Before I Do(40)
“Of course,” he said thoughtfully. “I would love to have a family one day, a home of my own.”
The simplicity of his reply wrong-footed her. She was used to men who ran a mile at any suggestion of settling down. All the drummers and poets and performance artists who railed against conformity, who wouldn’t be pinned down to a third date, let alone a committed relationship.
“How about you, are you seeing anyone? How about that guy from the Sausage Fandango?” Josh asked, his eyes back on his coffee spoon.
“Oh, no.” Audrey let out a sharp laugh. “Too busy with my PhD in cleaning beer glasses. I’m doing my dissertation on antistreaking techniques.” He frowned slightly, as though reluctant to join in with her self-effacing joke. “I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to get married,” she said, as much to herself as to him.
“Why do you say that?”
“How can you ever be sure it’s the right person? My mum is on her fifth marriage, and every time she falls in love, she’s so sure.” Audrey paused. “?‘?’Til death do us part’ just feels like a lot, you know?”
“We can just stick to ‘?’til the end of our coffee do us part’ then, if you like,” he said, and she bit back a grin.
“Seriously, though, why would anyone get married in this day and age?”
Josh paused for a moment, properly contemplating the question. “Because it’s the biggest commitment you can make to one another. It’s a declaration to the world that this is your person, the one you love, body and soul. It’s saying that no matter what life throws at you both, you are going to be there, holding each other’s hand every step of the way.” Josh’s eyes flickered with some inner fire. “In this cynical world, isn’t there something wonderful about the pure, unbridled optimism of marriage? To stand up and say, ‘Screw the odds, I’m pinning my colors to the mast, bright and bold,’ because if you’re going to commit to anything in this life, shouldn’t it be love?”
Wow. She had not expected such an earnest answer. Audrey couldn’t look Josh in the eye as her entire body pulsed with some new feeling she was struggling to identify.
“Well, you’ve sold me. I’m more than happy to commit to another cup of coffee now, maybe even a slice of cake. But if we fight over it, we’ll have to get a lawyer to split it down the middle.” He laughed at this. “And you have to be daring and order something that’s not black coffee this time. Deal?”
“Fine.” He smiled, and the tone of their conversation lightened again.
They talked for hours. Audrey lost track of time. Talking to Josh felt like experiencing a catalog of emotions all at once—he was fun and teasing but also serious and insightful. He appeared genuinely interested in everything she had to say. There was a clear edge of flirtation, but never so much as to be inappropriate. Audrey felt the beam of his attention like a heat lamp on a cold day. When he eventually said he had to go, it felt like the lamp going out, a cold draft blowing in.
In the street, as they said good-bye, it felt suddenly awkward between them. Part of her felt like it would be normal to swap numbers, to be able to text him later and ask how the jeans were received, but another part of her didn’t think it’d be appropriate. Would it feel like overstepping if there weren’t this fizz between them? Did he feel it too?
“Good luck,” she said instead, handing him the bag of jeans, which had been sitting beneath her feet at the table. “They really do look great on you.”
“Thank you, Audrey,” he replied, his gaze lingering on her face for just a moment too long before he disappeared into the flow of pedestrians walking toward Covent Garden tube. That extra second of eye contact told her he did. He felt the fizz too.
22
Three Hours Before I Do
“Do you feel that?” asked Clara as Audrey came through the door of the bedroom. “It’s like the whole house is creaking in the wind. It feels like the end of the world out there.” Clara was sitting on the window seat, looking out at the rain, which had started again in earnest. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Maybe you should be getting married in an ark.”
“Or a swimsuit,” said Audrey.
“What happened to you at breakfast? You disappeared,” Clara said, turning away from the window to face her.
“I just needed a few minutes of quiet,” she explained. “I went to see them setting up the tables downstairs, and the miniature bride jumped off the top of the cake, right in front of me.”
Clara narrowed her eyes at Audrey, tilting her head in concern. “There were too many people at breakfast, weren’t there? Did Fred say something to you?”
Audrey shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I’m going to go shower and wash my hair. We’ll get dressed. It will all be wonderful.”
Telling people that she’d seen the bride figurine make a suicidal leap off the wedding cake was not going to help anything. She’d let Granny Parker’s omen talk get inside her head. This had to stop.
In the bathroom, Audrey ran the shower and sat down on the closed toilet seat. She pulled out her phone and was confronted with the article about Benedict again. If anything felt like a bad omen, it was this. She found herself googling his name, something she hadn’t done in years. His website announced an upcoming exhibition at the Tate Modern. There were photos of pieces of his work she recognized, sculptures he had shown her years ago in his gallery. Why did she do this to herself? She knew why, though. His last words to her loomed large, like the curse of an evil wizard in a fairy tale: “I hope one day you love someone, maybe even plan to marry them, and someone comes along and takes it from you.”