by Ali Berg
‘I guess so.’
Zach twisted the doorknob, ready to leave her life forever. But before he did, he turned around one last time. ‘Was it ever really me, or was it always him?’ he asked, shuddering at the mere thought of Dino.
Bea swallowed, hard. ‘I—’ she began, her heart breaking.
‘That’s what I thought.’ He slammed the door and was gone.
Bea closed her copy of Meeting Oliver Bennett and sighed. She held it to her chest, hugging it as if it were a person before placing it on her bookshelf and walking to the bathroom. She had decided that this would be the last time she would read it. It wasn’t hers to keep, not now that she knew for sure that it had belonged to Alena. And now, well, it belonged to Dino.
It had been a week since Zach had left Bea’s house and she had last messaged Dino. When Bea’s incessant messages enticed no response from Dino, she eventually halted contact. Perhaps it was space that Dino needed. So far her silence had been met with more silence. Bea had heard nothing from Dino and it was making her crazy.
As she brushed her teeth, staring at her reflection, the cool realisation that she couldn’t hang on forever struck her. It’s time to move on.
She had thought that Dino was her person, but she was no longer his. She had lost the man who filled her days with sunlight – well, sunlight tinged with slight disinterest and black humour. The man who challenged her and encouraged her to consider things from a different perspective. But he had turned his back on her when she was finally able to open up. Remembering this detail, Bea couldn’t help but feel as though he had never really liked her like that at all.
Returning her toothbrush to its holder, Bea closed her eyes. It’s time to move on, she chanted silently. She had to. Because, quite frankly, she was sick of feeling sad. She had moved to Melbourne for a fresh start. And she had gotten it. She had new friends, a new job and a new passion project. So what if I’ve totally screwed it up in the love department? If she’d learnt anything these past few months, it was that she did not need a man to complete her – she did the completing all on her own. Yet while she tried to practice mindfulness and gratitude and all that wishy-washy positivity bullshit, she couldn’t quite get her heart to listen.
It’s time to move on. It’s time to move on. It’s time to move on.
Her phone beeped. Her Uber driver had arrived with a freshly brewed The Nook coffee. She threw on a woollen jumper, slipped on some ugg boots and rushed downstairs to greet Savinay, her caffeine saviour.
‘So you really don’t think he’s going to show?’ Lizzie asked, knife in one hand, phone in the other. Lizzie was staying (uninvited) at Bea’s for the night, promising to make the Next Chapter event a huge success, after the last disaster. She had (again, unwelcomely) organised a group of ex-Bachelor contestants and D-grade Instagram influencers to come to the event, promising that this time they would definitely show up, despite the lack of any real chance of finding a mate.
With only a couple of hours to go, Bea and Lizzie were standing side by side in Bea’s kitchen, arranging fruit and cheese platters for the evening. Bea was wearing black yoga pants and a loose grey hoodie while Lizzie was, as usual, overdressed in black leather pants, a glittery tank top, red lipstick and wedges.
‘I doubt it.’ Bea sliced a strawberry decisively in half.
Lizzie grabbed Bea by the shoulders, her eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. ‘You can’t give up. You have to make him come!’ Once a hopeless Bachelor romantic, always a hopeless Bachelor romantic. ‘Come on,’ Lizzie continued, squeezing Bea’s cheeks a little too firmly. ‘You know what Osher always used to say: you’ve got to fight for the one you love! Otherwise the love of your life will pass you by and before you know it, you’re a crazy cat lady with an unhealthy obsession with erotic fiction.’
‘Please, Liz, haven’t we evolved past the spinster stereotypes? I’ve just about been single my whole adult life, and I’m doing perfectly fine.’ Bea brushed her sister away. ‘I’m moving on. He’s not going to come round. He’s too stubborn and it’s all just gotten too complicated. I am making myself okay with moving on from him, and I’m committed to weaning myself off his coffees eventually,’ Bea said, only half-believing herself.
‘You’re still getting his coffees delivered? Bea, that’s ridiculous!’
‘Don’t worry Liz, I won a week’s worth of free Uber Eats deliveries.’
‘I’m not worried about that, just go in and see him.’
‘Lizzie, I’m moving on,’ Bea replied firmly.
