‘Look,’ I say, holding my phone out to show her Bryn’s recent posts. ‘So, she lives in Canada, now, and she’s planning to get married in Canada.’
‘Makes sense. Is her fiancée Canadian?’
I shrug. I’ve not paid that much attention to her fiancée, if I’m honest. ‘I guess so. But the thing is, when Bryn and I were together, we used to plan our wedding.’
‘Were you engaged?’ She raises her brows at me.
I can’t look Tonia in the eye, and a heat spreads over my cheeks. ‘No,’ I say, my voice quiet. ‘It was just something we used to do. I suppose, at the time, we thought it would happen one day. Anyway, in this pretend wedding, we were getting married in Canada.’
‘Ah, buddy.’ Tonia pats me on the head. ‘Why Canada?’
‘It just looked beautiful. She always wanted to live in Vancouver and I liked the sound of the national parks. But that’s not all.’ I open a post of hers showing a rack of red wine-coloured floor-length gowns. ‘These are her bridesmaid dresses. But she and I used to say we wanted this as our colour scheme. And I always said I liked these sweetheart necklines.’
Tonia frowns at the picture, then at me. ‘Okay . . . where are you going with this?’
‘Wait, there’s more. Look.’ I open another photo, of her in a rocking chair in front of a big, rustic cabin on the edge of a lake. ‘This is her venue. We said we wanted to get married by a lake, specifically in a place with rocking chairs on the porch. We even joked about going back when we got old and renewing our vows in the same place, and how rocking chairs would make a great photo recreation.’
‘So, you think she’s just lifted the ideas you had together? That’s a little lazy. I wonder if the fiancée knows.’
I stare at the wonky Christmas tree for a while. There are other things too, little things, songs she adds to her stories with lyrics about lost loves, a caption that’s from my favourite old Hollywood movie. ‘The very fact she’s posting all these details . . . it’s unlike her, she’s usually more private with this stuff. But I just wonder if, well, she’ll know that I’ve seen her stories. You can see who views them.’
‘You think she’s posting these things for you? What, to rub it in?’
I shake my head. ‘No, she’s not like that. I feel like it’s more, trying to get my attention?’
‘Why?’ Tonia chuckles then tries a gentler, ‘Why do you think she’d be doing that?’
‘Maybe she still has feelings for me?’ Ugh, I sound so big-headed. But what if I’m right?
‘Mmm, that’s a jump . . .’
‘But what if it’s not? What if it’s, I don’t know, a way of her trying to reach out, tell me she still thinks about me? She knows I only check my socials around my birthday now, so she’s known I’ll see the things she’s posting.’
Tonia straightens the tree for the fourth time. It’s only early December, so I have nearly a whole month of this thing toppling down on me. ‘So, what is this?’ she asks through the branches slapping her in the face. ‘Are we sliding into her DMs this afternoon? Asking her what’s going on?’
‘No, no . . .’ I shake my head. ‘It’s nothing. It’s silly and I’m just feeling lonesome, probably.’ I put my phone away and set to work untangling a string of Christmas lights that Tonia brought over, dangling from her tote bag. And I forget all about Bryn, and her wedding.
As if that happens.
I shield my eyes, the December sun bright and low and glinting off the water. I’m waist deep, my wetsuit slick, my hair matted with salt, as it always is, in a straggled braid down my back.
‘That’s it, that’s it, paddle, paddle, paddle,’ I call out as my two surf newbies use every muscle in their bodies to try and catch this next wave. She catches it, her boyfriend doesn’t, but both tumble into the foamy crest on the shoreline with happy chuckles that reach my ears all the way back here.
I trail my fingers through the cold ocean as they leap their way back over the breaking waves towards me, ready to jump back on and try again. ‘That was awesome, you’ve nearly got it now.’
‘It’s so much fun,’ the boyfriend chuckles, his rash vest riding up and making a crop top over his wetsuit.
‘I can’t believe we have to go back home tomorrow,’ the girlfriend says with a sigh, wiping salty snot from under her nose. ‘You must be so happy to live here.’
I’m about to agree with them when the perfect wave swells towards us, not too big, not too small, just nice and chill. In several ways.
The couple take off again, both managing to stand, arms flailing a little, eyes focused on the beach, cores engaged and knees bent. This time, they make it all the way in and hop off their surfboards in unison, double-high-fiving and embracing each other in a tangle of salt and sopping neoprene.
I am lucky to live here. But . . . did I give up on The One just to make this happen?
One thing about Bryn is that she always encouraged me to follow my gut, even when it ultimately took me away from her. My parents were the same, they just wanted me to be true to my heart. But now they’re all gone from my life, it’s like my heart doesn’t know what’s true any more. I mean, I think I’m happy. I think I’m okay. But am I, deep down? I don’t know.
‘I’m going to Canada.’
