16
I DON’T GET drunk, I can’t get drunk, because it’s my job to undo Hayley’s buttons at the end of the night, and I will not fail the undo as well as the do up. Undoing has to be easier, anyway. Surely. We could just cut them off. No, Hayley will never go for that. I am, maybe, on my way to being drunk, just a little bit. Or maybe a lot.
I am still perfectly capable of handling forty-three buttons.
It’s late now, almost midnight, and I am convinced the only way I can carry on dancing and partying is if I change shoes. I decide I am going to walk back to the Airbnb, put on my comfortable flats, and then walk back to the wedding reception. A round trip that should take me half an hour. I don’t quite think through the walking along a road in the dark by myself bit. It seems reasonable in this moment.
‘Anna!’ a voice behind me calls.
It’s Patrick, in the car park, packing his camera gear into his car. I can’t believe he’s still here.
‘Patrick!’ I shout back happily. I almost say ‘my soulmate’. Jesus. I need to rein it in.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks.
‘Back to change my shoes.’
‘I can give you a lift, if you’d like.’
‘That would be absolutely and stupendously wonderful, thank you,’ I babble, almost falling into the front seat of his car.
‘I’m at your service,’ he says. He finishes packing his equipment into the backseat, and gets in the car. He’s so nice. I like him. Well, I want to like him, I know I should like him, which is almost the same thing. I am hoping I said none of that out loud. I stare out the window.
‘It’s been really nice meeting you,’ Patrick says.
‘It’s nice meeting you too,’ I say.
‘Hayley has my number,’ he says. ‘If you want to, I’d love to see you again.’
I look at him, and there, yes, I do feel something. Attraction. Ease. (Don’t look at his dexterous fingers on the steering wheel.)
‘I would like that,’ I say and we smile at each other. ‘You’ll be hearing from me,’ I add. That sounded threatening, rather than flirtatious, but it’s the best I can do right now.
‘Oh, there’s your friend,’ he says, and there’s Mac on the road ahead of us, walking. Patrick slows down.
‘Want a lift?’ he says. Mac looks at the two of us sitting in the car together.
‘Nah, mate, I’m fine,’ he says. He looks quite drunk.
‘Mac, get in,’ I say.
‘I’m fine,’ he says, a little more forcefully.
‘It’s dangerous, on the road, in the dark,’ I say, as if I wasn’t about to do the same thing.
‘I’ll survive,’ he says and Patrick shrugs and pulls away and I watch Mac in the rear-view mirror until we turn the corner.
Patrick pulls up at the house and we smile and shuffle around and say awkward things to each other, and then I get out in the most dignified way I can, considering I am struggling to do anything in my heels. Patrick waves and drives off, and I walk into the house.
Joel is sitting at the table, by himself, scrolling on his phone. I assume Bianca is in bed.
‘Hi,’ he says.
‘Hi,’ I say.
‘Good night?’ Joel asks.
‘Yep. You?’
‘Yeah, it was nice.’
‘Is Bianca asleep?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s feeling okay?’
‘About the same as she was,’ he says.
We stare at each other. The tension between us should be gone. The wedding is over. I know about the baby. He’s read the book. We don’t have to see each other again in the foreseeable future. But somehow, it feels worse.
‘Well, goodnight,’ Joel says, standing up.
‘Why did you stay with me for so long?’ I blurt out. ‘If you couldn’t picture us having a future together?’
He looks at me for a long time. He’s a bit drunk too.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Great. Eight years together, and “I don’t know” is your answer.’
‘You were the unhappy one.’
‘No I wasn’t.’
‘Yes you were. I read your book. I read your book and I thought, there it is. That’s what she really thought of us, of me, when we were together.’
‘My book is made up. Fiction!’ I don’t argue well when I’m drunk.
‘But I could see it there, in your words. Everything you thought was wrong with me.’
‘Did you read the acknowledgments? Because you’re in there. I loved you. I loved you more than you loved me.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘You didn’t even love me at all, did you?’
‘I did. And I’m sorry it didn’t work out, and I’m sorry I didn’t want kids with you, and I’m sorry I was such a disappointment, but I can’t change any of that now.’
I stare at him, and I want to yell, but there’s nothing to say to all that. He’s right—we can’t change anything and maybe he doesn’t owe me anything, but I can’t shake the feeling that he did me wrong, somehow. That someone has to be responsible for me feeling like this.
He starts to walk to his bedroom, and then turns back to me.
‘Am I who you wanted to have kids with? Am I really?’ he asks.
