“Good morning, Ms Woodgrove, how can I help you?” The receptionist greets me as if I’m her best friend and I wonder how much money Hunter has thrown around to ensure the staff treat us like royalty.
“Can I light a fire on the beach?” I ask, hoping I haven’t made a mistake in asking for permission. Sometimes, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness after the event, but I need to do this.
“A fire, of course. What size?”
“Just large enough to burn a dress.”
“A dress?” Her sculpted eyebrows raise in confusion, but I know she’ll understand.
“This was supposed to be my honeymoon, except a funny thing happened on the way to the church. My bridesmaid forgot which bed she slept in, and my fiancé forgot a lot more.” I take a breath. “I need to give my wedding dress a suitable funeral.”
“What about the gorgeous guy you’re here with?” It’s funny how that got her attention.
“Just my best friend, who was supposed to be our best man.” My words are light, and I try to forget last night’s humiliating rejection.
“Is that a polite way of telling me there’s unfinished business between the two of you?”
Her smile is genuine, so I lean in and whisper conspiratorially. “Maybe, depends on him.”
“About the fire—I’m sure we can arrange something. How about I get something set up on the beach in front of your villa around sunset.”
“Thanks.”
“And, Ms Woodgrove?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve seen the two of you together. I’m sure your friend will help light the match, if you ask.”
At sunset, the fire is ready. Word has spread, and a handful of honeymooning couples gather to show support. There’s a comforting solidarity, even though they think I’m living their worst nightmare. They don’t realize the real nightmare would have been marrying the wrong man.
“I can do this if you want me to,” Hunter offers, holding a box of matches. He never questioned why I wanted to come down to the beach at sunset. He never questioned when I dragged the bag with my dress down to the sand. He’s finally accepting that I’m back to making my own decisions and he doesn’t even know about all the legal and insurance stuff I accomplished down on the beach.
“No. This is my party and you’re just an invited guest.” I smile and say loud enough for the other couples to hear, add, “But thanks to your misspent youth, I know that if I need help burning down a city, you’ll be the first person I call.”
“It was one time,” he says, laughing, and turns to explain to our audience, “The BBQ refused to light and I thought a little petrol would help.”
“You dropped the can and your parents had to rebuild their pool house.”
“My mother would renovate an entire house because of a sticky door.”
“Well, I’m about to light this up. Make sure you record everything. This is one video I won’t be taking down.”
Hunter laughs and steps back, holding my camera up to catch me in the frame with the mound of sticks behind me. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m so ready.”
I’m not talking about the fire. I don’t expect Hunter or anyone else to believe me, but I’ve had a lot of time to think and process the last few months. I’d been hurtling towards the wedding out of expectation. For all the reasons Hunter had been right to break up with me, I should have ended things with Mitch months, even a year ago. Marrying him would have been the real mistake.
In seconds and with no help, the twigs catch alight, and I carefully build the flames until the fire is ready for my final act ofclosure. Stepping carefully to the side with fewer flames, I place my unworn honeymoon lingerie and unused wedding dress on the burning pile. I keep the shoes—because they are pretty shoes and don’t deserve to die. The rest can burn.
As the dress ignites, a sense of catharsis washes over me. This is the formal end of an era, freeing me to embrace my future. Whether that future includes Hunter or not, I’m ready to be me
A scorched earth allows new birth, I think, typing it as the video caption before posting.Here’s not only to my future, but to me.
Strawberries
Hunter
