Page 132 of The Wedding Forecast

‘He’s a visual guy,’ I say, smiling and yet wanting to rip my hand away from Patrick’s because I feel, absurdly, like I’m cheating on Mac. I can’t compute the two of them here, together. I can’t touch either of them. I can’t look at either of them. I can’t breathe.

‘So did Anna know you were coming tonight or was it a surprise?’ Patrick asks Mac.

‘It was a surprise,’ Mac says.

‘I think I’m going to order the steak,’ I say, pretending to be fascinated by the menu.

‘That’s nice,’ Patrick says. ‘A surprise visit.’

‘Yep,’ Mac says.

‘Or maybe the gnocchi,’ I add. My voice is getting louder, in the hope I can just drown out their conversation.

‘So what are your plans for the rest of the week?’ Patrick asks.

‘I’m not sure yet,’ Mac says.

‘Oh look, here come the parents,’ I say, as if this is an exciting and unexpected development.

Hayley has returned from the bathroom and, blessedly, she and Luke start talking to Patrick, and the parents are all chatting, and the hum of noise is like a comfort blanket. I look at Mac, and he’s looking at me, and we hold each other’s gaze for several beats too long.

My chest is physically aching, I can hardly stand it. I need air. I stand up and head for the bathroom and as soon as I am around the corner in the hallway and out of sight of the table, I stop and rest the back of my head against the wall and deep breathe.

Mac walks around the corner, stops, and leans against the wall opposite me.

‘I remember that dress,’ he says, looking at me. ‘From the night in New York when we saw the show.’

‘Don’t,’ I say.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t reminisce.’

‘It’s a great dress,’ he says softly. Somehow I’d forgotten how good his voice is.

I can’t handle all the feelings burning my chest right now, so I settle on anger, the easiest to reach for, the safest.

‘Why are you here?’ I say.

‘I wanted to come to your book launch. You know that.’

‘Mac.’ I don’t have an end to that sentence, I just wanted to say his name out loud. It’s hard being this close to him. With our history in hallways like this, our history at restaurants, I must not move an inch. I cannot be trusted. A waiter comes down the hall between us. I’m suddenly scared Patrick is going to walk around the corner. I grab Mac’s arm and pull him into the women’s bathroom with me. It’s a single room, just one toilet and a sink, and I lock the door. It’s small, and we’re standing way too close to each other now.

‘Why are you here?’ I say again.

‘You sent me that photo,’ he says. ‘And that note.’ His expression looks a little wild.

‘I sent it as a goodbye, for closure.’

‘That’s how you do closure?’

‘It was a nice picture. I thought you’d like it—as a keepsake.’

‘Why did you really send it to me?’

‘Because. Because I couldn’t move on if I kept it.’

‘And you’ve moved on now? With Patrick?’