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Today was the day for the ‘welcome back’ party.
The week had been intense with preparations for the party at the pub ramping up.
Message after message kept filling up the group chat. Amanda couldn’t find the right decorations for the party. How limited the shopping was in Stanmore. How lacking the wine list was at the pub.
Amanda had immediately backed down over the Zanetti Winery, her best friend’s and neighbour’s winery no less, when I’d pointed out that the Zanettis had recently won awards for their vintage.
And, on top of it all, Amanda had delegated tasks to each of us for the party while she and Stuart caught up on sleep.
I knew jet lag lingered but I also knew Amanda worked in the middle of the night for her UK-based clients.
But, we had a farm to run, jobs to hold down and our own lives to live. To Stuart’s credit, he helped out with mustering the sheep as much as his work commitments allowed. But Amanda kept adding items to buy and do on the group chat, as if we were her personal butlers for her party. Plus, the boudoir shoot was on tomorrow with her Sydney friends. Thank god Amanda accepted I’d already done some photos with Sam and didn’t have to repeat the occasion tomorrow.
At least Amanda’s jet lag seemed to be conquered when she’d appeared at breakfast looking refreshed and well-rested.
The rest of us however were exhausted.
I needed a drink. Or three. Or sleep for three days straight.
I hadn’t been alone with Harry since last weekend with his friends, other than hurried stolen moments after we’d closed the practice. He’d hinted strongly that we could finally be together tonight in his room at the pub.
Even now, as I hid behind a large potted plant, watching a group of well-dressed people around a table in the beer garden, I wasn’t sure if tonight was going to be the night.
I hadn’t seen him arrive yet. I’d dressed to impress. My twelve dollar, new-to-me dress contained my cleavage, unlike the dress I wore to the fundraising dinner. This dress had a big split up the front of my left leg. Thankfully, my knee had fully healed since the anaphylactic shock emergency weeks ago. I wore patent high heels with stay-up stockings with a lace trim. Walking made the split ride further up my leg, letting the lace peek out.
Amanda’s old university buddies were Sydney’s up and coming finance experts. They were dressed so elegantly, like models, and had me second guessing my fashion choices.
The Sydney-siders were entirely out of their depth, staring with alarm at the spectacle that was most of Ballydoon crowded into the beer garden. The Town and Country Hotel of Ballydoon was a far cry from the wine and gin bars of Sydney.
I stood straighter, shoulders back.No slouching, Stace. Back straight, boobs out.
I sighed, noticing the paint still on my fingernails and callouses on my hands. I skulked into the ladies’ toilets and stared in the mirror, sighing again.
My make-up looked amateurish compared to Amanda’s friends. I’d shunned my older sister’s efforts growing up to take me shopping, do our hair or anything beauty related. My skills with hair consisted of brushing it, tying it up with an elastic band and putting on a hat.
Amanda knew how to use everything to full effect: hair straighteners, curling wands and hairdryer diffusers as well as hair products and make-up. Amanda was the one that boys, and now men, stopped to stare at when she passed by.
Maybe I should’ve spent more time with her, bonding over contoured brows and smoky eye tutorials. Rather than fighting over boys.
But that ship had sailed.
#STAMwedding group chat alert pinged yet again.
Amanda: @stace where are the save the date cards? I asked you to leave them in the pub office and now I can’t find them
The bathroom door banged open and I shrieked as Sam barrelled in, her DSLR camera slung over one shoulder. “There you are. Come on, let’s get a drink. Amanda’s paying.”
“How did you—?”
“Saw you slink in here.” Sam did a double take, hand on the open door.
“What’s wrong?” I blurted, looking down my dress. “Is something wrong?”
Sam let out a low whistle. “No, Stacey, you look really hot.”
“Oh,” I said, smoothing my dress for the one millionth time. “Oh. Thank you.”
Sam held up her camera. “Let me take a pic. Please.”
