3 January
New South Wales, Australia
I haul my pink suitcase off the luggage carousel and make my way through customs. Outside the automatic doors, a line of smartly dressed drivers holds signs as they wait for their next client. I remember Winston saying we would have a driver taking us to the resort, but I scan the names coming up empty. Until I realize… Roberts. Of course, I’m supposed to be Mrs. Roberts here with Mr. Roberts.
“Welcome to Sydney, Mrs. Roberts!” This guy’s a little too cheery for me. Is everyone in Australia overly friendly? “Mr. Roberts in the loo?”
Shit. “Just me! For now…” I say with the biggest smile I can muster, willing him not to ask any more questions. He nods, puts my bag in the trunk, opens the door and I slide into the backseat.
I rest my head against the window as we pull out of the airport. The driver is a running monologue about Sydney. I’m sure most people appreciate it, but I’m too tired to listen. As the buildings get taller, the word “bridge” catches my attention.
“Ah, we are coming up on the famous Sydney Harbour Bridge. You won’t want to miss this. Be sure to look out to your right. The Opera House sits out on a point in the harbour. We have ferries that connect all areas of Sydney to downtown. Do you love rollercoasters? To the left you’ll see Luna Park and some of the most thrilling rides on this side of the Pacific…”
People come to Australia to ride rollercoasters like they are at Coney Island? I guess so. We cross the bridge and I nod off as we drive through the hilly suburbs which I hope will somehow lead to the ocean.
“Mrs. Roberts, we’ve arrived at The Wavelry in Easton. You have chosen the most fabulous of resorts on the peninsula…”
The driver’s cheery voice wakes me out of my light sleep and I open my eyes to take in my Australian home for the next five days.
The bellman escorts me into the oversized lobby and I’m greeted by an even friendlier front desk clerk.
“Mrs. Roberts! We’re so glad you’re here.” She hands me a set of keys. “We’ve reserved the premier bungalow for the happy couple. Here’s a key for each of you.”
I keep my mouth shut this time. I don’t want the whole lobby to hear my tale of woe.
“Kai will take you to your bungalow. From all of us at The Waverly, we hope you enjoy every moment of your honeymoon. Please don’t hesitate to contact us with any need you may have.”
I nod and turn to the guy who gets to traipse my bags to the room. This place is gorgeous, but all I want to do is get into my room and have a minute for myself.
“Enjoy, Mrs….”
I hand Kai one of the Aussie bills Winston exchanged so we were prepared as soon as we landed and practically shove the poor bellman out the door. This room, like everything else, has Winston written all over it. There’s a loveseat and two chairs opposite the bed which is strewn with rose petals. Two swans made of towels watch my every move. I sniffle when I see the reading pillow tucked behind the others on the bed. Winston knows how much I love a reading pillow. He thought of everything. Bastard!
There’s a wall of windows leading out to a plunge pool. I can hear the surf behind the tall bushes. At least no one will see me crying. The bathroom has his and her sinks, too bad I only need one, and the bathtub has my name written all over it, even if I’ll be soaking solo.
On the desk, there’s a full itinerary for Mr. & Mrs. Roberts. Perfect. A list of all the things we could do together had Winston not left me at the altar—alone.
Mr. & Mrs. Roberts,
Congratulations and welcome to the Palm Beach Bungalow at The Waverly. We are thrilled you will be joining us as you celebrate your honeymoon. Below, we have outlined an itinerary for your stay. We hope you thoroughly enjoy every moment.
4 January
Morning Surf Lesson. Please meet at the Breakers Surf Shack at eleven o’clock.
Afternoon of Relaxation. Enjoy your bungalow plunge pool and explore the resort at your leisure.
Romantic Private Dinner on your bungalow patio. Dinner will be served at seven o’clock.
5 January
Mrs. Roberts
Morning Yoga. Please meet on the beach at half past eight.
Spa Facial. Please arrive at the Waves Spa at ten o’clock.
Mr. Roberts
The shuttle will collect Mr. Roberts at eight o’clock for transport to the Easton Hills Country Club. A tee time is scheduled for half past nine.
Nighttime Comet Watching on the beach. The Half Moon Comet should be visible in the eastern sky. Please meet the stargazing guide near the Breakers Surf Shack at half past nine. Binoculars for viewing are located in your bungalow hall closet.
6 January
Sydney Tour. The shuttle will pick you up at nine o’clock for transport to the Easton Ferry Dock.
Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb. Eleven o’clock.
Shopping and city exploration.
Dinner at Quay Point. Reservations have been made for you at half past six.
The Sydney Opera. Eight o’clock.
7 January
Spa Couples Massage. Please arrive at the Waves Spa at ten o’clock.
Candlelight Dinner on the beach. Dinner will be served at eight o’clock.
8 January
Morning Departure for Kangaroo Island. The shuttle will arrive at the bungalow at eight o’clock for transport to the Easton Ferry Dock for your return to Sydney and flight to Kangaroo Island.
We hope you enjoy your time at The Waverly! Please reach out at any time if we can be of assistance during your stay.
Ok. Deep breath. I can do whatever I want on the itinerary. It’s all up to me. I cross out our names on the top of the page and write Ms. Pastells. Look how easily I can remove him from my life!
