Although they often spent Sunday mornings exploring flea markets, buying vintage framed prints to display on the walls of their new place, Carla couldn’t help feeling apprehensive about living with someone else again. After splitting with Aaron, she’d found it liberating not having to wipe shaving-foam smears from the bathroom taps, or moving forks out of the knife section of the cutlery drawer. She loved wearing her favorite ugly slippers with a hole in the sole that weren’t fit to be seen by anyone else.
“Hi,” Carla called out as she let herself inside Tom’s house. She just wanted to sink into his arms and forget last night ever happened.
“Hey there,” Tom said, moving around the kitchen wearing a Clue apron she’d bought him for Christmas. It featured a large graphic of Colonel Mustard.
The frying pan in Tom’s hand prevented her from giving him a hug. He slid sausages, bacon, hash browns and mushrooms onto two plates and added a spoonful of baked beans. “I thought you might be hungry after last night, so I’ve cooked you a full English breakfast. How was your prewedding surprise? Jess told me she had a secret plan for you.”
Carla sat on a stool, and the smell of the cooked food made her feel rocky. “Gran, Jess and two of my aunts basically kidnapped me. They dragged me to see a fortune teller.”
Tom set the plates down and smiled sympathetically. “Poor thing, though you don’t need to be a psychic to predict they’d do that.” He wriggled his fingers in the air as if casting a spell. “So, what did Mystic Meg say?”
“Her name was Myrtle and it’s no laughing matter...” Carla cut into her bacon.
“Did she predict a lottery win? Are we going to be millionaires soon?”
“Damn it, she left out that part.” Carla bit her lip, wondering how much she should actually tell him, about Myrtle’s claim he wasn’t the man for her and that someone else was waiting for her overseas. Tom already thought her family was weird without making things worse. “She claimed she could see Jess with a baby,” she finally said.
“Yeah? I bet she’ll make a cool mum.”
Carla nodded, trying to ignore a fleeting rush of sadness. Occasionally, when she saw kids skipping home from school carrying Mother’s Day cards they’d made in class, or chattering excitedly at the ice cream truck, she wished she had a small, sticky hand to hold, too.
Acting as a part-time surrogate mother to Jess had stolen away her urge to do it all again with a child of her own, so it was strange how her heart twanged with a mix of longing, relief and regret. She struggled to swallow a piece of hash brown.
Tom detected she’d gone quiet and sought out her eyes with a smile. “Lucky for us we’re both over forty and love being a family of two.”
She nodded and forced down a piece of egg.
After they’d eaten, Tom’s state-of-the-art dishwasher wasn’t working, so he rinsed the pots in the sink and Carla dried them. They spent Saturday afternoons playing board games and she hoped the gentle rattle of counters in a box would help soothe her headache. His living room had the sparse serenity of an exclusive spa where music tinkled, his candles smelled of amber and Carla felt relaxed and cocooned, an experience she didn’t get anywhere else. Instead of being Carla Carter CEO, she could kick off her shoes, sink into Tom’s arms and just be herself.
She glanced at her fiancé intermittently, thinking how his studious expression added to his handsomeness. Carla sometimes caught him looking at her, too, as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
He had the jawline of a cartoon superhero and his broken nose, from a childhood fall, gave his face intrigue and character. She liked how sprigs of dark chest hair escaped from the neck of his shirt, tickling her nose whenever she leaned against him. Tom never displayed any awareness of his good looks, and this modesty made him even more appealing.
What did she love about him the most? She supposed it was the way he could see the good in everyone and that there wasn’t a problem in the world they couldn’t fix together. So, the thought of perusing other men in her travel journal made the hairs on Carla’s arms stand guiltily on end.
Tom and Carla sat on the sofa and played a game of Trivial Pursuit, answering the questions and complimenting each other. “Oh, well done” and “Great answer,” they said. She loved how her diamond solitaire engagement ring sparkled as she moved pieces around the board.
