calliemm

On my wedding day, I didn’t think about the true meaning of the minister’s words when she said, “till death do you part.” I don’t think anyone does. I never thought for a minute Bren and I wouldn’t get to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary. I always imagined my husband and I growing old together, living into our nineties, and peacefully passing away side by side, not unlike Noah and Allie in The Notebook. That’s not how our story would end, but our love would always and forever be unbroken.

June 1995

I turned thirty a few weeks before I met Brendan. My life was full; I was content, surrounded by good friends, work I loved, and the quiet freedom of not answering to anyone but myself. Being single didn’t worry me; if I had a biological clock, its ticking was so faint I barely noticed it. Well—almost. One afternoon, a regular customer at the shop I worked paused mid-conversation, looked at me for a minute and asked, “Do you think you will ever have kids?” I smiled, one eyebrow raised.

“Maybe,” I said, casually straightening the rack of clothes beside us. “I’ll probably wait until I meet someone I want to have a child with first.”

I didn’t know then that ‘someone’ would walk into my life not long after, and everything would change.

June 1995

Brendan was lean, fit, and tanned. His salty, sandy-blonde hair brushed a solid set of shoulders and framed his stunning blue eyes and beaming smile. He seemed familiar, but I didn’t know why. Maybe we had crossed paths, but surely, I would remember if we had. All I knew for certain was that I had to say hello.

I excused myself as I pushed through the noisy crowd toward him, holding my breath as a dishevelled guy in a shirt showing too much chest hair leaned into me,

“Wanna dance?” he said through bourbon breath.

“No,” I replied, nodding in Brendan’s direction. He was now standing near the bar.

“I’m with him,” I said, slowly pointing from me to my husband-to-be.

After all, I hoped we’d be dating by the end of the night. I was nothing if not confident back in the day.

Unaware of the elbow ribbing and nods in my direction from his rowdy mates, Brendan (whose name I was yet to learn) hadn’t taken his eyes off me, not even when I stopped and chatted with bourbon boy. I weaved my way over to him, stood squarely in front of him, probably a little too close, definitely inside his personal space, and took his hand in mine. I shook it and leaned in to introduce myself. Our bodies were pressed together by the noisy crowd pushing in to reach the bar. I asked why he looked familiar. He steadied me by lightly touching my hip as another patron pushed past us. Smiling, he told me he was a friend of a friend.

“I’m Callie,” I said.

“I know,” he replied, smiling, “I’m Brendan.”

“Nice to meet you, Bren.” I’m a chronic name shortener. Bren stuck from that night on. “Come find me later; we’ll have a drink,” I said, letting his hand go. Several songs later, he did, carrying two drinks. I asked how he knew what I was drinking.

“I asked the barman; apparently, you know everyone,” he said cheekily, handing me a Malibu and Coke.

“True,” I laughed as I raised my glass to his.

Before long, we were dancing. Michael and Janet Jackson, Smashing Pumpkins, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, and then Silver Chair, before things slowed down to Brian Adams ‘When a Man Loves a Woman.’ I think the universe was speaking to me.

The weather was mild for June, and it was noisy inside. We moved out to the balcony. I wore a soft, blue midriff top, jeans, and a denim shirt tied around my waist. He told me I was beautiful as I untied my shirt and put it on, and then he told me again. The conversation was easy between us. I asked if he was single, and he said yes. I got goosebumps, unsure if it was because of the chilly June breeze or him. I gave him my number as we left the club, and he promised to call. I looked back at him as my taxi drove away; he waved, smiling back at me. As I settled into the taxi’s seat, the faint staleness of one-to-many late-night fares was inescapable, and still, a grin spread across my face, impossible to contain.