‘Yes. You were.’
‘Was I? Because you decided you wanted kids one day, but I’m not sure you ever decided you wanted them with me.’
‘You are telling yourself that to feel better,’ I say.
‘Maybe. But deep down, I think I’m right.’
‘No surprise there. You always do.’
‘Fuck you, Anna. I’m not going to feel guilty about this anymore. We’ve broken up.’
He’s never sworn at me before, and that more than anything has me shaken.
‘Well, fuck you too, Joel.’
‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe I never loved you,’ he says. ‘But reading your book made me think you never loved me.’
We are facing each other across the room, breathing hard, glaring, when Mac walks in.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he says.
‘You didn’t,’ I say, looking away. My hands are trembling.
‘I’m going to bed,’ Joel says, and he walks into his bedroom.
I stand with my back to Mac, and I can feel the tears building, and this time I can’t squash them down. I can’t squash any of it down anymore. Everything I have been holding in for the whole weekend is rising inside me. A sob bursts out of my mouth, and I put my hand over it, but the tears are already running down my face.
I am hoping that Mac is too far away and too drunk to notice, but then I feel his hands on my shoulders.
‘Come on,’ he says.
‘Come on what?’ I say, and my breaths are coming in sad little shaky gasps.
‘Cry outside,’ Mac says. He leads me out through the backyard, and we get into the hammock together.
‘I’m drunk and I’m closing my eyes and I won’t remember this tomorrow, so go for it,’ Mac says. ‘Cry. Yell. Swear. Let it all out. You’ll feel better.’
It’s a warm, balmy night, and I’m still in my bridesmaid dress, and Mac is still in his suit. He puts his arm around me, so my head is resting on it like a pillow. I can feel the skirt of my dress trailing off the side, fluttering in the breeze, possibly touching the dirty ground, but I don’t care. Mac closes his eyes and I look up at the sky. The rocking movement of the hammock should be making me feel sick but I’m finding it soothing. I let myself cry. Well, I’ve been crying the whole time, but I stop fighting it and succumb to the sobs wracking my body.
‘He never loved me,’ I say, pathetic and snotty. ‘That’s what he said.’
‘Do you think that’s true, or do you think maybe he was just trying to hurt you?’ Mac says. His eyes are still closed.
‘I don’t know. It doesn’t even matter. Because what if I never get over him? He’s over me. I’m clearly not over him. It still hurts. It all still hurts and he was probably it for me, the one, and I ruined it, and no one will ever love me again, and…’ I trail off, crying too much to continue. I don’t even really know what I’m so upset about. Is it the fight, the baby, the breakup? Or am I just emotional because I’m drunk at a wedding and this is how these kinds of nights end?
Mac leans over and uses his shirt sleeve to wipe the tears off my face, and then he strokes my hair. I snuggle into his arm. The hair-stroking feels so nice that I am almost lulled into sleep when a thought suddenly occurs to me.
‘Wait, who’s going to unbutton Hayley’s dress?’ I say. She was going to put on a new outfit after midnight. A sparkly silver mini-dress that we found online and decided was perfect for the final hours of dancing. I was only meant to be changing my shoes, and then returning. I need to go back. Did we even bring the second dress to the venue? I can’t remember. I’m a terrible friend, and a terrible bridesmaid. But the thought of getting out of the hammock right now feels impossible.
‘Luke can do it,’ Mac says.
‘He can’t,’ I say. ‘It’s so many buttons.’
‘He’s her husband now,’ Mac says. ‘He needs to take on that kind of serious adult responsibility.’
We keep lying there together, gently rocking.
‘Is it really so terrible, for you, being back here?’ I say, breaking the silence.
‘I thought it was all in my head, that I would come back and feel okay after all this time, but I don’t. Being with my family doesn’t feel the same, Luke and me, our friendship, it’s the same but it isn’t. I’m out of sync with everyone. I left, and I can’t slot back in. I just don’t belong here anymore.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, which feels inadequate, but it’s all my drunken, mushy brain can muster.
The hammock slows its rocking to the smallest movement, and we must fall asleep because I wake in the middle of the night and find Mac has put his suit jacket over me. It’s cold, and the hammock isn’t comfortable anymore, and my arm is numb.
I nudge him.
‘We should go in,’ I say.
He nods, and we walk inside together. He steers me towards the big bed. I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head, and lies down on the couch, waving me into the room.
I get into the bed, and close my eyes, and dream of buttons, endless buttons all needing to be undone.