Afterward, Tom took a sketchbook out from under a cushion and cradled it to his chest. “I’ve got something to show you,” he said. “It’s my idea for a new board game, Destination Next.”
Carla sat forward on the sofa. “Oh, great, let me see it.”
He flipped over the pages so she could look at his drawings. “Each element will be made out of recycled cardboard, and the board pops up so you can transport it around easily. Each player gets a counter—a suitcase, sunhat, sunglasses, etcetera, plus a paper passport. You have to solve clues and move around the board, collecting passport stamps as you go. I’m thinking the game could include a rubber stamp with ink. It’ll be lots of fun.”
“I love it,” Carla said. “But what happens when your passport is full?”
“It means you’ve won the game.”
“Does that mean you can only play it once? An inkpad and stamp aren’t recyclable, so what about using peel-off stickers instead? That way you can reuse the passport, too.”
Tom stared at her with admiration in his eyes. “Fantastic idea. Thank goodness you’re so practical.”
Carla felt inexplicably wounded by his compliment, preferring the words resourceful or imaginative. “You’re practical, too.”
“And that’s why we’re so great together.” Tom planted a kiss on her nose. “I’ll add your idea to my presentation. I’ve been up all night working on it.”
“Presentation?” she questioned.
He beamed and nodded. “I’ve been waiting to tell you some incredible news. I found out yesterday that I’ve been invited to Game Player Con.”
“That’s fantastic!” She hesitated. “Um, what is it?”
“Only the biggest boardgame convention in the world, taking place in Denver next week,” Tom gushed. “Some guys saw me talking about my games online and reached out to me. They love my ideas and want to meet face-to-face. My manager says I can take the time off work because it’s job-related.”
“So...you want to fly to America? Next week?”
“Yes.” He took her hands in his. “I’ve always wanted to run my own business, and this is my big chance to show off my work and make some great connections. It could really turn my luck around and I’d love to earn more money for our new life together.”
Carla cricked her neck, feeling like someone had tugged the doormat she’d been standing on. When they’d previously discussed booking a honeymoon, Tom had struggled to find space in his schedule. Late spring was also Carla’s busiest time, with users of Logical Love trying to find a romantic partner for the summer. They’d both agreed to postpone their honeymoon until later in the year. “What about our wedding arrangements?” she said.
“Everything is good to go. We’ve booked the church for our ceremony, and the community hall for our reception. All our invitations have been sent out and we’ve confirmed the catering order. My parents have arranged their flights from France and can’t wait to meet you. We know who’s going to be sitting next to who at dinner, so we can kick back and relax before our big day. The convention should be fascinating—hundreds of game designers and players under one roof—and we’ll be able to add more games to our collection. I’ll get so much inspiration.” He brushed a lock of hair away from Carla’s cheek. “Perhaps you could join me. We could tack a few days onto the end of the convention and call it an early honeymoon.”
Carla liked playing games but didn’t want to celebrate her nuptials with thousands of fanatics. Flying to Denver sounded expensive and grueling before their wedding day.
She’d hoped to spend the run-up to their wedding in a cozy bubble, hanging out with Tom in coffee shops to discuss the minutiae of their big day over hot chocolate (avoiding the cream and chocolate flakes on top, of course, because she wanted to fit into the off-white column dress she’d bought from a vintage shop). It was impossible to foretell what the weather would be like at the beginning of June, and she wanted his help choosing versatile blankets, for guests to sit on outside if the evening was warm, or to wrap around their shoulders if it was cold. Yes, these were all things she could do by herself, but they’d be much more fun together.
More than anything, Carla was determined their wedding day would be the opposite of her and Aaron’s extravaganza. Her ex loved being the center of attention and had played a forty-five-minute set on his guitar, engaging their guests in a sing-along. Life with Aaron had been like riding a Jet Ski on choppy waves, exciting if unpredictable, whereas time with Tom was like a peaceful sail on a pretty lake.
“It’s sweet of you to invite me...” she started, still trying to make the timing work in her head. “But it’s very short notice.”
