The Wedding Surprise. Trish Wylie
They’d made out a set of questions for each other, swapped them to fill in the answers, and had then retreated to different parts of the house to ‘study up’. After four hours of learning how many sugars he took in his coffee and what side of the bed he slept on her head had gone numb, so she’d opted for fleecy pyjamas and the security of her huge bed.
But with the door to her room slightly ajar she could still see the light shining from where Aiden lay in bed across the hall from her. She was only too aware of where he was in the house at any given time. Aware of the sounds of another human being sharing her space. But there wasn’t the same comfort associated with those noises as there would have been if it were a friend or a family member staying.
She sighed into the air. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’
‘Everything in your life is just so bloody neat and pretty.’
‘I happen to like a tidy house.’ And she wasn’t normally in it much, which helped. But she didn’t mention that.
‘I don’t mean just your house.’
She rolled over to face the door, moving the pillow to fit underneath her neck better. ‘So what do you mean?’
‘I mean your whole life. Neat little family, neat crowd of friends, neat career direction. Your life is all wrapped up with ribbons and bows.’
Caitlin wished.
‘You have no idea what my life is like.’
‘That’s what I’m in here studying.’
‘You don’t get a picture of someone’s life from a set of questions dealing with what size feet they have or their favourite colour.’
There was silence for a few moments, and then Caitlin heard his bed creak slightly as he moved. ‘So tell me something that’s not on the questionnaire.’
‘Like what?’
‘Something that only someone you love would know.’
She pursed her lips and frowned at his words. He was looking for personal information. Something that meant she would have to give something of herself to him. And she really didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want this person she didn’t like much knowing things he would still know when he walked away in three months.
Aiden strained to hear any movement when she didn’t reply, holding his breath to keep silent.
‘Caitlin?’
‘I’m still here.’
He smiled at her small voice. She didn’t want to tell him anything, did she?
‘What’s wrong? Skeletons in your closet?’
‘Only ones wrapped neatly in ribbons and bows.’
Her sarcastic answer brought a larger smile to his face. ‘Come on. One thing. I promise to forget it when the show ends.’
She turned her face into her pillow to call him a name, then came out to take a deep breath. ‘We’ll swap. You get one subject; I get to ask about one in return.’
He considered the proposal for a moment and then quirked a brow at the doorway. What harm could it do?
‘Okay.’
Caitlin waited. Then waited some more. ‘So?’
‘I’m thinking.’
‘Don’t strain yourself.’
‘Funny.’ He propped himself up on an elbow and continued to stare at the door, as if by staring harder he would be able to see through it to read her face. ‘So how come there’s no neat boyfriend around to complete the picture?’
Damn. He just would ask that, wouldn’t he?
‘Maybe I like being single.’
‘You’re twenty-eight years old. In the fifties you’d be a spinster already. Don’t you want neat little kids so you can scrub their little faces and read them fairy stories at night?’
‘That’s a second question.’
‘Oops.’
She raised herself up on an elbow and thought about her answer. To tell or not to tell. That was the question, really.
‘I used to have a boyfriend. A fiancé.’
He wasn’t surprised at the first part of her answer, but the second part caught him off guard. ‘What happened?’
She took a breath. ‘He died.’
Aiden flumped onto his back and frowned at the ceiling. ‘How?’
‘He had this stupid motorcycle that he loved nearly as much as he said he loved me.’
‘Was it long ago?’
Yesterday, she wanted to answer. There were still odd moments when it felt as if it was. But the moments were further apart now than they had been at the start. The pain she’d felt back then was a bearable numbness now.
‘Nearly five years. We met in high school.’
Aiden heard the matter-of-fact tone of her voice as she recited facts that must have hurt like hell at the time. Her perfect life had hit a glitch. A big one. And that made him think. ‘I’m sorry.’
Caitlin was surprised by the softness in his voice. It was a completely different tone for the sarcastic edge he’d had with her for most of the evening. She sank back down into the haven of her duvet and lifted the bottom of it with her legs to tuck her feet in. Those two words spoken with that softness making her reach out for a simpler form of comfort, she supposed.
She blinked upwards for several long seconds, then replied with an equally softly spoken, ‘Thanks.’
The house fell silent again, until Caitlin’s voice sounded out with, ‘So, no neat little girlfriend for you, then?’
He laughed. ‘No, nothing neat in my life.’
‘You’re this charming to everyone, then?’
‘Careful, Caitlin. I’ll get the impression you don’t like me much.’
‘Oh, and that would hurt your feelings, would it?’
‘Well, if you still think I have feelings then I’m not a lost cause just yet, am I?’
She smiled. ‘Every human being has to have a feeling on something or another. I’ll allow you that much.’
‘Cheers.’ He turned his head to smile back at the door.
‘You’re welcome.’
Aiden was surprised when it went silent again. She was quitting that easily? He was almost disappointed that she was. Not that he was up for a deep psychoanalysis of his own life. But she had told him something very personal, had allowed something painful to be talked about, even briefly. And he felt he owed her something back for that.
‘Six months.’
‘What?’
‘Six months. It’s how long I can manage to stay in a relationship with a woman, apparently.’
Caitlin thought about the unexpectedly volunteered information. ‘How come?’
‘I wear them out.’
She laughed at his joke. ‘I’ll bet.’
He smiled. ‘I guess I’m just not neat little marriage material.’
‘No kids to scrub and read fairy stories to, huh?’
The ache in his stomach came back. ‘I don’t have any experience on either of those things.’
She turned her head towards the door at his answer. ‘Your mother didn’t scrub your face and read you fairy tales