‘Fine. Be that way. Consider this my first attempt at respecting your boundaries, or whatever,’ Lizzie grumbled, and resumed carving up slices of watermelon, slamming her knife down angrily on the cutting board. ‘But what about the book? Are you at least going to give that to him? He deserves to know about his grandma.’
‘I know. I’ve decided. First thing tomorrow morning, if I still haven’t heard from him, I’m just going to leave it outside The Nook for him to find.’
Lizzie raised her eyebrows.
‘I know I wanted to tell him in person, but I can’t hold onto this knowledge any longer. It’s not fair.’
Lizzie shook her head – which was never a good sign, as she hated, hated, doing anything that would risk unsettling her perfectly coiffed curls – and returned to her chopping.
Bea attempted a smile. She wasn’t going to let anything get her down. Tonight was the night that she had been working so hard for. She would get excited. She would be okay that Dino wasn’t there.
‘These Bachie friends of yours, they won’t be too wild, will they? We need to keep it all above board, Liz. You did update them and tell them that this is not their typical speed dating night, right? Plus, I promised Martha we wouldn’t make a mess of her friend’s bar,’ Bea said, slicing a piece of brie and shoving it in her mouth.
Martha had followed through with her offer, and Willows & Wine, which was significantly bigger than The Nook, was locked in as the venue. She had received close to thirty emails requesting tickets, and an additional twenty-five more had clicked ‘interested’ on the Facebook event.
‘Yes, yes, don’t worry. It’ll be uber chilled, honey.’ Lizzie winked at Bea, and Bea rolled her eyes. Lizzie would describe Miss Clavel from Madeline as laid-back.
‘And Zach? He definitely won’t be there will he?’ Lizzie said, poking Bea with the end of the spoon she had been using to mix a bowl of berries.
‘God, I hope not. I couldn’t bear to see him again, not after seeing how defeated he was as he lugged the last of his stuff out of my apartment,’ Bea said.
‘Good riddance, I say. I never trusted him. Although I have taken on board what you said about the whole flirting-with-me incident and my tendency to read into things a little too much. Maybe you were right.’ Lizzie said, adjusting Bea’s top. Bea smiled. This was big for Lizzie. She had never once admitted that somebody wasn’t completely infatuated with her.
Lizzie rubbed her sister’s arm, then glanced at her diamond-encrusted watch and squealed. ‘Oh my gosh, Bea. You better get a wriggle on. We need to be there in an hour. I’ll finish this up.’ Lizzie gestured to the half-done platters in front of her.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad having her sister stay at her apartment again. She went to her room, threw off her clothes – dumping them in the corridor carelessly – and stepped into the bathroom, ready to freshen up before her big event.
Bea nervously pushed open the door of Willows & Wine. She surveyed the bar’s interior, mentally rearranging the room. After greeting the bar’s owner, who turned out to be a diehard Jodi Picoult fan and was thrilled to be hosting the event, Bea and Lizzie went about transforming the space. They rearranged the twenty-five two person tables so that they ran parallel to each other down one side of the room and placed sleek, golden stands (which Bea had won, obviously) with a note on each one, which read ‘your favourite book goes here’. Near the fireplace in the corner, which crackled, warming the room, B
ea trailed posters on which passages from some of her most cherished books were written in elegant cursive.
Bea was putting the last of the small jars of sunflowers in the crevices of the bar’s wall-long bookshelf, when the front door opened.
‘Beatrix!’ Ruth and Philip, who sported a tiny polka dot bow tie, had arrived. ‘You’ve done a remarkable job, Beatrix,’ she said, waving her copy of Victoria & Abdul in the air. ‘You should be very proud of yourself.’
Bea smiled nervously, stepping back and admiring her handiwork. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
Not long after, Martha and Sunday arrived, gushing at the room and congratulating Bea on her decorative flair.
Lizzie nudged her way to the front of the group. ‘You must be Bea’s friends! I think I’ve met some of you before, at Bea’s previous events. For those of you who don’t know, I’m Lizzie, Bea’s sister. You might recognise me as the runner-up from season two of The Bachelor.’ Lizzie gave each of them a peck on the cheek. ‘And who might this be?’ Lizzie asked, bending down to get a closer look at Philip.
