Page 56 of The Wedding Forecast

‘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.

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