That’s right, they do. There are whole songs about it.
‘Why do you think he invited you?’
It’s a question I’ve asked myself. ‘I don’t have an answer.’
‘But if you had to think of one reason, what comes to mind?’
I pause. ‘Our history. Friendship.’
‘Do you think Ollie is offering you an olive branch?’
‘Why would he be doing that? We didn’t fall out.’
‘Remind me when you last spoke,’ she says, but I know she already knows.
I roll my eyes. ‘Okay. Well, maybe it’s his way of saying “Hey, look, nothing to worry about. You should know I’m getting married and I don’t want it to be weird.” But it is weird. Weird to invite your ex. Weird for your ex to be there.’
‘I went to my ex’s wedding.’
‘You did?’
‘And his funeral a year later.’
‘Oh. Lucy, I’m so?—’
‘Water under the bridge,’ she says, dismissing me with a curt nod. ‘He drove off one and drowned. Tragic accident.’
My jaw drops and I stare at her. She might be a murderer.
Lucy wraps her knuckles on the armchair. ‘Back to this invite,’ she says. ‘You spent a long time with Ollie. The formative years of your life. Is it that strange that he would want you to attend such a momentous occasion in his life?’
I scratch my forehead. ‘Well, I suppose we were friends first, friends after. But… I don’t think I can do it. I don’t. He might be mature enough to invite me, but I don’t think I can face it. I don’t think I’m mature enough.’
‘I think we should make a list,’ she says. ‘Something you can refer back to whenever you need it.’
‘What type of list?’
‘A list of wants and don’t want. I want you to think of your life a year from now.’ She stands, heads to her desk. ‘Picture your ideal life. Think about what that means to you. Think of the people you want in your life, where you’d like to be personally and professionally.’ She opens a drawer. ‘Then, we’ll make a list of what you don’t want. It will help you stay focused on the good, and refrain from falling into any bad habits.’
She hands me a clipboard with paper and a pen. I take it from her, staring at the blank page, unsure of where to begin. What do I want?
Well, the answer is obvious. But I can’t exactly write Ollie down, can I?
I glance at her.
‘Anything,’ she says, taking her seat opposite me.
Anything.
I draw a crude table, line down the middle of the page.
Wants.
Ollie.
Because I do want Ollie. I want him back because with him I can deal with anything. Why do I want Ollie back?
Happiness.
