Wishes Under a Starlit Sky. Lucy Knott
me drool. I can smell fried potatoes and tomatoes and hear sizzling coming from a giant pan. Then cinnamon hits me in a wave of sweet pleasure. I will be happy if the only decision I must make today is savoury or sweet or, more realistically, which to eat first.
The stalls are catching my gaze, but my stomach is following Madi, letting my brain know that food will be sourced and eaten first and then it can divulge in its creative need.
We find a stall that is serving pancakes and I can see Madi’s eyes bulge as she stops before it, her eyes wandering over the menu. I know full well that she wants to order everything. I surprise myself having already made my decision that I want the pancakes with fried peaches. They smell heavenly. I watch Madi and then turn my attention to the man behind the counter. I give him a small smile to apologize for the hold-up, but he seems happy to study Madi and give her all the time she needs. He has a kind face when he nods at me to acknowledge my smile. His hair is blonde, his eyes are hazel, and his features are warm. He returns to preparing food.
Madi’s thorough read of the menu is something I’m used to so patience isn’t a problem as I am enjoying observing the scenes around me. I am fascinated by people-watching and have been from a young age. My parents always had the most interesting people round to our house when I was growing up from doctors, to gardeners, to struggling artists and teachers. I loved watching them interact with one another. My parents welcome everyone. It’s not surprising really that I started writing stories and scripts in my head, imagining the exotic lives that these people led. But it was the love and passion that burned in the eyes of my parents and all those who visited that captivated me most, be it the love they had for each other or the love they had for their work and the world around them. It’s no wonder I became a fan of Pegasus Entertainment.
The man finishes serving a lady in front of us and then leans casually against the wooden wall frame. He catches me watching him and gives me a confident nod. Madi looks over at me and follows my line of vision to the man and chuckles.
‘I am so so sorry,’ she says, waving her hands around. ‘Sorry for holding you up, everything just sounds so good. Right, I know what I’m having,’ she says, standing tall and pushing her shoulders back. Her cheeks are flushed red from our cold walk and her red lips are glistening with the morning dew. She looks beautiful. I step forward and wrap my arms around her shoulders. I love Madi and I love her confidence.
‘No need for apologies, what can I get you …?’ The man sticks out his hand and raises his eyebrows, searching for our names. His cheeks are flushed pink and my heart tugs a little at his kindness.
‘I’m Madi and this is Harper,’ Madi says, reaching out to shake his hand.
‘I’m Colt, it’s nice to meet you both.’
‘It’s nice to meet you too Colt,’ Madi says. His eyes linger on the both of us for a few minutes and I wonder what’s going through his head. Our accents give away that we are tourists, but maybe he knows my parents? My mum and I sometimes get mistaken for sisters. The thought makes me smile.
Madi reaches up to grab my hands that are dangling from around her shoulders.
‘Please can we get pancakes and peaches for me and, Mads, what are you having?’
Madi orders her peach-stuffed waffles and Colt gets to work informing us that we can take a seat and he will bring out his creations once they are ready. Madi and I fall in step to find a table. I release my arms from around her neck but tuck an arm into hers as we walk.
We take a seat at a wooden table with little log benches; a heat lamp is standing tall to the side of us and I must admit that between Madi’s and my impromptu dance party earlier this morning, the Colorado air, Colt’s kindness and the smell of cinnamon peaches toasting, my fragile heart feels full. Currently my biggest concern is if Madi will let me try some of her waffles.
‘Colt is sweet,’ Madi expresses, rubbing her hands together. ‘Everything on the menu looks so good, we might have to come back later,’ she adds, excitement in her tone.
‘This place is magical,’ I say, looking around. I breathe in a lungful of the crisp air just as Colt appears and places two plates of incredible-looking – and smelling – dishes in front of us.
I thank him through a smile and give Madi a wide-eyed grin. It’s hard not to smile genuinely when you’re looking at a plate of bright orange peaches that are covered in sweet cinnamon syrup, alongside a stack of golden-brown pancakes drizzled in dark chocolate and a heavy helping of vanilla whipped cream. I think I love Colt.
The flavours hit my taste buds and I relax into each bite as it warms my body. My shoulders uncurl from around my neck where they were trying to keep the icy bite at bay, and I have to admit it’s monumentality difficult to be unhappy with a mouthful of all the combinations that make up my pancake dish.
There’s a long silence while Madi and I consume half of the contents on our plates, then without saying a word we each pick up our plate and hand it to the other, swapping dishes and digging in once more. We barely stop for breath. Not to be outdone by the pancakes, the waffles are out-of-this-world delicious.
Without warning on my last bite of waffle, my chewing starts to slow, my hands begin to tremble, and my eyes have gone misty.
I feel an overwhelming sense of happiness to be here in this setting with my best friend, but the love is suddenly mixing with a cocktail of unwelcome feelings inside of me. I don’t deserve this happiness. I don’t deserve this delicious food. I don’t deserve for Colt to smile at me – he doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know the person I am.
‘Am I a nice person?’ The question comes out of my mouth before I have time to stop it. I can’t quite figure out the inner workings of my brain. One minute it’s happy, the next I feel like my soul is suffocating. When will the intensity of emotions that came with learning of Scott’s affair and him walking away in such an unpleasant fashion leave me alone?
I didn’t have the slightest clue that I wasn’t satisfying him. Images of me wrapping my arms around him when he came home after work, smothering him with kisses and giddily talking about our future together are playing in black and white. How could I have been so selfish? What kind of wife was I?
I swallow down my waffle. My salty tears mix with the sweet syrup on my lips. My whole body has stiffened except for my hands that are trembling.
I must look like a right sight to the shoppers milling about the square.
Madi puts down her knife and fork and leans over to me, grapping my wrists. I’m chewing and sobbing simultaneously.
‘Oh, no, no no, sweetheart,’ Madi says, dabbing at my face with a napkin. ‘Sweetheart, you have been my best friend since we were three. You know I tell you how it is. Harper, you are the nicest person. Do you drive me mad sometimes? Yes. Does your ability to talk for hours on end about a script you’re working on sometimes make me crazy? Hell yes. Do I like pulling hairballs out of my drain every time you stay over? Heck no. Do I enjoy when you get hangry or when you are stubborn and won’t let me choose the movie on a Friday night? Not really. But all those things do not make you a bad person. Scott choosing to lie to you and cheat and disrespect your marriage does not make you a bad person. We all have things to work on, either together in a relationship or on our own. We can always better ourselves and our relationships; no one is perfect, including you, Harp. But that doesn’t mean what he did was anything short of selfish, cowardly and cruel. This is on him, Harper, not you.’
Madi is leaning over the table, propped up on her elbows, looking me straight in the eyes and catching my tears with her tissue.
‘Why does it hurt so bad, Mads?’ I stutter. Madi brushes the hair from my eyes and wipes some more tears away.
‘Because you loved him with all you had, and you shared a part of you with him that no one else got to see. Besides yours truly being your number-one best friend forever, he was your best friend. It’s OK to miss him. It’s natural to miss him. But don’t ever let his actions make you feel guilty. What goes on in a marriage is discussed within a marriage by the