“Take me home,” Georgia says to Megan as soon as the speeches are done and the wedding organisers begin clearing the tables to make way for a dance floor.
“Can we talk first?” I say, running behind in her wake.
Georgia spares her friend one glance before grabbing my arm and marching me towards the edge of the marquee. “Youcan fucking stay there,” she yells to Eggo, who’d followed us both out. He halts in his tracks at her words and turns towards Megan. And then I’m outside.
The chill spring evening air is already making its way through my jacket and shirt, and my skin puckers with tiny goosebumps. Above our heads, thousands of glittering festoon lights twinkle in strings across an overly elaborate pergola.
“Well?” she says. “You said, ‘Can we talk first?’ so what do you want to talk about?”
“I . . .” But I actually have nothing to say. I love her, but I don’t want to be in a relationship with her any longer. I shouldn’t get a second chance. And even if she gave me one, I’d likely yeet it right into the Atlantic Ocean the moment Eggo asked me to go to him.
I don’t want a second chance.
“I’m done,” she says. She hoicks up her skirt and flops onto the pergola deck. I can see her undies, but I’m sure she’s beyond caring. “I thought that we could keep up this charade for a while. I thought it would be easier than answering a bunch of questionsfrom everybody, because honestly . . . I’m fucking sick of people asking me if I’m okay. I’m done with it. But . . .” She heaves out a sigh, shakes her head, and looks up to the twinkling party lights. “This is worse. Now it’s just awkward, and . . . you’re miserable.”
I sit beside her. “Yes. But that’s entirely my fault. And it’s my fault that you’re miserable too, and I’m so fucking sorry.” I half want to tell her I wish I’d never done it, I wish I could take it all back, but Owen’s words are still echoing through my mind.
“I wouldn’t change anything that happened . . . because eventually, all of those moments and micro events would bring us together once and for all.”
Georgia shakes her head again. “Fuck, Aiden. I love you so fucking much.” She covers her face with her palms and bawls into them.
“I love you too,” I say. Fat tears freefall onto my lap.
She wiggles her way over to me and slots herself between my thighs. I wrap my arms around her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I hurt you.” No doubt she’s sick of hearing it, but I have nothing else to offer her.
Distantly, or at least it feels distant, a compere speaks into a microphone. They’re introducing Owen and Gadget’s first dance.
“What do you want to tell people?” Georgia says.
A feminine voice drifts through the darkness. It sings a slowed down hipster version of Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, still cradling Georgia in my arms.
She pulls away from me and looks at me like I’m stupid. “You want to explain to everyone the reason we broke up is because you’re fucking your teammate, who just so happens to be my best friend’s boyfriend?”
I flinch and check our surroundings. We’re alone. Of course we’re alone, everybody’s inside the tent watching the first dance.She gives methatlook. The one she always gives me when she’s waiting for me to catch up.
“I love you so much, but I love myself too, and Megan. I fucking love her, and okay, even Finn. I don’t want any of us to go through more shit than we need to. It’s not worth it. I just want this to be over and for us to . . . move on with our lives.”
“Fair point,” I say, though I’m not sure I can picture that happening right now. “When we were at the cafe, you said you’d never imagined our relationship being a forever thing . . .”
Georgia nods, but says nothing.
“So if it was only ever going to be a . . . fling, a short-term thing, why? Why would you have broken up with me if I’d never been unfaithful? Let’s say the relationship wound down to its natural conclusion, what reasons might you have given to end things?” I don’t know if I’m wording my question correctly, or if it even matters at this point, but Georgia screws up her face.
“Do you really want to know?”
“No.” I laugh, and she does too. “But yes, give it to me. I deserve it.”
“You’re . . . kinda . . . boring.” She grimaces. “Sorry, but all you ever want to do is go on walks, look at old shit, watch TV, and drink old man beers.”
“Ouch,” I admit, though we both laugh again.
“I dunno, I guess I want to travel. I want to see the world, try all the foods, ride all the rides, fuck everyone. You drive an old person’s car and you have a fucking mortgage. It’s not bad, oh my god, it’s just . . . not where I want to be in my life right now.”
I’m nodding along. Weirdly, I’m not hurt by her words because thatiswhere I want to be. Comfortable, settled, cosy. Pint of beer, Trekkie, a good movie, or a brisk afternoon walk. Roast dinners, sunsets, slippers, Eggo’s laughter.
