Page 53 of Work: Strictly Professional

To my endless surprise, Ryan, albeit this new relaxed version of him, asks if I’d mind making a scrapbook of the wedding. “I think the kids at school would really enjoy paging through something like that.”

I’ve only had one and a half glasses of wine, but they seem to have gone to my head because I am overjoyed by the request. Flattered and honored and hugely excited. Really delighted. Bridget always says that one of the hardest things about being a crafter is finding people who actually want the things you make for them, and she’s dead right. I can’t believe this just dropped into my lap.

I’ve just finished typing a message to Bridget, letting her know we need to start thinking about a theme for the scrapbook, when Derek’s voice, which has been vibrating through me almost constantly this evening, jars me. He’s saying words I know, talking about people and names I recognize.

“…Wyn’s friend Trouble is a world-famous burlesque dancer,” he says.

Kat and Emily’s jaws drop at exactly the same time.

“You know Trouble?” squeals Emily. “Why didn’t you tell us you knew him?”

“Yeah, Wyn,” agrees Kat, for once almost as animated as Emily, “why didn’t you tell us? We caught his show a few months back, and holy shit, it was amazing.”

“Yeah, totally amazing. Hot girls, hot guys, hot girls dancing with other hot girls, hot guys getting stripped almost naked.” Em waves her hands around like someone experiencing the rapture.

“Mm, it was marketed as a feast for the bisexual eye,” says Kat, “and let’s just say it delivered.”

“Gee,” Derek thinks aloud, “I wonder if it’s something I might enjoy.”

“Absolutely not,” I snap, without thinking it through or meaning to say anything at all. “You’re not going anywhere near that show without a blindfold.”

Miller almost pisses himself laughing.

“You know, Wyn, I had a feeling I liked you as soon as I met you,” says Ryan.

It’s finally here. The wedding day. It’s here. Thankfully I’ve woken early and have managed to extricate myself from Derek without waking him. I have about a million thoughts rushing around, vying for my attention, and it’s getting pretty loud in my head. I decide to go for a walk on the beach to calm myself. It’s not really the type of thing I usually do for fun, especially not on my own, but hey, I still have three unworn running outfits to work my way through, so I guess I should at least try to get my money’s worth.

Dawn has begun throwing a profusion of pinks into the sky, but the beach is deserted, aside from two men setting up the loungers for the day. I watch for a while as they perform their routine. Loungers are dragged through the sand and unfolded. Cushions are shaken and beaten and then carefully laid out. Something is satisfying, almost calming, about watching it.

When they’ve finished, I walk down to the shore and dip my feet into the water. It’s frothy and warm, and I have to admit, Ienjoy it. Saltwater and sea air is an invigorating combination. I start walking, heading west, along a long, pristine strip of beach. I let my thoughts drift with the tide, washing up new things and bad things. Stupid things and stupider things.

I’m so deep in my own world it’s a bit of a rude awakening when I come across others using the beach at this time of day.

Two men in the distance. One fair-haired, the other brunette. They’re sitting side by side, knees bent, feet planted in the sand, watching the sunrise. The blond has his arms wrapped around the dark one. The dark one is smiling as his partner plants a trail of kisses along his jawline.

Miller and Ryan.

I stop moving so I don’t disturb them, but I also don’t retreat immediately. I watch them. I take a few seconds to witness what’s happening. Even from here, I can tell there’s something almost spiritual about this moment. It’s their day. The start of the rest of their lives. They’re in their own world. A beautiful place where nothing but the two of them exists.

It makes me ache. It makes me hopeful and lonely at the same time. My chest feels too tight and too empty, and the expanse of air around me, peaceful moments ago, now feels vast and eternal.

22

Derek

It’s one of thosedays that I thought would drag. I thought there’d be a lot of waiting around and trying to pass the time, but, in fact, it’s flown by. I’ve hardly caught sight of Wyn all day, and when I have, he’s been moving at such speed that the sound barrier looked under serious threat. I’ve checked on him a couple of times, took him a green juice the first time and a sandwich the next. He took the sandwich but said he didn’t have time for the green juice. From the way he manhandled me out of the venue, he clearly didn’t want me to see the place until the reception this evening.

Everything is going smoothly, except for the fact the resort appears to have rebooked the room Wyn originally booked for himself. It’s a bit cheeky of them since we paid for the entire place, but I don’t mind very much as most of us are leaving tomorrow. Wyn, on the other hand, is not happy. The second he hears about it, he stalks to reception, arms stick straight at his sides, nose pointed high in the air.

I follow him because I have a strong suspicion I’ll need to be on hand to smooth things over in the next minute or two.

Miller is in reception, chatting animatedly to the couple who’s just arrived. Far from minding that they’re essentially crashing his wedding, he seems only too happy to be meeting new people. The woman has dark hair and a rapturous smile, and while the man has a handsome face, he has a slightly dazed look about him, eyes watery and wide, almost as if he’s not entirely sure how he ended up here. He seems to be drifting in and out of the conversation. Daydreaming, and from where I’m standing, it looks like his daydreams are competing with reality and winning.

“We couldn’t believe it when we saw the last-minute deal,” says his wife. “We jumped right on it. Didn’t even hesitate. Packed last night and hopped on the plane today. We honeymooned here five years ago, so when I saw the email, I took it as a sign.”

“Awesome,” says Miller. “You must have had a great time to want to come back.”

“Well,” says the woman, scrunching her nose, “yes and no. Truthfully, this is more like a honeymoon redo because the first one was a dog show. Seriously, our honeymoon was not good. This one”—she motions to her husband with a slight tilt of her head—“was so sick he could barely lift his head off the pillow. I’ve never seen him like that. I don’t even think it was man flu. He really wasveryunwell. Between you and me, I think it was something he ate at the wedding. Oh, the venue denied it for all they were worth. You know what places like that are like.” Miller nods sagely as if he does indeed know what places like that are like. “But I think it was a bad shrimp. Areallybad shrimp. It shouldn’t be allowed. There should be some sort of fine or compensation due if you make someone sick. It’s not right. It hit him so hard we didn’t consummate our marriage until after we got home.”

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