There had been a period, in the spring, where I had to leave it, and where Giselle had to leave it, and where a woman neither of us had thought about since 2006 posted a long paragraph with a praying-hands emoji that I will not describe further.

Giselle called me in September and said she was going, and that she had been asked to do the room, for free, because the committee had no money, and that she had said yes.

And I said, “You’re going to do the flowers at your own reunion four hundred yards from where you got married.”

And she said, “Eleven hundred yards.

And yes.”

So I drove down on a Saturday in November and I parked, and I sat in the car for some period of time, because that is apparently what I do now, and then I went in.