That’s my question, Nora, what changed?
I don’t need to justify my life to you, Bren.
No, but you need to be able to justify it to yourself.
She opens her mouth to argue but then the waiter appears. Youngish, acne on his chin, biro poised. Bren orders the chilli burger with large fries and a beer, whatever you’ve got, Corona, fine, and Nora is still looking at him as the waiter turns to her, his pen hovering above his notepad. And for you?
Uh, Nora says. Um.
She skids the menu around on the tabletop.
A lemonade, she says. And … the falafel burger. Please.
They don’t come with fries, the waiter says.
That’s okay, she says.
Order some fries, Nora, Bren tells her.
I don’t want fries, she says.
In what world don’t you want fries?
In this one, she snaps, as the waiter takes the menu, raises his eyebrows at Bren, as if to wish him luck, then retreats. Nora crosses her arms.
Things change, Bren, she says, and her voice is hard. You left. And I met someone.
It is the first time she has circled close to the subject. He feels it. He’s sure she does, too. Something charged, between them, as someone turns up the restaurant music at that exact moment, afternoon turned to dinner service, lights dimmed.
I’m getting married because I want to, Nora tells him, and Bren nods, once. Slow.
Don’t do that, she says. Don’t act like you don’t believe me.
Nora, I literally just nodded my head.
If you must know, I have thought about thisa lot, she says, because she knows him, knows what he’s thinking. Robin is not someone I’vesettledfor. My life is not something I’ve fallen into, because of amissed opportunity, or whatever.
So you’re happy? Bren asks. It is not meant to be accusatory; it is genuine. He wants to know – now he’s seen her, in that dress, and his own heart has flooded with things he’d not wanted to feel – what her answer is.
Yes! she says, but he hears the hesitation in her outbreath, before she rushes on. Happiness isn’t only found in adventure, Bren! Which you would know, if you’d spent any real time with anyone, these past twelve years. If you hadn’t just.
What?
Disappeared, she says. With only a goodbye to mymother.
A goodbye? Bren says. It was hardly agoodbye, Nora.
Fire inside of him as he says it, gush of regret, blazing-hot shame. Someone drops a glass by the bar. Smash and scatter, brief silence, and then it is Nora’s turn to say what.
Don’t be coy, Bren says. Don’t pretend you can’t remember.
Rememberwhat?
The message I left with Freya.
The waiter comes back, then, with their drinks. Eye contact broken as he puts down his beer, her lemonade, says is that all okay for them; yes thanks. And when she looks back at him, he feels like he’s turned the same colour as his hair. Red with the memory. The humiliation of all they’d agreed, intuitively, never to speak of. But there is something happening to Nora’s face, too, as she studies his own. A stillness settling over her, which means something starts to dawn on Bren, too.
I called your house, from the airport, Bren says, watching her reaction. And Freya answered. I told her where I was going, and that I was going now, but that I didn’t want to go without you. That I didn’t want to … do anything, without you.