I continue scanning the page. Romantic dinner—no chance. No golf for Mr. Roberts. Nix that one. That Sydney tour? No way in hell am I doing the bridge climb without the love of my life— or at least I thought he was —to hang on to at such heights. Couples Massage? Make it a massage for one. And I’ll add all the pampering extras to charge to Winston’s account. Essential oils? Yes, please.
My phone pings. It’s a text message from Enid, Winston’s assistant. She’s sweet and well-meaning and a bit of a busy body, but had kindly booked all of our honeymoon travel—leaving no stone unturned or missing any detail. I can hear her over anxious, breathy voice in my head as I read.
Enid: Francine! I’m so, so sorry! About all the things! I just heard you are going ahead solo with the honeymoon. You are so brave. I don’t know what Winston was thinking…Anyway, I tried to clear some things up with the resort before you arrived so it wouldn’t be awkward, but I fear I didn’t get the messages through in time. I don’t know what day it is there. Please feel free to decapitate any swans. Well, only those made of towels. I do love all nature, so I would hate if any living feathered friend were harmed. Please enjoy all the champagne and ignore anything that says Mrs. Roberts. Message me at any time if you need anything. I’m so sorry again. Do you know what is going on with Winston? It’s all so odd. Oh, I shouldn’t even be asking you. Really, dear. Have a lovely getaway. Call me anytime!
I chuck a swan across the room and drown myself in the smell of the rose petals. How did this happen? And what do I do now? The articles on The Knot focused on How to deal with a guest who won’t follow the seating chart or What to do if a bridesmaid bails at the last minute. Not What to do when your fiancé decides it’s over before it even starts . Emily Post left the chapter out of her book on wedding etiquette too. Do I keep the gifts or return the baker’s dozen sterling silver place settings? How is one to know?
There’s a soft knock on the door but I don’t move. Another knock and, “Room service for the happy couple.” I scream into the remaining swan as my stomach grumbles. I don’t know what time it is. It must be close to dinner and since I didn’t eat dinner on my wedding day, which was maybe yesterday or the day before, and only had a few bites of what they called brekky on the plane, I will myself off the bed to see what’s arrived on my doorstep.
I swing open the door to a table laden with more roses (when I get home I’ll throw away every bottle of rose scented lotion I own), a bottle of champagne, and a tiered tower of goodies. I wheel it into the room right next to the bed and inspect the tray. A placard on the card reads High Tea . There are mini quiches, sausage rolls, and cucumber sandwiches. Another tier covered with scones and jam. And the top is filled with white and silver petit fours. For the first time in I have no idea how many hours, I smile because Winston, the notorious-calorie-counter-no-carb-eater, isn’t here and I can eat anything I want without his judge-y glare making a mental note of every bite I take. After multiple quiches, a sausage roll, a petit four, one scone with clotted cream (that was so good I even licked the spoon), my stomach is full.
I run the bathwater adding the lavender bath salts next to the tub. I strip off the clothes I’ve been in for I don’t even know how many hours and step into soothing water. As soon as I rest my head back, the tears flow. Winston and I had been together for three years. We planned, mostly he planned, our wedding for an entire year. It was supposed to be the most romantic affair ringing in the new year, with tulle and white orchids dripping off every surface and nothing but resolutions of love. A string quartet at the reception, followed by a band we fell in love with at a local bar. Who ate the filet mignon and lobster tail anyway? I hope Winston had the decency to donate the food to the homeless shelter and didn’t feast on it with all of his fraternity brothers.
All of that planning to find myself standing on the altar when a tsunami of disbelief surges up the center aisle drenching me in shock, leaving zero air in my lungs. The humiliation flashes into my consciousness. In slow motion, I relive the moment I turned to look out over our loving family and friends feeling like my precious wedding dress had been ripped off my body and sucked out to sea with the wave. There I was—completely exposed staring blindly into their wide, sad eyes.
I cry some more when I look at my hand. I’m still wearing my engagement ring. I couldn’t wait to pair it with the diamond infinity band. I take it off and chuck it across the bathroom and stick my head underwater. When I come up for air, I taste my salty tears mixed with lavender.
My mind races back over every interaction in the last few months. We hadn’t had sex lately because we were waiting for our wedding night. Winston had read an article that said holding out made your orgasm much stronger. But was that the real reason or was something else going on? We had a lot to do in the days leading up to the wedding, with out-of-town guests and appointments for nails and hair. More appointments with the caterers and last-minute fittings. Is that how it is for every couple? I never thought twice about it. Until now. If he was having so many misgivings about us why didn’t he come and talk to me? He could have broken it off before I walked all the way down the damn aisle on my dad’s arm. It’s like I was being punked in one of those reality TV shows.
I drag myself out of the tub and put on the robe hanging in the bathroom. It’s a thick, fluffy, white terrycloth. Almost feels like heaven.
The sun’s low in the sky so it’s late enough in the evening for me to go to bed. I’m surprised I’ve been able to stay awake this long. Who knows what day it is? I’m assuming I’ve lost a few after flying ahead into my future…on my own. Why couldn’t I lose our wedding day!?
I open my suitcase and dig around for some pajamas and remember I only packed the sexy lace crotchless numbers my friends gave me at my bachelorette party. I want comfy and cozy and all I have is leather and lace. Looks like I’m sleeping in this robe tonight. My eyes need toothpicks to stay open so I slip under the covers and hope when I wake up I’ll realize this is all a nightmare.