By mid-week, Bren hadn’t called, and I was losing hope as I glanced at the phone each time I walked past it. My heart skipped every time it rang and hit the floor hard when it wasn’t him. Not usually the girl sitting by the phone waiting; that’s where I found myself, often, in the days that followed. I had almost given up when it rang on the Thursday night after we met. I answered on the fourth ring and recognised his voice straight away. He had a slow, easy way of talking. He was in no rush. Nor, I imagined, could he be rushed. In any case, I was sure the world would wait for him, and I doubt it would faze him if it didn’t. I was happy to hear from him. Slow and easy was fine by me. 

He didn’t ring to ask me out. He wanted to apologise for lying the night we met.

Mm!

He felt genuinely bad about it.

O-K!

There was a girlfriend.

Seriously?

He was sorry for not being honest with me. He said it was complicated, and he wished things were different, but he didn’t elaborate. Shit! I knew it was too good to be true. Bren repeated how sorry he was. I believed him. I said he was forgiven and told him he had done nothing wrong by me. His girlfriend, on the other hand, might see things differently. The night we met, he forgot he had one. I thanked him for calling to straighten things out and said goodbye.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Well, that wasn’t what I was hoping for,” I said to my sister, Deb, as I walked back into the lounge room.

We shared a two-story townhouse with her boyfriend, Andy. Their bedroom and bath were upstairs, along with the living room and kitchen, and mine were downstairs next to the garage. This meant I got the garage, adding enough space to house at least two and a half extra people if needed. But that’s another story.

“You were talking for ages,” she said.

“Yeah, he’s pretty easy to talk to,”

“What happened?”

“He has a girlfriend,”

“No! The little shit,” she half yelled. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s the problem,” I said. “I think he might be one of the good ones.”

I went to the freezer, grabbed a tub of chocolate ice cream, considered going down to my bedroom to eat it and then thought better of it. I handed Deb a spoon, sat beside her, and pulled half her crochet rug across my lap. I then proceeded to shovel spoonfuls of creamy deliciousness into my mouth.

“Where’s Andy?” I asked.

“Band practice,” Deb said, with her mouth half full.

We sat in comfortable silence and watched the end of ER together. It looked like Doug Ross was still my guy, for the time being, anyway. Shit!

The next day at work, two dozen long-stemmed red roses were delivered with a handwritten note that read—To the most beautiful woman that has ever entered my life, sorry.

“What does this mean?” I asked my boss, Trish, smelling the roses, as I handed her the card.

“I am not sure, but I think you’ll find out.” She replied, smiling, as she gave the card back.

A couple of weeks passed before I saw Bren again. I couldn’t stop thinking about him and felt terrible, because he had a girlfriend. I wasn’t interested in seeing anyone, no matter how perfect they were for me, if they were unavailable. It felt wrong thinking about him. Still, I found myself wondering what he was doing, often. I saw them across the road from my work one afternoon, and they looked happy enough. A pang of jealousy tightened in my stomach, and I told myself not to be ridiculous.

July 1995

“Callie! Hey, Callie!” I turned in the direction of the voice calling out to me and watched him excuse his way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, smiling as he moved toward me. I felt heat rise from my chest and reach my cheeks, blushing them pink. I was grateful for the cover of a dark auditorium as I steadied the hand holding my drink by slipping my other one under it, stopping the ice from clinking.

“Bren, I didn’t think I’d see you here. You like The Choir Boys?” I asked, not knowing what else to say, and then regretted it. Do you like The Choir Boys? Shit, that was lame. Why did he make me so nervous?

“Who are you here with?” He asked.

“My sister, Deb, and a friend,” I said. “I think you might know her, Tam Saunders.”

“Yeah, I know, Tam. Glutes!” He said, still smiling.

“OK!” I replied, one eyebrow raised.

“She’ll know what I mean.” He laughed.

He and Tam had compared muscles when bragging about their gym workouts the last time they ran into each other. One of Bren’s mates was a mutual friend, so they kind of knew of each other. It baffled me that Bren and I hadn’t met years before, given that we shared so many friends and acquaintances. Why didn’t I know him?

“What about you?” I asked.

