Page 143 of The Wedding Forecast

‘Now I need to get to this ending,’ he says. ‘Maybe I’ll just hide up here and read.’

‘Come on,’ I say, grabbing his hand.

We walk down the stairs together, and pause at the bottom. I can hear Bobbi rummaging in the kitchen cupboards.

‘Where’s that dish I lent you?’ she is saying to Hayley.

‘You never lent me a dish,’ Hayley says.

‘I did. My good red one, for lasagne.’

‘I would never take that dish, because I would know it would lead to this conversation.’

‘Darling, I know I lent it to you. And here are the Tupperware containers you swore you didn’t have.’

‘Please don’t go through my kitchen cupboards, not before midday. I don’t have the strength,’ Hayley groans.

Bobbi straightens up as Mac and I walk into the kitchen lounge area. I can see Mum sitting at the table with her back to us, Luke across from her and Hayley on the couch.

‘Good morning,’ I say.

Mum turns, smiling at me, and then does a double-take at Mac behind me. Bobbi makes a small noise of surprise, and then bites down a smile.

‘Good morning Anna. And…Mac,’ Mum says.

‘Good morning,’ Mac says. His hair is mussed, and he’s run his hand through it twice already.

‘So. Um. I guess Patrick isn’t here?’ Mum says.

‘Patrick isn’t here,’ I say.

‘Where is he?’ she asks.

‘At his home. I assume.’

‘And you and Mac are—?’

‘Having breakfast.’

‘Right then,’ Bobbi says, walking back to the table. ‘Let’s eat.’

Mac sits down gingerly next to me at the table. Everyone is unusually quiet. Luke is chewing his muffin and staring at the table.

‘So, what happened after we left last night?’ Mum asks, eventually.

Everyone has a takeaway coffee in their hand except for Mac. The untouched cup in the middle of the table has ‘Patrick’ written on it in black texta. They must have asked for his soy-milk latte to be labelled.

‘Nothing much,’ I say.

‘Mac, would you like this coffee? It’s made with soy milk,’ Mum says.

‘Oh, no thanks.’

‘Here have some of mine,’ I say, sliding my cup towards him. I pick up the Patrick latte, take it to the kitchen, pour it down the sink and throw the cup in recycling, which feels very dramatic and symbolic, but it sitting untouched in the middle of the table felt somehow even more so. Especially because the yellow flowers he bought me are displayed in a vase in my eyeline as well.

‘Well, I am assuming you and Patrick broke up,’ Mum says. ‘Or does he, does he not know about…this?’

‘Mum! Please.’