Don't Mess With The Rock Chicks

Chapter 5

　　“No, I do know it says non-refundable,” Emily closed a window to block out the music from next door. Owen’s band was using the house to practise in again. Cars had been rocking up all morning, and the street was lined with beaten up, paint-challenged vans and Utes. Surely there was not so many people in the band? What were the rest of them there for? “But it says, non-refundable unless you manage to rebook the venue on that day.

　　“Now, I know for a fact you have waiting lists because I was on one. The date is still six months out. I am sure if you call one of the brides who were also on that waiting list, someone will want the venue on that date. Hell, if you give me the list of phone numbers, I will call them for you.”

　　As she moved through cancelling the many bookings that they had made for the wedding, Emily was learning to be pushy. People who had been only too happy to be helpful and answer any question they had, who had been always cheerful and pleasant to deal with, showed another face when it came to getting refunds.

　　Emily wondered again why she was the one having to call around and deal with the unpleasantness of cancelling, when Owen was the one who had ended their engagement. There was an unfairness with being left to untangle the mess of their lives when she had not been the one wanting to end it that burnt her oesophagus like acid.

　　Owen had not asked her about the renovations, or the refunds, nor had they discussed the joint credit card bill. On Megan’s advice, Emily had withdrawn half the money from their joint savings account and changed her pin on her personal account. It had felt odd doing so, however. Owen had always been the person she trusted with these things. To suddenly switch to not trusting… It didn’t sit right.

　　Had he done the same, barring her from his accounts? He had not touched the joint savings account, yet. She monitored it, waiting for some sign from him and trying to interpret whether him not doing anything was a sign that this separation was just transitory. A phase. Cold feet. An early midlife crisis. All the things her friends and family had told her it was when counselling her to be patient and wait it out – Owen would come round, they assured her. It was them, after all, Emily and Owen, they belonged together.

　　He was her beneficiary on her life insurance, she remembered. She probably was meant to change that too. What other things was she going to have to change that she had not yet thought of? The breadth of what lay before her was overwhelming, and she chewed on her resentment as she waited for the customer service representative to return to the line.

　　The front door opened. “Hey!” A woman called out cheerfully.

　　Emily stepped out of the kitchen where she had been pacing with her notebook before her and looked down the hallway in shock.

　　The wedding singer Cordelia stood in the door, the long line of portraits of smiling Owen and Emily framing her against the green of the front lawn, like arrows of accusation. Cordelia’s face fell. “Oh, s**t, sorry, wrong house,” she said as she made a hasty exit, not even closing the door behind her.

　　Emily strode up the hallway and slammed and deadbolted the door behind her, and then rushed to the front window to watch as Cordelia loped across the lawn in platform high heels and a too tight pleather mini-skirt to the other house. How dim-witted did you have to be, Emily wondered maliciously, her heart racing in a chest too tight, to not realise the house all the band noise was coming from was the house you were meant to be at?

　　The neighbours were out in force, watering gardens that didn’t need watering, washing cars, walking dogs… watching their houses for the ever-unfolding drama. Her broken heart entertainment for virtual strangers.

　　“Look,” she growled into the phone as the customer service representative returned to the line and began to repeat his excuses. “I know it has nothing to do with you, and I am trying very hard to remain reasonable, but I am starting to think I am the only one who is. My fiancé called off our wedding, moved into the house next door, and quit his job. He is joining a band with our wedding singer, yes, you heard that right. He is sleeping with our wedding singer… Yes, just like the movie. Now I am here, trying to pick up the pieces of this absolutely… Thank you,” she closed her eyes, tension releasing. “I appreciate it. Yes. It is awful. Thanks again.”

　　She sighed as she disconnected.

　　There was a knock at the door. She groaned and banged her head against the wall in frustration, fighting back tears and wanting to tear her hair out. She glowered at the door. The knock came again, somewhat more hesitantly.

　　“Alright, I am coming,” she complained as she slid the deadbolt back to answer it. She almost wished it was Cordelia back again, as she wanted to unleash her outrage on someone. She could feel it building up within her, like she was a kettle reaching boiling point. She threw the door open, prepared for battle.

　　Owen ran his hand through his hair, setting the dark curls into disarray. He had a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks, which gave him a dangerous, slightly rough edge, and set off his blue eyes. He was, frankly, gorgeous, and it pissed her off that she was noticing that now that he was no longer hers.

　　“Em,” he said before the door was fully opened, uncomfortable, annoyed and apologetic. “Cordelia said she had knocked by mistake, and I wanted to say that I am sorry about that, and I hope we are not being too noisy. I know it is a bit… disruptive.”

　　“Which part?” Emily snapped, and burst into tears, which annoyed and frustrated her. She wanted to be angry, not sad, but the grief of it, seeing him before her, was tight around her heart. She pushed the tears away with the back of her hand, almost dropping her phone in the process. “Having this house on constant availability for the real estate agent to bring potential buyers through? Trying to ring around all the vendors for the wedding to cancel? Trying to separate our lives because you don’t want to share them anymore? Or having the wedding singer who I think you are sleeping with just walk into the house, unannounced?”

　　“s**t,” he glanced over his shoulder at the other house, and then stepped in closing the door behind him. “Em,” he put his arms around her and leaned his chin on her head, the way he had done since he’d had his growth spurt in the fourth grade and begun to tower over her. “I am sorry. I have been caught up with the band, getting the songs written, practising so we can record them… I have sort of left everything else to you. Which isn’t fair.”

　　She had been thinking the exact thing, she thought. As always, he seemed to read her mind. She laughed wetly against his shirt. “What part of this is fair?”

　　“Look,” he stroked her hair. “I have got a few more hours to work with the band, and when they head off to go get food, I will come over here, instead. We will order pizza, and share a bottle of wine, and make a list of what needs to be done. Alright?”

　　“No,” she said miserably. “None of this is alright. But, yes, I do need to talk to you about things, like the credit card, and the real estate agent, and what happens if the house sells…”

　　“Okay,” he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Okay, just chill out for the afternoon, hey, Em? I will come back, and we will sort it out.” Before she could answer, he was gone, closing the door behind him.

　　Chill out? She was so far from chilled out, if she touched wood, it would probably burn.

　　He had been so eager to get away, she thought wretchedly, as if she were an unpleasant task he had been putting off, like a visit to the dentist.

　　The music resumed next door and she groaned and fled through the house to the spare room.

　　She had stripped out the wedding stuff, managing to sell much of it online. Gone were the pretty little place markers, the guest gifts, the bridal magazines. Gone were the wedding boards and lists she had been using to keep track. The fabric samples, the paper samples… gone. She leaned against the door frame with a sigh. Just like her plans for the wedding, for the future, gone.