Page 22 of The Moon Also Rises
“But you are still invited to the wedding? Because if not, we just made a very pointless three-hour-journey.”
“Oh, I’m invited. We are sort of in touch. I mean, we text a bit. We like each other’s Instagram posts. We both send very amusing GIFs to the same WhatsApp groups we’re in. But we haven’t spoken one on one in a long time.”
“Oh. Is that his doing or yours?”
I think about all the missed calls. I think about the voicemails he left. I think about the emails he sent me that I never replied to.
“A bit of both,” I answer in a quiet voice.
After I park, we take our bags out of the boot of the car and spot another wooden – and ugh, crested – sign for Reception where we need to check-in. Because of course this venue is big enough to have rooms for all the guests. We dutifully follow it as it leads us through an archway in the high sandstone wall that surrounds the property.
“Wow,” Rami says again as he steps into the grounds, the grounds being a stretch of beautifully designed, immaculately kept, and lusciously lush gardens. It’s exactly what I would describe as a typical English country garden, comprised of various intricate arrangements of flower beds all boasting a wide variety of flowers, shrubs and plants. There are colourful beds of roses criss-crossing with banks of lavender, begonia and gardenia, and in the middle there’s a small water fountain and circular pond. A little further down the garden, away from the house, I see high-rise bushes that could be a maze, and gravel paths zig zag through the greenery inviting you to stroll around the gardens and enjoy it all
“Wow indeed,” I say although I sound a lot less impressed than Rami. A fizzy warmth lands in my nostrils. “Come on, it’s a recipe for death by hay fever out here.”
I march off along the gravel path ahead without waiting for Rami to follow and I’m just rounding the pond’s edge when I see a couple on the opposite side of the water, sitting on a bench and locked in an embrace.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say under my breath. At least I thought it was under my breath but when their heads pull away from each other and turn towards us I suspect it was louder than I intended.
“Jake!” Lionel’s voice hasn’t changed, still warm, soft and lyrical. And he looks exactly the same even if his facial hair is styled a different way – a goatee – and his glasses are new, their fashionable frames highlighting his big brown eyes perfectly. A part of me wants to rush forward and hug him. Another part of me wants to turn and run away. And a smaller, more insane part of me wants to rugby tackle him to the ground and beg him to marry me instead.
But then I see Luigi stand up after him, and I know the chances of him considering such an offer are non-existent. A tall man with a slim but defined physique, Luigi couldn’t look more Italian if he tried, nor could he be more attractive. He’s dark-eyed, olive-skinned and has a goatee that looks annoyingly identical to Lionel’s. His smile is broad and appears genuine as he comes to stand next to Lionel who is waving me over to them.
“That’s the happy couple?” Rami leans closer to my ear to ask.
“Unfortunately, yes,” I say through a smile that is all gritted teeth. “Of course, we bump into them before I’ve had a chance to pluck my eyebrows and exfoliate.”
Rami doesn’t reply but he does nudge me as he moves past me to approach them.
“So lovely to meet you,” I hear him say, his hand out-stretched. “Congratulations to you both.”
Not unlike a disobedient puppy, I follow behind him.
“I’m Rami…” he continues as he shakes their hands in turn. I open my mouth to speak but it promptly slams shut when Rami adds: “Jake’s boyfriend.”
As shocked as I am hearing him say that – with no prompting, no instruction – more than that, I feel relief. I know it’s a complete lie, but it helps ground me in some silly, stupid way. It especially helps as I watch Luigi slide his hand over Lionel’s shoulders and it comes to rest on the back of his neck, a neck I’ve kissed before, a neck I may have even grabbed hold of in the throes of passion. Maybe that’s what prompts me to grab Rami’s hand with mine and I am flooded with more relief when Rami doesn’t pull away. In fact, he doesn’t even look at me. He doesn’t do anything but hold my hand back in return.
“Lionel, it’s good to see you. Thank you again for the invitation. And my goodness, what a stunning venue you found for the wedding,” I say, relatively easily.
“It’s so great to seeyou,” Lionel says and before I know what’s happening, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug that rips my hand out of Rami’s. I eventually return his embrace and am proud of myself that I wait a few seconds before I inhale deeply. He still smells the same. Like freshly washed linen on a spring day. I allow myself half a second to savour it with closed eyes.
“This is Luigi,” Lionel says as he pulls back. His face glows with pride as he turns to his husband-to-be.
“Yes.” I hold out my hand to this handsome man who I now see is irritatingly well-built, his body filling out his shirt and narrow trousers perfectly. I shudder at how good he is going to look in a tux later and start praying there’s a well-stocked minibar in our room so I can soften the blow in advance. “Lovely to finally meet you, Luigi. And congratulations. You got a good one here.”
As I say that last sentence, my eyes are pulled to Lionel and I hate what I see. He returns my gaze, looking happy, grateful, and proud. I don’t know who exactly he’s proud of but I’m going to pretend it’s me.
“It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” Luigi says, sounding more like English aristocracy than native Italian. “Lionel talks about you so much. I feel like I already know you.”
“If it was anyone else, I would tell you not to believe a word he says, but as it’s Lionel – the world’s kindest human – I’m going to say lovely to meet you too.”
Light laughter bounces between us but when it peters out, silence falls. It makes me panic a little, which is why I ask my next question.
“Isn’t it bad luck for you to see each other before the wedding?”
“I know. We’re being a bit risky, aren’t we? A pair of dangerous Debbies!” Lionel declares.
“Oh,mi amore, that’s all nonsense. You know what our counsellor said about traditions like that, and that what really decides a lasting marriage is how we communicate, keep checking in with each other. Which is what we are doing.” Luigi strokes the back of Lionel’s head as he turns to us. “She recommended we have quiet moments this weekend, just us, so we can stay connected. That’s what we were doing before we get ready and the ceremony begins. Jeannette is fantastic, by the way, if you ever need a couples’ counsellor,” Luigi adds in earnest.
