Marie hears a noise from the bathroom, and her fiancé, Hugo, announces that he has just cracked the toilet seat. It's yet another casualty of his clumsiness; he already broke the hair dryer and the shower door. The couple is on vacation in a cramped Venice apartment, and Marie is frustrated with how much space Hugo takes up, especially when his size is thrown in relief against the compactness of the city. Marie had intended to spend the month here alone to escape asthma-triggering allergens back home, but Hugo insisted on joining her. He assumes they'll spend the rest of their lives together, anyway; Marie isn't so sure. She values solitude, and the exuberant Hugo seems to take up the space of three people. Their dynamic doesn't seem sustainable. As the couple roams the city in search of a new toilet seat, Marie thinks about how to most mercifully break off their engagement. Meanwhile, she keeps her eye on a storm brewing on the horizon. Hugo insists it's in the "offing" and won't touch them. They eventually procure an old, yellowing seat from an American in the midst of putting his Italian grandparents' estate in order. But Marie insists it won't do, and they decide to continue their search at a plumbing store. En route, they run into the Indiana Wesleyan Men's Choir singing "Oh Shenandoah." The music deeply moves to both of them. Hugo reflects on how he sang in a choir when he was younger, but Marie misses the emotional resonance of his story, asking him why he didn't pursue singing as a career. "It has nothing to do with a career," he responds. There's a rumble of thunder, and the couple decides to take a boat to the plumbing store to expedite their search. Marie hops on the boat, just as Hugo realizes that he left the yellowing toilet seat at the ticket booth. He runs to fetch it, but the boat pulls away before he can join Marie. Right then, it starts to pour. Marie gets lost and trudges home. With much irritation and anxiety, she awaits Hugo's return until the early hours of the morning. She eventually falls asleep. Half dreaming and half awake, she hears the rumble of "Oh Shenandoah." She peers out her window to see the Indiana Wesleyan Men's Choir serenading her: Hugo sings among them and brandishes a brand new toilet seat over his head. Marie beams and feels overwhelmed — and confused — by a sudden rush of love for Hugo. "I'd been opened up like a geode," she reflects.