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“Yeah you do,” he laughs and he pushes me forward so I bump into the guy in front of me who turns around and glares at me.
“Sorry. I tripped,” I whisper. He glares at me and continues up the aisle.
I turn around and punch Brock. “Cut it out, how old are you?”
“Let’s go out for dinner on the way to the hotel.” He gestures to Dad to go into the aisle.
“Good idea,” Mum answers. I roll my eyes at Bridge. I want to go straight to bed. I’m exhausted. I’ve had a shit of a day. My most hated patient, Roger the sex addict, had a two–hour block appointment. Why does the receptionist make those appointments anyway? I will have to put a stop to it. I had to listen to every last detail of his latest orgy. Seriously gross. Why he feels I have to know everything is beyond me. Imagine a 1980s bad porn movie and that is the exact vision of Roger: bad moustache, comb–over, tinted hair, rates himself big time, overdose on the aftershave that smells more like fly spray. Seriously, he is beyond help. Gives me a cold shiver just thinking of him. God, I feel sorry for his wife. Imagine having him for a husband and he’s a sex addict who wants it all the time. Shit, it doesn’t get much worse, poor bitch. I wince.
“What’s wrong? Why are you pulling that face?”
I smile and shake my head. “Nothing, I’m tired. Can’t we just get room service?”
“Tash, just lighten the fuck up,” Brock chimes in. “We are on holiday, chillax will you.”
Five hours later I lay in bed in my hotel room, the night before the wedding, and my mind wanders. Tomorrow is the day. I’m going to see him. Thank
god Bridget and I have a room each or else she would be onto me. I have been tossing and turning for two hours now. I am punching the pillow and changing positions, trying to get comfortable. Trying to calm myself into a slumber. How am I supposed to look tempting with no sleep?
The movie screen plays a particularly painful memory, one that I hate and desperately wish to remove from the memory bank. It has the same effect every time, bringing me to my knees. Reactivating my guilt that usually ends up with me on my knees in the bottom of the shower, throwing up and in tears.
Two weeks after Josh and my beautiful lovemaking holiday I was missing him like crazy, crying by night, depressed by day. I lost five kilograms in two weeks and had bags under my eyes. I didn’t leave my room except to go to school. This pain was self–inflicted. Both Josh and I knew he was going to America for four years shortly after our holiday. We knew we had no future together. That didn’t make it any easier, and we had had no contact. My tender teenage heart was utterly devastated.
I came home from school one afternoon to find the house in uproar. It was one of the few times I heard my father swear. As I opened the door my father yelled at my mother.
“What the fuck does that boy think he’s doing?” I stopped mid step as I was slowly heading down the hall. I heard my mother talking way too fast while pacing. I slowly walked into the kitchen and looked at the two of them, raising my eyebrows.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to my mum.
Dad was on the phone. “Good god, he’s gone fucking mad,” he yelled.
I frowned. “Who?” I mouthed at Mum.
“Joshua,” she replied.
Oh shit, this can’t be good, what happened? Do they know? Am I next? I quietly made myself a cup of tea as I listened to the conversation.
“He said what! And then what did you say?” he listened. “And did you tell him that’s ridiculous? Surely he can’t be serious?”
“What?” I mouthed to Mum again.
“Joshua seems to think he’s fallen in love with a girl from Sydney and he’s not going to America.” My eyes widened. Holy shit. “How do you know this?”
“I’ve been on the phone to Margaret all day on and off. He seems to think he’s transferring to Sydney Uni, apparently to be near this girl.” My father hangs up the phone. My eyes are the size of saucers.
“Who is she?” I whispered.
“Some fucking idiot, no doubt,” my father snapped. Shit, he’s really mad. “He’s known her for two frigging weeks, and he’s throwing away an internship at Apple. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, he will never get this chance again.” I sipped my tea in silence while my parents continued their outrage.
I asked my mum, “Why is America so important?” I was genuinely interested.
“Josh developed an app as a hobby; it was a carb counter for diabetics.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It has ended up being used all over the world. It had to be tweaked a bit but doctors and hospitals are using it to educate diabetics.”
“What’s an app?” I asked.
