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"Call me crazy," my mom said, loosening the strap of one of her shoes. "But I'm thinking they might go the distance."

"Soojung Bae." Wooyoung gave her a warning look. "Don't you dare tell me you've become an optimist. I don't think I can take it."

"Never," she replied, as he pour the rest of the wine to both their glasses, then dropped the bottle into the ice bucket. "I just got that sense. They don't seem like the divorce type."

"Which is the same as being married happily, yes?"

My mom thought about this as she took a sip of her drink. "I don't think it's that simple. There's a whole spectrum between those two, at least in my experience. Like all of the variations of gray."

Wooyoung didn't seem to buy it, even before he said, "Gray is grey, as far as I'm concerned."

"I disagree." She eased the other strap, wincing as she did so. "I remember being so unhappy at times in my own marriage, for various reasons. And yet the thought of it ending of choosing to do that . . . I never would've thought of it. And if I had, I'm sure I would have thought about the worse option."

"Worse than being unhappy?"

"Well, yes," she replied. "Like, in a marriage, it's not just whether you see the glass as half-full or half-empty. It's whether you see it those two ways, or any of the other endless fractions that are possible."

Wooyoung winced. "This conversation is making my head pound. I give them six years. And she leaves, for someone else. Three kids."

My mom leaned her head to the side, thinking. "I don't know. What do you think, Suzy?"

I blinked, not expecting to be join in. This was their game, not mine, even though I had seen Tiffany and her groom laughing happily as they climbed onto the car to leave together. For them, and her in particular . . . I wished they'd always put each other first. Out loud, thought, I said, "I have no idea."

"Smart girl." Wooyoung raised his glass to me. "She who doesn't gamble can never lose."

"Or win," my mom pointed out. 

"Details," he replied, and they both laughed, then clinked glasses.

I felt a yawn coming on and reached up, covering my mouth, wishing we could go ahead and do our final sweep so we, too, could head home. Before that would happen, though, I had to collect all the vases we'd rented from the tables, and I wasn't about to do it alone. Sehun, however, was nowhere in sight.

Just as I thought, I heard voices from over by the back door where Vivi had escaped. When I turned, there Sehun was with, of all people, Jessica the annoying maid of honor. She was holding her shoes in her hand and the thrown bouquet - which, Wooyoung predicted, she'd dived for it. As Sehun said something to her, she tipped her head back and laughed again, putting a hand on his arm.

There's something messy about people at the end of weddings. Clothes, once pressed, are rumpled and creased. Hair escapes from hairstyles and gets wild from dancing. Makeup runs, as do stockings and tights, and women almost always shed their shoes, men their jackets. There's nothing neat about that feeling when the finiteness of the event hits and you're suddenly more aware than ever that tomorrow is just another regular day. Maybe this was what made people drag out the night, stretching the time left a little longer. I understood it: I'd done it. But we're working here, not attending. Sehun could get messy off the clock. I wanted to go home.

"Hey," I called out, and they both looked over at me. "Let's grab these vases so we can start getting out of here."

"Sure thing, boss," he replied. "Be there in five seconds."

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