We’d spent so long planning our trip, she says. There were so many things I wanted to see and do, and because I was so mad at him I just retreated intostaying, as hard as I could. Helping Josie grieve, and managing Freya, and applying to the best art schools as a kind of reaction, for something todo, and not ever thinking for a moment that I’d get in. And then I did. And then I met you.
And now here you are, putting mugs in a cupboard with your dreams having died a wingless death, you say, and there is a marked pause before Nora lets out her dazzling laugh, because she hadn’t expected that, and she straightens up, closes the cupboard, says yep, pretty much.
You are still at the sink, still battling the wok. She puts her arms around your waist and rests her face in the curve of your back. You start to dance, a little, swaying your hips, and she moves with you. Thanks, she says, her voice muffled, and you slow to a stop. Seeing Bren just brings up a lot, I guess. And he makes me feel … unworthy, somehow.
You tell her he shouldn’t.
Not least because you don’t need anyone else to prove your worth, you say, in a mimicry of her mother, andshe snorts. But because – back to your own voice, now – he clearly adores you, Nora.
She stays entwined around your waist.
He came home for our party, you say. The idea that you’re unworthy, or dull, by his standards, is all your own reading of this – it’s not coming from him. And hey. He’s sticking round for the wedding, now. That’ll patch things up between you, don’t you think?
Another mm from her, then. She lets you go, rootles around for a dishwasher tablet in a drawer; places it inside the cap, clicks it shut.
Speaking of which, you say, as she closes it, and the machine whirs into life. Jed wants a clearer idea of the wedding party.
Jed?
The venue owner? Or manager. Whatever he is, I’m not sure. But he wants to know if you’re having bridesmaids, and if I’m having groomsmen. Get a rough idea of a guest list andall that jazz.
You belt out the last line, and Nora replies as if you haven’t just broken into Broadway song, saying she’s not having bridesmaids; you’ve established this.
Well I’m having Goose as my best man, you say. Predictably.
Can you imagine if you didn’t?
Tears, tantrums, cut ties, you say, and all that just from my mother.
No laughter from her at this, just a sincere outbreath, likeright. You wipe the draining board down, say doesn’t she want someone like Shay as her maid of honour, or something?
Nothing with the word maid in it, Nora says. My best woman, maybe? But I also kind of hate that.
You are not surprised; she is her mother’s daughter, after all, but you ask her why, all the same, as you drain the water from the sink.
The fact that I have to have a favouritewomanand you have to have a right-handman, and all this hierarchical nonsense that isbest, she says, when my mum, or even Josie or Shay or, I don’t know, Gill from primary school – they’re all really important women, in my life. Nobody’sbest, or more honourable, than the rest. It can really end up hurting people, this stuff.
You have suspected, in the past, that this is why a wedding had been off the table all this time. Not because of her feminist mother. Not because Nora herself had no interest. But because she didn’t want to cause any upset to herself or others; preferred to carry on, as they were. In an unrocked boat.
So ask Bren, you say.
What?
Have a best man, too, now he’s sticking around. Or a brides-man, maybe. If you don’t like the term best.
Umm, Nora says. I don’t know how that would … land.
Your mother would love it! you say. Defying convention. And it’s an olive branch, to Bren, too, isn’t it? You said yourself he was your best friend. Although there is, you admit, one stark problem with that plan.
What? Nora says, and she sounds worried, so you scoop her into an embrace, the yellow Marigolds still stretched up your forearms.
The wrath of Shay, you say.
Oh, I don’t know, Nora says. She’d probably be fine, if we made Horace the ring bearer, or something.
Nowthere’san idea! A dog-friendly wedding? Maybethat’swhat’s different, about our day! Forget plus ones, everyone bring a dog!
Wedon’t even have a dog!
