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“I’ve found something I think is worth exploring.”
“Now that’s great to hear. If I may say something, know when it’s time to come back.”
“How do you know?”
“That’s on you, dear. And you may not even feel like you’re one hundred percent ready but that you’re enough. That you are more brave than scared.”
“Okay.” It was now dark. “I should go. Gotta pack and get ready for an early morning start to meet the cattle station owners. I’m going to drive with them to their place.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it. Knock ’em dead, my dear.”
14
Ari
Deal-breaker: What are your thoughts and beliefs about marriage?
It had been three weeks since our fight.
I’d written Jet an apology on my last Broome postcard on my first night at the cattle station. Posting it had been delayed by a week due to the monsoon finally arriving in earnest, leaving sealed and dirt roads flooded and the land drenched.
The rains also meant limited internet. And with every break in the weather, I’d get updates on Ash’s wedding plans, how it wasn’t a simple ceremony at the courthouse but a full blown big dress and guests at the chapel in Ballydoon, and a big reception. It sounded like the whole of Ballydoon was going. Except me.
And sneaking a look at Jet’s social media feed. Photos of him with his parents and brother on the veranda of his little farmhouse. A cranky tabby cat missing a chunk from its ear. A picture of his bonfire at night.
No women, though.
Mum was offering a free wash, cut and blow-dry for all firefighters and evacuated locals after the bushfires. Her post had even been shared by celebrities.
And I’d caught a reel that had gone viral of Mum throwing her beetroot salad over Wes’ head. The look of horror on his face as the maroon juices trickled down his face and shirt made me think perhaps her salad wasn’t so bad after all.
But all of the viral posts, social media scandal and wedding prep couldn’t distract me enough from the fact I hadn’t heard from Jet.
I’d written a short letter apologising for being mean and that, most of all, I wanted to be friends.
The postal service website said it could take seven to twelve business days to arrive. So there was like a ninety percent chance he had received my letter.
Or not.
With three girls under ten years old, we’d embraced Disney movies during the rains, as well as visits to their favourite swimming hole to cool off, answered thousands of questions about working in film and TV, and made scripts and videoed their own princess movies.
I even got them started on their schoolwork at the end of January.
It was the fifth of February, less than two weeks until Ash’s wedding, and I still hadn’t given her an answer if I was coming back.
As I made coffee before breakfast, my phone pinged.
Ash: Hey, checking in about the wedding after our call.
Ash: I’m sorry I hung up on you. And I know you haven’t given me a real answer yet if you’ll come home for the wedding … but … I wanted to ask you if you’d be my maid of honour
Holy shit, maid of honour!
Ash: Cody says hi. wants to know how *his* van is doing.
I chuckled.
Ash: but seriously, maid of honour: you in?
