Chapter 5 #7
It’s getting late, and Bren thinks he should probably leave. He’s uncomfortably full, doesn’t want the biscotti, but eats it anyway. Dunks it in his coffee, feels it give beneath his teeth. Honeymoon. The term as sickly sweet as the biscuit.
It depends, he says, as he chews; Nora’s eyes no longer on him, but on her own cup. Their prior exchange resounding like a bell.
On what you like, he goes on. What you’d want from it, how much time you’d have.
A standard two weeks I think, Robin says, looking at Nora, who dips her chin in a nod. She’s wrapped both hands around her mug, seems withdrawn.
You like art, right, Bren says.
And the ocean! Robin says. And dancing! Badly, but it’s still dancing.
Art and the ocean and bad dancing, Bren echoes.
It’d be nice to explore outside of Europe, too, Robin says.
Where is the money coming from, for this, Nora asks, and Robin says aha, we have a plan, remember, and she raises her eyebrows as she drinks more hot chocolate but it’s loving, that look, and not derisive, and the fizzing in Bren intensifies.
It feels so intense, it’s a wonder they can’t hear it, so he speaks purely to override it, says Latin America, maybe. Somewhere like Cuba or Peru.
Peru? Robin says, as if it’s the first time he’s heard of the place.
Biscotti half eaten in his hand. Peru. I like it!
Like two Paddington Bears, he says, nudging Nora’s rib with his elbow; she laughs, shaking her head because it’s dumb, or because she actually finds him funny; Bren can’t quite tell.
The more Robin talks, the less Bren feels undermined by his age and height and career.
He’s a creative with nice teeth and bold – bizarre – fashion sense, whose cultural references thus far have extended to Prince’s wardrobe, a string of Pixar movies, and now, an illustrated bear from a kids’ book.
Clearly, he’s not as sophisticated as Bren first thought, but then, in a flicker he decides to ignore, that does mean he makes more sense for Nora.
A guy with warmth, and soft edges. An ability, it seems, to read the room, lighten the tone.
In any other scenario, Bren would really like him.
Why, he thinks, does he not like him.
So what is the plan, then, he asks, and Nora and Robin break eye contact, both look at him across the coffee table.
For the wedding, I presume, he says. You said you have a plan?
Nora’s feet are pressed against Robin’s thighs; Robin puts his hand on her foot. Bren tries not to notice these things.
Well, Nora says, and Bren raises an eyebrow.
Waiting for her to say oh, you know, these things take time.
We haven’t set a date or even thought about it, because this is what his mother had implied, in passing, and he wants to meet Nora’s eyes as she admits this; wants to lift his chin in a small, wordless acknowledgement.
Are you sure this is what you want, that lift will say.
I am not, her eyes would say back.
But instead she looks at Robin who smile-shrugs, then back at Bren as she says actually, we’re moving on things quite fast.
Other eyebrow raised, now.
Fast? he repeats.
Or rather, on an expedient schedule, Robin says.
I’m not following, Bren says, and Robin says they’re going rogue – another smile, then, at Nora, would they stop that already – I know a place, Robin is saying, he did a photo shoot there once, in the woods, it’s extraordinary, and they offer this cancellation package where you can get married on a fifth of the budget if you’re willing to move last minute.
You have to sacrifice some things, obviously, like whether all the guests can make it, but they’d prefer a small day, anyway, so yeah, they’ve put their names down, and are going to see it this month, with the hope that they’ll be married by the summer.
They host this planning day, Robin goes on, as Nora puts down her mug, her long hair shielding her face. Where we decide on all the things we want, and pay up in full, so it’s all good to go. And then we wait.
But Bren still isn’t following. Doesn’t want to.
Wait for what, he asks.
Well, Robin says, and it’s the first time he looks less than delighted; his voice taking on a note of regret. For someone else’s misfortune, really, he says. Whatever might cancel another wedding, last minute.
