17
HAYLEY AND LUKE give a warm and funny thank-you toast at brunch the next morning. Somehow, they look rested and radiant, despite being the last ones home last night. I am hiding behind sunglasses, and so is Joel, and so is Mac. I am avoiding them both, sitting with the mums and Jean.
‘You’re quiet this morning,’ Mum says.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. I am wearing sunglasses because my eyes are puffy. From drinking. From crying is the bigger truth.
‘Did something happen last night, sweetheart?’ Bobbi asks at a volume about three times louder than I would like.
I shake my head. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘Darling—’ Mum starts.
‘Mum, please. I’m hungover. I have a headache.’
‘Well, then I’m worried about your drinking.’
‘Mum—’ I don’t have the energy to finish that sentence. I get up, and walk over to the croissants and orange juice.
Mac appears at my side. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
‘When’s your flight?’ I say.
‘Tonight.’
‘Oh. I didn’t think it would be so soon.’
‘It’s a red-eye. 11 pm tonight. So basically tomorrow.’
‘Right.’
‘You could, you should—’ He stops. ‘You should come and visit sometime.’
‘I would love that,’ I say.
Our words feel empty and hollow.
He sits down and I take the chair beside him. He looks rumpled and hungover, but in a hot way, and he smells unbelievably good. I feel like a sewer rat in comparison.
‘Anna, Patrick told me to give you his number,’ Hayley says, leaping onto my lap.
‘Oh, yeah, he mentioned he would last night.’
‘A love affair at my own wedding, I can’t believe it,’ Hayley says.
‘As it was foretold,’ I say.
‘He is perfect for you.’
‘He’s nice,’ I say.
‘I really need to see a bit more enthusiasm from you about this,’ she says. ‘Mac, say something.’
‘Say what?’
‘Tell Anna that she has a perfect guy right in front of her and she needs to do something about it.’
There’s a moment of silence, and Mac lifts up his sunglasses and looks at me. I’m still wearing mine but I swear he can see into my eyes.
‘Anna, you have a perfect guy right in front of you, and you should do something about it,’ he says.
I swallow.
‘I will,’ I say.
I turn away from him then, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. It’s the hangover. Just the hangover.
Hayley fills the brunch with chatter, and we look at everyone’s phone photos of the night, and laugh and tell stories and I help watch Hayley’s cousin’s two-year-old, and there is no more time for Mac and me to be left alone.
I am just helping the two-year-old drink a glass of orange juice (that I am not at all certain she is allowed to have but it’s too late, she’s drinking it with the determination of a child who is absolutely not going to give up her precious sugar drink and I do not have the strength to tussle with a toddler), when Mac walks up.
‘I’m heading off,’ he says.
‘Oh,’ I say, standing up and immediately squatting back down because the toddler spills the juice down her front.
‘Um, wait a sec,’ I say, feeling panicked. I need to say something, anything, I need to keep him here, I need him to—to what? I don’t know, but it can’t end like this.
I look around desperately for the child’s mother, and finally spot her and give her a wave. She waves cheerfully back and gives me a thumbs up.
I decide to ignore the spill and I stand back up.
‘It was nice to meet you,’ I say, which is the worst thing possible to say.
‘You too,’ he says. ‘I had a great time.’
Oh. It’s worse than I imagined. He’s giving me the polite I-had-a-great-time brush-off.
‘Me too,’ I say, trying my very hardest to remain calm and cool.
‘So—’ He looks away. ‘Good luck with Patrick. Keep in touch.’
I look at him. He can’t be serious. The Patrick jab, followed by keep in touch .
‘I will. Bye,’ I say, annoyed now.
He pauses, and then leans forward to hug me, and I consider not hugging him at all, but that seems immature and, even more, I know I would regret it, my last-ever chance to touch him. So I give him a brief hug. Or it’s supposed to be a brief hug, but actually, as soon as I touch him, my annoyance evaporates. I might never see him again. I lean into his neck a little, and I can tell he’s surprised by it, and then I feel his body relax and he presses his cheek against my hair and we hold each other tenderly for a moment, until I feel a yanking on my top and I realise I have completely forgotten about the child I am supposed to be watching and she’s spilt all the juice and is now demanding more.
‘Goodbye,’ Mac says again, letting me go, and he walks off and that’s it. He doesn’t look back.