“Thanks,” Bill said, sounding pleased as he adjusted his shirt cuffs. “It’s a thing of my uncle’s. He thinks if we’re dressed up, we blend in more with the event. You don’t notice the people running around the scenes as much if they look like maybe they could be guests.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.” I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ears, but met only the foam of the rollers. I felt my stomach drop as I remembered, all at once, what my head looked like. “Oh my god.”

“I think your hair looks nice,” Bill said, his smile widening as he clearly realized what I was thinking. “It’s very . . . sci-fi.”

“They’re just . . . for my hair,” I managed to say. It was like I could practically feel the heat coming from my cheeks. “Because there’s no power.”

“Yeah,” Bill said, holding up his walkie-talkie as he shook his head. “We’re working on it. The caterers are about to kill me. We got the generator working outside, so everything in the tent is up and running, but . . .” He grimaced.

“Do you think it’s going to be able to be fixed?” I asked, my humiliating hair situation forgotten as I started to walk toward the basement door. “Don’t we really, really need power?”

Bill nodded. “We really do.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I have an electrician I can call and see if they can get here fast. I was waiting to see if your dad was able to get the fuses working again.”

“But if they can’t?”

Bill just looked at me, and I realized I’d been waiting for something optimistic from him, for him to say that we’d be fine, that there was some kind of solution he’d thought of. “Then we need to hope an electrician can get here and get things fixed in . . .” He glanced down at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”

I swallowed as I walked over to the open basement door. It was pitch-black inside, except I could see a few flashlights bobbing around. “Hey,” I called down into the basement. “Uh—how’s it looking?” Nobody responded, and after a moment, I added, “It’s Charlie.”

“I know it’s Charlie.” This was my dad, sounding annoyed. “I do have the ability to distinguish between my children. I didn’t just get here.”

“So, how’s it going?”

“We’re working on it.” This was Danny, and I could hear that he sounded stressed.

“Just . . . give us a second, okay?” my dad called, and I nodded, before realizing that he couldn’t see me.

“Okay,” I called. I glanced at Bill, and we walked toward the front hall together. “It doesn’t sound great.”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m giving it just one more minute before I get the electrician. I don’t want to step on your dad’s toes, but . . .”

I nodded. “It’s the right call.”

“Because we don’t have that long to wait.” Just as he’d finished saying this, the lights snapped back on, and the entire front hall was suddenly very bright. Machines whirred to life in the kitchen, followed by the startled yelps of the caterers, who had apparently not been prepared for this. I could hear the sound of three separate television sets blaring, all turned to different channels, and a low persistent beeping that was coming from somewhere I couldn’t identify. I looked at Bill and blinked, trying to get my eyes to adjust.

It was that feeling like when the lights come up after a movie—how it takes a minute to let go of the world you’d been immersed in. Bill smiled happily at me, and now that I could see his features clearly, I was reminded all over again that, Jesse Foster or no Jesse Foster, he really was cute.

“Let’s see what else has to be done,” Bill said, picking up the walkie. “All of which will be much easier now that we have power.”

“Thank god,” I said. I gave him a quick smile, then headed upstairs, feeling like, judging from how unhappy the caterers had seemed, it might be a good thing to avoid the kitchen at the moment.

As I was coming up the stairs, Rodney was making his way down them, but with difficulty, and when he got closer I understood why. He was wearing Ralph’s terrible suit—which was as purple, and checked, as ever. But even though I’d known Ralph was shorter and smaller than Rodney, I didn’t quite understand just how much until Rodney was in front of me, wearing his suit. It was far too tight, and the pants stopped somewhere around Rodney’s mid-calf. It was a terrible look on anyone, but especially for a groom on his wedding day.

“I can’t wear this,” Rodney said, shaking his head as he looked down at himself, and I had to agree.

I winced. I knew it was my fault that he was wearing it—but at the time, it had seemed like the only thing to do. Now, though, looking at the reality in front of me, I wasn’t quite sure. Maybe Rodney could have worn his suit and gotten a fake marriage from Max, and then he and Linnie could have just gone to a courthouse afterward and not told anyone.

The door to the other guest room opened, and the General came out, looked at his son, and frowned. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“It’s a long story,” I said quickly, hoping we could skip over the parts of it that I had been directly responsible for. “But . . . um . . . Rodney kind of doesn’t have his wedding suit.”

Rodney shot me a dark look and then nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s true.”

“And you thought this was a good substitute?” The General shook his head. “Son.”

“I didn’t!” Rodney spluttered. “I was hoping this was all a big joke, but apparently, it’s what I’m expected to wear on my wedding day.” Rodney’s voice rose at the end of it, and I could hear just how upset about this he was. I took a breath, about to suggest that J.J. wear this and Rodney wear his groomsman suit—they were roughly the same size—when the General stepped forward and clapped his hand on Rodney’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, son,” he said, steering him into the guest room. “Let’s get you sorted out.”

“Charlie?” My mother came out onto the landing, adjusting the wrap around her shoulders. Her mother-of-the-bride dress was a pale lilac that I’d hated on the hanger (and had not been afraid to tell her this) but looked absolutely stunning on.

“You look so nice, Mom.”

“Really?” She smiled, pleased, and I could see that her cheeks had gone slightly pink. “Thank you, hon. So do you. Though I’m not sure about the hairstyle . . .”

My hand flew up to my rollers. “I’m going to take them out,” I assured her, figuring that maybe now that the power was back on, I could use a hair dryer on them, maybe speed up the process a little.

“I think that might be wise,” my mother said with a smile. “But have you seen your sister? They need to get set up for pictures.”

“No,” I said, trying to think of the last place I’d seen Linnie. “Um, do the bridesmaids know where she is?” My mom gave me a look that clearly indicated she didn’t trust the bridesmaids to know much of anything. “I’ll check her room,” I said, already heading upstairs.

I saw that the door to J.J.’s room was open, and I crossed over to it, knocking once before pushing the door open all the way. Mike was sitting on the oversize baseball-glove chair. “Hey,” I said, more quietly than I normally would have.

“Hey,” he said, and I was happy to see that he no longer looked like he was going to fall over in a strong wind. “The bridesmaids are in my room,” he said faintly. “They’re . . . loud.”

“How are you doing?” I asked, not entirely sure if I meant with his hangover, or with being back in the house again.

Mike made a so-so gesture with his hand, which I realized might have covered either of these things.

“Seen Linnie?”

“No,” Mike said, looking alarmed. “Have we lost the bride?”

“No,” I said, lowering my voice. “Don’t—”

“We lost the bride?” This was J.J., standing behind me in the doorway. He stepped into the room and grinned when he saw me. “Oh good, your hair still looks crazy,” he said happily. “Now I just need to get a photo. . . .”