Before I Do(22)
“You mean do I always wonder what might have happened if he hadn’t moved away? Do I still Instagram-stalk him to see pictures of his ridiculously beautiful family sitting around on their farm in matching Fair Isle sweaters, shearing sheep like they’re in some kind of sexy wool catalog? Do I still think about the fact that Lucas was probably the best sex I’ll ever have and how I could’ve picked up my life and followed him, could’ve been Mrs. Wool Catalog?”
“Yes,” Audrey said slowly, her eyes wide.
“Of course I do, but look—everyone has a Lucas, a fantasy of another life. Would our relationship have actually worked in the long term? Would his spontaneous ‘hey, let’s drop everything and go kayaking this morning’ attitude to life have started to get annoying after a while? Probably. Would I have argued with him the same way I argue with Jay, about who forgot to pack Baa Baa and Bee Bee in the girls’ overnight bag, who left the microwave plate covered in baked bean juice? Undoubtedly. Would I have been happy living in a sexy-wool-catalog aesthetic in New Zealand, away from all my friends, my family, and my job? Hell no! Look, it’s human nature to wonder what might have been. It doesn’t mean he’s the person you were supposed to be with.”
“Do you really Instagram-stalk Lucas?” Audrey asked.
“Yes. Don’t tell Jay.” Clara paused, watching her friend’s face. “Look, if I had doubts about you and Josh as a couple, I would tell you.” She paused. “Do you have any? Seriously.”
Audrey thought for a moment, trying to picture Josh’s face. She loved him. She knew she did. So why did she feel so guilty? Why did she feel as though the life she had built with Josh these last three years was as fragile as a line of dominoes, and in just one short conversation, Fred had pushed the first one down? “You told me once that you didn’t believe in soul mates, that you think you end up with the person you love at the right time. But what if . . . what if there is such a thing, and Josh isn’t mine?”
Clara rolled her eyes and reached for the vodka bottle, topping up Audrey’s glass.
“Right, so this is not just prewedding jitters, then, this is an existential crisis about whether there’s a higher power involved when it comes to who your life partner should be?” Clara shook her head and downed another shot. “The night before your wedding might not be the best time to be asking yourself these kinds of questions.”
“And maybe I wouldn’t be, if my first love, the person I was convinced might be my soul mate, hadn’t just turned up and told me he still thinks about me too.”
“First love?” Clara spluttered on her drink. “Audrey, you were obsessed with the idea of him. You didn’t love him—you hardly knew him!”
“I know, I know, I know.” Audrey stood up and paced back and forth in front of the window. “I’m being nuts. I know I am, it’s just today, with everything going wrong.” She pointed out the window. “There’s this apocalyptic weather, and dead bats falling from the ceiling, and my Freddy Krueger neck, and my mum being . . .” She didn’t finish that thought. “And now all these people are coming and it’s too late, and I don’t even deserve to marry someone as nice as Josh anyway.” Audrey raised her hands to her head and pulled her hair into fists. “I never wanted a big wedding. You know I only went along with it because I wanted a big cake, and people said you couldn’t have a big cake without having a big wedding. Then it snowballed, and now I’m part of this whole parade, and you’re putting ideas in my head that there’s going to be some kind of ‘Elaine! Elaine! Elaine!’ horror-movie moment during the service tomorrow, and I don’t even know what that means because I haven’t seen The Graduate.” She let out a sharp exhale, holding out her arms to show Clara her hives. “Plus, I think my body is allergic to weddings.”
Clara walked across the room to pull her friend into a hug, stroking her hair with a hand.
“Shhhh,” Clara said gently. “Okay, that is a lot to unpack, and I’m sorry I ever mentioned The Graduate.” She sighed. “Let me get this straight. The reasons you’re stressed are: One, you think Fred might be your soul mate, not Josh.” She counted the points off on her fingers. “Two, all these imaginary ‘bad omens’ are giving you the willies. Three, for some reason, you think you don’t deserve to be with Josh. Four, you’re scared about being the center of attention tomorrow, and five, Vivien being Vivien.”
Audrey nodded mournfully.
“Well, if I know you, and I think I do, I suspect it might mainly be about the big wedding. You should have told me how much it was stressing you out, I would have forced your mother to dial it back a few hundred notches.” She pulled Audrey over to the bed, and they sat down. “What can I do? Do you want me to try and scale back the church? We could make it close family only, everyone else just comes to the reception.”
“No, it’s too late to do that.” Audrey bowed her head, closed her eyes.
“When clients of mine get stage fright, I tell them to focus on the material, the music itself, not the audience.”
“I think I just need to get a grip.”
Clara narrowed her eyes at Audrey, perhaps trying to work out what the cure for this flavor of stage fright might be.
“Let’s watch an episode of Friends on my laptop to distract you while I fix this chipped nail you’ve picked off, then I’ll run you a bath, and you’ll have a good night’s sleep in this delicious bed. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and have the best day of your life, marrying the man you love. Does that sound like a plan?”