Hayley
“Allbymyseeeelfffffff…”
The lyrics burst out of me like a tragic battle cry, wobbly and echoing just enough off the hedges, to sound like the maze itself is harmonising with me.
I’m slumped defeated on the gravel, legs stretched in front of me, back against the hedge, which, frankly, is probably the closest thing to a boyfriend I’ll get this century. I don’t even notice the prickles or the hedge-burn right now, but I’m sure I’ll feel it later, which, come to think of it, is exactly how I handle most men. Ignore the warning signs. Regret it quietly.
I hiccup, raise my empty goblet like I’m proposing a toast to the gods of spinsterdom, and commit to the last line with my whole chest, off-key, slurred, but passionate.
Somewhere deeper in the maze, a bird squawks, abrupt and accusatory, like even it’s embarrassed for me.
By the time I’ve wrung every last syllable out of“anymooooore,”I hear a voice.
“JESUS CHRIST!”
I freeze.
Not a hedgehog. Not my subconscious. Not even Derek the Judgemental Hedge.
Tyler.
He’s standing at the edge of the clearing, hair tousled, breathing hard, eyes wide, looking for all the world like he’s just sprinted through a gauntlet of rose bushes and mild emotional trauma.
His gaze sweeps over the scene: me, legs splayed, shoes off, hair escaping its braid like it’s trying to flee the situation, mid-tribute to Celine Dion. Wine glass clutched like it holds the meaning of life.
“Okay, Bridget Jones,” he pants. “Let’s pause the solo concert and the existential meltdown.”
“I am not having a meltdown,” I slur, with all the dignity of a woman serenading a hedge deer. “I’m having a wine break. In a historical hedge maze. Like anormalperson.”
He walks over slowly, like I’m a startled animal or a hungover raccoon.
“You’ve got twigs in your hair,” he says calmly.
I swipe blindly at my head. “They’re. Decorative.”
He bends over in front of me, hands on his knees like he’s about to reason with a child. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
“You were supposed to be my partner,” I shoot back, not caring that I sound desperate.
Tyler sighs. “I got delayed. Long story. There was a duck. And a very determined bridesmaid. But mostly a duck.”
I narrow my eyes. “You left me to be seduced by shrubbery, Tyler. Derek the Hedge was one song away from carving our initials into his bush.”
Tyler’s mouth twitches. “As long as that’s the only bush he was carving into…”
“TYLER!”
He shrugs, entirely unrepentant, and I have to bite back a laugh because of course he went there.
He glances at the ground, then, wordlessly, lowers himself beside me with a grunt and a knee-crack that brings me deep, petty satisfaction.
We sit in silence. Him, still catching his breath. Me, trying to act like I wasn’t just serenading the scenery.
“I swear to God,” I mutter, “if one more couple giggles near me, I’m going to apply for residency in this maze and haunt future weddings.”
Tyler chuckles. “There was a lot of frolicking. Too much. At one point, I think a couple were legitimately trying to conceive behind a peony bush.”
“Of course they were.” I sigh. “Everyone’s glowing and giggling and in love, and I’m out here with twigs in my hair and pigeons who’ve seen more of me than any man has in two years.”