It’s not always a bad thing, Nora says, and her voice, Bren thinks, has changed too; sounds almost wooden. The couple get pregnant, or something, so decide to postpone.
Or their photographer ends up double booking, Robin says, so they reschedule.
People really care that much about photographers? Bren says.
There is a pause, then; Robin’s turn, to raise his eyebrows; no, Bren says, sorry, I just mean, people would seriously move their whole wedding just for that?
People go a little crazy with weddings, Robin reasons. But we won’t. We want this to be easy, and stress free. Right, Nora?
Right, she says. Still not looking at Bren.
So we’ll get our ducks in a row, pronto, Robin says, and then one day get a call that’ll say we’re getting married in a week or two, or three.
Or we could be waiting till next year, Nora says.
Okay, Bren says. Wow.
The enthusiasm in Robin’s face fades, just slightly, at Bren’s lack of it. Nora stays focused on the now-empty mug in her hands.
We don’t expect everyone to make it, so last minute, Robin says, misreading Bren’s expression.
Only if they can, and want to. Let me show you the venue, he goes on, putting his own mug down and leaning forward.
I’ve never seen anything like it, he says, tapping on his phone.
It’s this stunning structure made of pine and recycled glass, look, and it’s got these sliding doors that open out to the forest and it’s not far from the beach and, and, and, he keeps talking, but Bren is not listening, does not want to hear what makes this venue so special and magic and so very them, and this fizzing inside of him is not settling as he looks at Robin’s phone screen, unseeing, a faint ringing in his ears.
Wow, he says again, when Robin has scrolled to the final picture on the website.
He sits back in the armchair, feels a pressure in his feet.
I was going to tell you, Nora says, her voice gentle, more like her own. But Robin only firmed up the details last night.
I wasn’t sure she was gonna go for it, Robin says, in the conspiring voice he’d used back in the kitchen; he smiles too much, Bren decides, it’s unnerving. But then you asked, Robin says, and, well.
I thought why not, Nora says, and Robin kisses her on the forehead. Bren puts his coffee down, says cool, that’s cool for you guys. But it’s late. He should probably, you know. Head off.
Stilted pause, then. Robin saying, you don’t want another coffee?
I’m good, Bren says. Thanks. For dinner, and everything. It’s been great.
That word again.
I’ll be in touch, he says, standing up. Before I go.
Go? Robin says, and Nora is trying to catch his eye, now, as if she’s trying to say something without words.
Yeah, Bren says. I’m checking flights to get back out there.
You don’t want to stay for the wedding?
Robin, Nora says.
What? You were just saying last night – she was just saying last night, he says to Bren – that a fast turnaround might mean you could be here for it. Which was a big tick, for this rogue old plan of mine.
And at this, Bren looks back at her.
Really?
I wouldn’t put that on you, Nora says, embarrassed. If you want to go, you should. It might not even happen, anyway.
Those eyes of hers, like whirlpools. Like they could drag him under.
Because of the cancellation thing, she says.
But also, your best friend only gets married once, Robin adds, and she says his name again, Robin, but Bren ignores it, says, you said that?
What?
That I’m your best friend?
Well, yeah, Nora says.
Sudden notion inside him, then. Like the base dropping out of something he hadn’t known was there. Bren stands still, like that, the coffee table between them. Nora remains seated, the cushion in her lap.
All right, Bren says. I’ll be there.
No intake of breath, or sardonic raise of an eyebrow.
Really? she says.
It’s you, Nora, he says, as if they’re the only two in the room. Of course I’ll be there.
There is another long moment of no clock and no breathing and then Robin stands up and says smashing, and Bren and Nora break eye contact. Bren glances at Robin, who is back to delight, so good to finally meet you, Bren; next time, we’ll pick your brains on Peru.
Next time, Bren nods, as he leads him to the door. Thanks, again, before he’s out into the night air. Drinking it down cold, thinking what is this, what just happened.
What on earth is happening here.