Page 84 of A Smart Girl's Guide to Second Chances
‘But it’s not just the big stuff, it’s the little stuff too. The way he consumes culture like it’s oxygen – watching every movie and TV show and listening to every podcast. That he loves good food and wine but isn’t a snob about it at all. That he gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, always. He’s just... everything about him is good. Even the bad stuff, like his wavering confidence andhis inability to say no to an invitation ever and the fact he always turns the heating up too high... is good.
‘And I know that there’s every chance he’s just trying to move on and never wants to see me again. But I also know how much he values your opinion. So, I wondered if you would ask him if... he’d come on our honeymoon? Not to honeymoon, obviously. But just to talk.’
She looked doubtful. ‘He’s pretty upset,’ she said carefully.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I promise I don’t want to hurt him. I just want to have the chance to talk. If he wants to. I’d really like the chance to explain myself and apologise. But I’ll understand if he doesn’t want to see me.’
‘And ithasto be at a tropical resort?’ she asked.
‘It doesn’t have to be, but it’s neutral territory. That’s been paid for already,’ I said. ‘And could you please give him this?’ I handed Jane a printout of the vows I’d written for our wedding. I’d been agonising over what to say to Matt. Except I’d realised during Mum and Hamish’s ceremony that I’d already put into words everything that I wanted to say to him.
‘And I also brought this,’ I barrelled on, knowing that once I handed over what I’d brought with me I might lose some goodwill. I’d ducked by Mum’s house en route and picked up something I’d had made up a few weeks earlier.
Jane pulled the frame out of the supermarket plastic bag – it was a photo of Matt giving a speech at an industry convention. He was in full flight, spotlights glinting off his hair and glasses, arms outstretched as he spoke to the audience. ‘I thought you might want it for above the piano, maybe?’
Jane held the photo between her hands and for a moment, her brow furrowed. Then she finally looked up and smiled.
‘I think it would look very nice there,’ she said. ‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘So, you’ve booked the honeymoon suite and a standard room... for two people?’ The receptionist in her floral-print uniform looked at me, justifiably confused.
‘That’s right. Could I please have the key to the standard room?’ I asked. ‘And could you hang on to the key to the suite for the other person on the booking? I’m not sure if they’re going to make it.’
‘Of course,’ she said, slipping her professional mask back on.
‘And just one more thing. Could you leave this note in the room, please?’ I asked. I handed over a letter I’d written many, many times over the night before, even though it was only a dinner invitation and a few sentences long.
I spent all afternoon getting ready. I let my hair dry naturally, but I spent ages mucking around with makeup and choosing which light summery dress to wear. In the end I went with a new one in a shade of green that I wasn’t sure suited me, but that I loved.
Finally, I left my room and wound my way through the sprawling golf course to the hotel’s restaurant. Even though the sun was setting, it was still hot and humid. The air smelled liked the sea – I could hear waves pounding onto the shore in the distance – with a hint of smoke from the cane fires burning in the mountains.
As I reached the threshold of the restaurant, I took a deep breath. If I was going to eat alone, that was okay. I was going to order a drink, just one. And then a main course and maybe dessert.
I was led to the table I’d booked.
‘You’re the first of your party to arrive,’ the waitress informed me. ‘Can I get you a drink while you wait?’
‘Yes, please. A martini. Oh’ – I glanced at the menu – ‘and a Tropical Princess.’
As soon as she left, I pulled the book I’d brought out of my bag. I’d left my phone in my room because I didn’t want to be distracted by messages from people ostensibly making sure I was okay about the cancelled wedding but really angling for all the juicy details. Or colleagues replying to my farewell email. Or from my family, who were very actively sharing photos from the wedding on our group chat. Or from Dad, who was attempting a new communication style (communicating).
‘Oh, that was quick.’ I looked up to thank the waitress, but it was Matt. The book had worked too well – I’d been so engrossed that I’d forgotten that I was a nervous wreck.
‘Matt. You came!’ I said. I stood up so quickly that my chair fell backwards. I’d planned to try to be calm and composed but had failed at the first hurdle.
‘Mum told me that if I didn’t, I was getting a packet-mix cake for my next birthday,’ he said with a small smile.
The waitress appeared next to Matt with a tray as I reset my chair. She placed the pale pink long glass in front of me and the martini in front of Matt’s seat. I switched them around as soon as she left.
‘Will you sit?’ I asked. He hesitated.
‘What are you reading?’ he asked instead.
‘Umm... It’s an exam practice book,’ I said. ‘I’m going to sit the GAMSAT in a few months. See if I can get into grad med. I have to get some extra science credits but—’
‘You’ll get in,’ he said, as he pulled out his chair and sat down. I exhaled. ‘You’ll be a great doctor.’
‘I’ve quit my job, but don’t worry – I’m still going to do some contract consulting work while I’m studying,’ I said quickly. ‘SoI can cover my portion of the rent until we sublet it or the lease ends or whatever.’
