekend, I seriously doubted that was true.

“You’re not upset, Mer?” Josh said.

“Not at all.” She shook her head. “Are you? At least now this wedding is going to be memorable. Not just another hotel wedding with the same hotel band and hotel flowers. Everyone at our wedding will be too busy standing around all hot and miserable. We might actually get to have a good time watching them.”

Josh smiled at her, as an answer. It was weird, though, the smile—I didn’t know how to read it. It was like all of a sudden he was watching her, watching all of this, from a great distance. I tried to make him look at me, make eye contact, and remind him he needed to focus. But he wouldn’t turn my way.

“You know what?” I said, standing up. “I’m going to try to head Bess off at the pass. Make sure everything’s going okay down below.”

“Things are definitely not okay down below,” Meryl said. “You’re better off up here with us until absolutely necessary.”

“It’s going to be a long walk down,” Josh added.