3. One Drink
One Drink
By the time the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, I was sitting at an outdoor seafood restaurant overlooking the water with a glass of wine in one hand and my shoes kicked off beneath the table.
For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t thinking about wedding venues, or guest lists, or whether peonies were somehow different from roses.
Apparently, they were. Wedding planning was a terrifying world.
Claire raised her glass. "To temporary freedom."
I laughed. "That's a terrible toast."
"It's an honest toast."
We clinked glasses. The wine was good, dangerously good. It was the kind that didn't taste like alcohol until you stood up too quickly. As I took another sip, I noticed Claire looking entirely too pleased with herself across the table.
"You seem suspiciously relaxed," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What are you planning?"
"Nothing."
"Liar."
She gasped dramatically. "How dare you."
I pointed at her. "That face."
"What face?"
"The face you make before causing problems."
"I do not have a face for causing problems."
"You absolutely do."
For a while, we ate and watched people wander along the beach, families, couples, groups of friends, and a wedding party taking photographs near the water. The bride's dress billowed behind her in the breeze, and my gaze lingered.
Claire noticed. "Cold feet?"
I immediately looked away. "No."
"Mm-hmm."
I sighed. "Can we go one meal without psychoanalyzing me?"
"No."
"Fantastic."
Claire grinned, and I stabbed a shrimp. "You're impossible."
"And yet, you love me."
Unfortunately, she had a point. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable; it rarely was between us. That was one of the advantages of having a sister who had known you your entire life. You didn't have to perform. You didn't have to fill every moment. You could simply exist.
The band shifted into a slower song, and couples drifted toward the dance floor.
"You're thinking again," Claire noted.
I groaned. "Do you ever stop?"
"No."
"That's unhealthy."
She shrugged. "So is getting engaged after thirty-two days."
I laughed despite myself. The wine helped, probably more than I wanted to admit. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text from
MARK
How's my future wife?
There was something comforting about that phrase. Future wife. Someone's future. Someone's person. Someone's choice.
I typed back quickly:
Having fun. Beautiful night.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Miss you.
I stared at the screen, then typed the expected response:
Miss you too.
The words felt strange. Not dishonest, just... incomplete.
Claire watched the entire exchange, naturally. "You got that look again."
I frowned. "What look?"
"The one where you're trying to convince yourself."
"Stop saying that."
"Stop doing it."
I rolled my eyes. "You're exhausting."
"And you're avoiding."
I pointed my fork at her. "One more therapy session and I'm ordering dessert without sharing."
Her eyes widened. "You wouldn't."
I absolutely would, and we both knew it.
An hour later, we finished dinner and started walking along the beach.
The evening felt alive, the kind of night that belonged in a movie, where something unexpected happened.
Not that I believed in those kinds of nights anymore.
Real life wasn't a movie. Real life was grocery lists, mortgage payments, and wondering if your smoke detector batteries needed replacing.
Still, the air felt different somehow. Lighter. Maybe it was the ocean, maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was simply being somewhere unfamiliar.
Claire hooked her arm through mine. "Having fun?"
I smiled. "Actually, yes."
She looked absurdly proud of herself, as if she'd personally invented vacations. "I'm glad."
The sincerity in her voice surprised me. I glanced over and realized that, for once, she looked happy—happy that I was smiling, happy that I'd agreed to come, and happy that, for one weekend, I wasn't hiding behind responsibility.
Something softened inside me. "Thank you."
Claire blinked. "For what?"
"This."
She looked away immediately, which told me she was getting emotional, an extremely rare occurrence. "Don't make it weird."
I laughed. "There she is."
"My reputation almost suffered."
We continued walking, and for several minutes, neither of us spoke. Then Claire stopped suddenly. "Oh."
The single word instantly made me nervous. "What?"
Her eyes widened, and then a grin spread across her face, a grin I recognized, the kind that should have come with warning labels.
"No," I said immediately.
"You don't even know what I'm looking at."
"I don't need to."
"Jennifer."
"No."
"At least look."
Against my better judgment, I followed her gaze, and my stomach dropped.
Absolutely not. Across the street stood a large building covered in flashing lights.
Music pulsed from somewhere inside, and groups of women entered through the front doors laughing and cheering.
A giant sign hung above the entrance: THUNDER DOWN UNDER.
I froze. Claire froze beside me, and then she slowly turned toward me.
"No," I repeated.
"Come on."
"No."
"Just once."
"No."
"You're getting married."
I stared at her. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"It's tradition."
"It is absolutely not tradition."
"It could be."
I started walking immediately away from the building, away from the flashing lights, and away from whatever terrible decisions lived inside. Claire followed, still talking, unfortunately.
"One hour."
"No."
"Thirty minutes."
"No."
"Fifteen."
"No."
She grabbed my arm, and I stopped, mostly because she nearly dislocated my shoulder. "Jennifer."
"No."
Her smile softened. "When was the last time you did something ridiculous?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out because, honestly, I couldn't remember.
"When was the last time you did something that wasn't practical?" she asked. I looked away, but she pressed on. "When was the last time you stopped worrying about what everyone expected and just had fun?"
The answer sat heavily in my chest. Too long. Far too long.
Claire squeezed my arm. "One hour."
I stared at the sign, then at the women entering, then at Claire, and then back at the sign.
This was ridiculous. I was forty-three years old, a librarian, an engaged woman, and a responsible adult.
I was the sort of person who alphabetized her spice rack; I did not belong inside a place called Thunder Down Under.
I definitely didn't belong there, not even a little.
Claire's smile widened, which meant she already knew she was winning. Damn it.
"One hour," I said.
She squealed loud enough to startle nearby tourists, and I immediately regretted everything. As Claire practically dragged me toward the entrance, I had a feeling I was walking straight into a disaster.