Your choice changes what happens next
A card not quite yours
The invitation was blue, the stairwell was green, and the thunder came from a roof without a cloud above it. Nora Vale stopped on the last step and unfolded the card completely. Beneath the cheerful instruction to bring herself was a smaller name: Nora Bell. At thirty-four, after seven years of drawing other people's wedding invitations, Nora felt she ought to be better at reading one. She had brought a sketchbook instead of wine because the card had also said no gifts. Now even her sensible decisions looked suspicious.
Beyond the open door, neighbors were setting a long supper table among pots of mint. A bowl of pears occupied the place where a centerpiece should have been. Beside a yellow umbrella stood a man wearing headphones around his neck. He lifted a sheet of thin metal. The sky made another noise, rather like a wardrobe falling downstairs. "Too domestic," he told the sheet. "We're looking for weather, not furniture." Nora laughed before she could decide whether she belonged there. He looked up and smiled as if the interruption had improved the rehearsal.
A woman carrying a floury apron hurried between the table and a little kitchen. She was almost certainly the host. Nora could explain the card to her now. Or she could ask the man why the roof was auditioning for a thunderstorm, then find the host together. Neither option required pretending to be the other Nora. She tucked the blue card between two fingers, kept her sketchbook under her arm, and stepped out of the stairwell.