‘This is Philip. Named after the prince,’ Ruth said bluntly. She was still recovering from Lizzie’s impromptu and unnecessary kiss.
‘Oh. I see. Is he a weasel?’
‘Technically, yes. He’s a ferret.’
‘So, Liz. What’s happening with The Bachelor contestants?’ Bea interrupted before a full-blown discussion of the Mustelid animal family erupted before her.
‘Oh, yes. Lily and Scarlett are on their way! Instagram ready!’ Lizzie chirped.
As Bea laughed, the door opened, and the trickle of guests began to enter.
Bea had never seen so many book lovers crammed into one bar before. Men and women of all shapes, sizes and ages sat across from each other, their chosen books placed in front of them on the delicate stands. Copies of everything from Crazy Rich Asians to The Thing About Jane Spring to Normal People filled the room. She couldn’t believe how many people the event had amassed.
Lizzie and her two ex-Bachelor contestant friends – after recovering from their initial shock that the event was in fact exactly how Lizzie had described it – were taking a continuous stream of selfies. Bea watched Mia and Ruth, who were locked in a heated discussion. She also eyed Ramona (who Bea hadn’t actually seen in person since moving to Melbourne so, by way of hello, shrieked, ‘I’m sorry I’m such a slob!’) holding hands with Sunday. Two waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne and wine, and bread baskets and bowls of olives sat proudly in the corner, alongside Bea and Lizzie’s fruit and cheese platters. Bea scanned the room for the hundredth time, squinting.
‘I don’t think he’s coming, babe,’ Sunday said from beside her, sidling up to Bea while Ramona helped herself to a piece of cheese.
‘Who?’ Bea replied, feigning indifference.
Sunday gave her a knowing, and only slightly pitying, look.
Breathing in deeply, Bea smoothed down her silk dress. ‘Did you ever meet his grandma?’ She had promised herself she wouldn’t bring it up, but she couldn’t help it.
‘Whose? Dino’s?’ Sunday asked, confused.
‘Yeah.’
‘Only a couple of times. She passed about six months after I started working at The Nook.’
‘What was she like?’
‘I don’t know really. She seemed friendly. I know she used to visit The Nook whenever she could. She and Dino would often grab a croissant and eat in the park.’
‘Fawkner Park?’ Bea held her breath.
‘Yeah, that’s the one.’
Of course.
‘Why do you want to know all this anyway?’ Sunday peered at Bea curiously.
‘It’s a long story.’ Bea glanced at her watch. I should probably get the ball rolling.’ Sunday gave Bea a final goodluck squeeze before linking hands with Ramona, who looked very happy with a face full of cheese
Bea marched to the front of the bar, stood on her tiptoes and said, in her loudest voice, ‘Welcome everyone, to Next Chapter!’
Heads turned and silence fell over the room.
‘Thank you so much for coming. Next Chapter started in a small alcove of a café and look how far we’ve come!’ Brief applause resounded around the room. Bea continued. ‘This whole event is about sharing stories. It’s about giving us a chance to connect and to pass on our favourite tales.’ She informed them of the rules before clearing her throat and picking up her phone. Holding it above her head, she said, ‘May you find the book of your dreams and live happily ever after. On your marks, get set, recommend!’ And set the timer on her phone.
Warm chatter filled the room as people began describing their favourite reads. The sound was the feeling of bare feet on cool grass, or a hearty, gratifying sneeze – her guests appeared utterly content.
Bea settled into her own chair and pulled out her book of choice from her bag – Nine Perfect Strangers. She let her hand linger in the bag, her fingers grazing the spine of the book she’d promised herself she would give to Dino tomorrow. Meeting Oliver Bennett.
It’s time to move on, she reminded herself, again, as she placed Nine Perfect Strangers on the table in front of her.
A man wearing a crisp button-down shirt appeared opposite her and, after some initial introductions, Bea dived straight into detailing the masterpiece before her. Each time the timer sounded, she explained to fresh-eyed book lovers how hilarious yet poignant the book was. How she thought it was one of Liane Moriarty’s best. And while all of this was true, each compliment seemed slightly hollow, because all she wanted to do was talk about Meeting Oliver Bennett. She wanted to hold the book high above her head like a trophy, and yell at the top of her lungs, ‘If there’s one book you need to read this year, it’s this one. Not for the story, for the scribbles!’
