Page 34 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime

You’re close. But it’s nothing to do with work.

(EVA drains her cup, wishing it contained something stronger than coffee.)

Jonathan and I are getting married.

No one says anything. RACHAEL and KATIE look stunned. EVA’s face has turned a mottled beetroot colour. Eventually, RACHAEL gestures the waiter to their table.

RACHAEL

Two double shots of whisky, please. Neat.

(She gestures to EVA.)

And a cocktail for my friend. Do you have a ‘What the fuck are you thinking’ martini?

Suffice it to say, my big announcement didn’t go down well.

Rachael and Katie grudgingly agreed to be my bridesmaids, although they did impose a long list of conditions to seal the deal, including unlimited French champagne at the bridal table and absolute authority to choose their own outfits. Rachael favours black.

Next stop on the tour was my parents’ house for my birthday dinner. I had Jonathan with me this time.

And, wow, did I need him. My mother’s reaction was next level volcanic.

If Krakatoa was a magnitude 8.5 earthquake, my mother registered a perfect ten.

She was even more furious than when John Howard was elected prime minister—and that night involved a lot of broken glassware.

Our announcement went so badly, I’m not even sure she’s coming to the wedding.

Jonathan and I waited until after dinner. Once the plates had been cleared away, Jonathan took my hand and cleared his throat importantly.

‘Debbie. Doug. Eva and I have some exciting news to share with you.’

My dad leaned forward, fondly expectant. My mother looked suspicious.

‘We’re getting married.’

The words were scarcely out of Jonathan’s mouth before my mother launched from her seat, almost knocking over her wine glass. ‘Doug! Tell me you didn’t agree to this idiocy?’

My father, who had been smiling benignly, looked like he’d walked into an electric fence.

‘I didn’t speak to Doug, Debbie,’ Jonathan interjected, moving back in his seat in case my mother broke her glass and started slashing at him. ‘Eva and I both think asking for a woman’s hand is old-fashioned.’

That’s not entirely true. Jonathan decided that it was old-fashioned and assumed I thought the same.

I would have quite liked him to speak to Dad first. It just seems respectful.

But given my mother’s reaction, I’m glad Dad didn’t know.

He would have agreed because he’s congenial by nature.

And if he’d done that, his life wouldn’t be worth living. He’d had a lucky escape.

‘You are both arrogant and ill-mannered, young man.’ My mother spat the words at Jonathan, making him flinch. Her vitriol exceeded anything I had imagined, and my imagination had provided me with some fantastically hideous scenarios. ‘And when are you planning this travesty?’

‘In September,’ I bleated. ‘The reception hall had a late cancellation.’

‘Well, someone somewhere has some common sense then. Marriage is for people who have no other options. And Eva, you have—you had —so many options.’

‘I still do, Mum. This won’t change anything.’

‘I dare you to say that to me again in five, ten, twenty years. I’ll bet you can’t. Your life is over, Eva Reddy. It’s done !’

With that, she stormed out, sucking all the air from the room as she went.

Jonathan, Dad and I sat in shellshocked silence for a long while. Eventually, I excused myself and went looking for Mum. I found her in the kitchen, drinking straight from a bottle of chablis.

I pulled up a stool and rested my elbows on the bench like I had done as a kid. I waited for her to make eye contact.

‘Mum, I don’t get it.’ My voice was low.

Conciliatory. ‘I know we’re a bit young, but we were always going to get married at some stage.

What difference does it make? And Jonathan is everything a mother could ask for.

He’s smart. He’s good-looking. He’s charming.

He has an amazing career ahead of him. What don’t you like? He’s perfect.’

My mother knocked back the rest of the wine in a single gulp.

‘Well, that’s it, isn’t it? You don’t realise that you are so much more than perfect.

You are amazing. You think everything he says or does is more important than anything you say or do.

I watch the two of you together. With every word, with every action, he makes you seem small.

’ She leaves her words hanging for maximum effect.

‘And with your butt and thighs, that’s quite a feat. ’

She flounced out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Defeated, I returned to the dining room, where Jonathan and Dad were attempting an awkward conversation about golf. They would have heard every word. My mother isn’t one to modulate her voice.

My dad turned to me. ‘I’m sorry, darling. I’ll talk to her.’ He gave me a despondent smile that fell well short of his eyes. ‘Although maybe not tonight.’

Neither Jonathan nor I said anything on the way home. I guess we were both still processing what had happened.

We still hadn’t talked about it when we were getting ready for bed. Then Jonathan touched me on the shoulder. I expected him to promise he would do everything in his power to win my mother over. And even if he couldn’t do that, he loved me so much that we’d be fine. But that’s not what he said.

‘I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world if your mother doesn’t come to the wedding.’

I started brushing my teeth to avoid having to reply. It might not be the worst thing in the world for Jonathan. In fact, it would probably be the best thing in the world for Jonathan. But for me, it was right up there with death and serious illness.

‘But there’s one thing we can be grateful for.’ He popped his toothbrush back into the rack. ‘You’re nothing like your mother.’

As I put away my toothbrush and applied moisturiser with unsteady hands, I thought about how I would describe my mother—on a good day. Fun. Spontaneous. Adventurous. Outspoken.

‘I guess you’re right.’ My voice was soft. Sad. ‘I’m not anything like my mother.’

But Jonathan didn’t hear me. He was already in bed.