I look around: a church, a packed house, a big wedding. I look down: dressed in a tux. I look at her: she smiles. I nod.
"I asked you here so I could tell you why I left you," she began, and for what seems like hours she lists a litany of complaints: I sweat too much. I'm an asshole. I didn't cook her steak the right way. I talked too much. She didn't like my choice in books. I was too old. Too gross. Too used-up.
Finally I gesture to the pulpit, where the groom is waiting. "And he's better? Who is he, anyway?"
"That's A___," she says, giving me the name of an old boyfriend, the one she told me was always on her ass about school and studying, pestering her with dozens of texts a day until she'd finally had enough and fled, dodging his calls until he finally gave up.
"He's perfect," she said. "Perfect in a way you will never be." And then she is standing by his side, looking at him the way she once looked at me, but instead of reciting her vows she starts repeating the Why Ron Sucks list, and now everyone in the church is laughing, pointing. I run for the doors but they're all locked.
And now she is rushing back to me, away from A____ and towards me, and she says this was all a big joke, a big test, and I'm in the church because she and I are to get married.
I feel my heart in my throat. I break into a grin. She matches my smile.
"Just kidding," she says.