But of course the only person she wanted to share it with wasn’t here.
A few people seemed interested in Moriarty’s latest and said they would come back to her. Others said contemporary fiction wasn’t exactly their thing (and Bea tried, with all her might, not to judge). While waiting for her next suitor, Bea snuck in a quick read.
Then a man coughed in front of her. Bea slammed her book shut, embarrassed to have been caught mid-read, even among this brood of bookworms. She looked up, and froze.
Matt. Cassandra’s Matt. Cassandra’s Matt who had had his life turned upside down by Bea (and, well, the whole blushing-bride-sleeping-with-topless-waiter thing). But somehow the strangest thing wasn’t that Matt was standing there before Bea with a slightly crazed smile plastered across his face. It was that his arm was linked protectively through the long, delicate arm of a blonde who was not Cassandra. She was short and wore heavy make-up and oversized black sunglasses despite the fact they were indoors. And it was night-time.
‘Scarlett.’ The blonde, who was definitely not Cassandra, extended her petite hand to shake Bea’s. ‘I’ve heard so much about you!’
‘You have?’ Bea stood to give Matt an awkward hug. ‘Matt, what are you doing here?’
‘I’m here as Scar’s plus one. She heard about the event through your sister—’
‘I was on season three of The Bachelor and your sister was somewhat of a mentor to me. It was actually Lizzie who came up with my entrance idea: arriving wearing boxing gloves and saying, “I knew you’d be a knockout!” Adrian went nuts for it, he was a massive boxing fan, even if I did get eliminated after the fifth round.’
‘Scarlett!’ Lizzie bellowed from across the room as she pranced towards them, arms open. ‘You made it!’ She pulled Scarlett into a hug.
Matt took the opportunity to lean around the pair of reunited friends. ‘Bea, it really is good to see you.’
Taking a step to the side, Bea replied, ‘Matt, you too. I can’t quite believe you’re here!’
‘I know, things have been moving pretty quickly with Scar. We met on Tinder while she was holidaying in Margaret River and I guess the rest is history. Although if anybody
asks, we are not a thing. She’s waiting for the official reveal in next month’s Women’s Weekly. Hence the sunglasses. But for now, I’m happy.’
Bea nodded knowingly, even though she had no idea what ‘official reveal’ really meant. ‘Well, you look happy, Matt. And I’m glad to see you happy. I can’t tell you how much sleep I’ve missed agonising over how things went down at your wedding. Did you get my apology fruit basket, biscuit bouquet and “I have no tact, please forgive me?” balloons?’
Matt laughed. ‘Yes, sorry I never thanked you. Between all the wedding gifts I had to return and then the lawyers, I just didn’t get around to it.’ He paused. ‘I think it was all for the best, you know. A part of me always knew Cass and I weren’t going to work out in the end. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I miss her, but I think we outgrew each other in the end,’ he paused. ‘I only wish she had told me herself, let me keep what little remained of my dignity!’ he said. ‘Just don’t beat yourself up about it all. You were a good friend. Too good a friend sometimes!’
‘Thanks, Matt,’ Bea said, and she meant it. She felt some of her guilt shifting. ‘How is she doing, anyway?’
‘Cass? According to her Facebook page she’s at some lavish detox retreat right now.’
‘Sounds like our Cass.’ They stood there for a moment, bonded together by their shared pain, and renewed openness to change. ‘I’m really glad you came, Matt. Now, why don’t you two get yourselves a drink? Oh, and there’s an epic cheese board too.’
Bea watched as Matt took his date’s hand and led her over to the bar, smiling as he leaned down and planted a quick kiss on the nape of her neck. Without thinking, Bea put her own hand to the same spot on her neck, thinking how lovely it would be to be the beneficiary of such warm and casual intimacy.
‘Mmm, totally.’ Bea listened diligently as a gangly young man who couldn’t have been more than seventeen years old enthusiastically described his own self-published memoir: Orange is the New Brunette: One Boy’s Life as a Ginger.