“A mate, he’s out there in the crowd somewhere. Can I get you a drink before the band starts?”

“Got one. Thanks.” I said, smiling back at him as I raised my glass. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you again. How’s your girlfriend?”

“Still in the picture.”

My heart dropped—it had been a couple of weeks since he’d sent roses. Not pink ones or yellow, red ones. I thought it was a sign he might be single soon.

“How long have you been together?” I asked.

“Five years.”

“Oh, that’s a fair while.”

“Yep.”

“You think you’ll get married?”

“Might as well be already,” he declared.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I expected a yes, no, or maybe answer to the marriage question.

“Plans have been made.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was shocked.

“Oh Shit, you’re engaged?” I said, maybe a little too loudly, my heart sinking.

“No. No! I’m not.”

“I’m confused,’

“Me too.”

“No ring then?”

“Not yet,” he said, looking at the floor. “There have been conversations.”

A deep crimson flush shot across his very high cheekbones. Obvious even in the dim light.

“So, in the works maybe,” I said, tripping over my words.

“Not sure,” was all he said.

It was complicated, and I could tell he wanted to do the right thing. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. And his family adored her. Apparently, he had a lot to think about. After parting ways to find our friends, we ran into each other again at the end of the night. We chatted briefly before reluctantly saying goodbye. Neither of us mentioned catching up again because he wasn’t free to see me. I watched him disappear down the stairs and into the crowd spilling onto the street below. I felt sad as he walked away with his effortless swagger and oblivion to heads turning his way, hoping to catch his eye.

A few days later, he called in to see me at work, at Jodadi, a popular store in the middle of town. My heart thumped hard as I watched him get off his bike and set his helmet on the rest bars before leaning the bike against the shop window. I could feel the familiar hot sting of a blush rising in my cheeks and chest. I quickly checked the mirror beside the counter and ran a hand gently over the flyaways trying to escape my slick, high ponytail.

What was he doing here?

His tight-fitting blue jersey and matching nix left little to the imagination. He looked fit. I remember him telling me he had started training for short-course triathlons while sitting on the Poplars Night Club balcony the night we met. Shit! What was he doing here? Was he single?

“If I give you my number, will you ring me?” He asked, hopefully, as he went to leave, handing me a slip of paper with his number on it. Shrugging my shoulders ever so slightly, I said, “Sorry, I don’t ring boyfriends who aren’t mine.”
“I knew the answer before I asked, but I had to try. I want to get to know you better.” He explained.

“If you didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d feel the same.”

I told him I was going on holiday and would be gone for two weeks. We agreed it would be wrong to stay in touch when I returned. As he walked out the door, I worked up the courage to yell after him, “If you find yourself single anytime soon, you know where I work, you ring me.”

August 1995

I couldn’t visit Queensland’s sunny Gold Coast without driving past Point Danger Lighthouse or my old flat facing D-Bar beach, a short walk away. As kids, my sisters and I were amazed that you could stand on the lighthouse platform with one foot in Queensland and the other in New South Wales. When I lived there in my early twenties, I lived in New South Wales and worked in Queensland. The time difference played havoc in the summer months. Walking past the lighthouse to get to work each morning, I could almost see my sisters and me when we were little, standing in wonder on that platform. Today, decades later, Mum and I stood in the middle of that same lighthouse, with one foot in each state, and looked up, taking in the impressive height of the structure.

“Do you think this is the most phallic lighthouse you’ve ever seen?” Mum asked, laughing.

“I’m not sure; I haven’t seen many,” I replied, trying to stifle the giggles kicking to get out.

“Are we still talking about lighthouses here?” Mum laughed, looking at me cheekily, eagerly awaiting my reaction.

“Mum!” I protested. Trying not to laugh.

Other tourists were now taking a wide berth around us because we could not stop laughing. Very few people could make me laugh till I cried. Mum was one of them. And she could do it with a single look.

***

“You’re here!” Kylie yelled from her front door, clapping her hands as we pulled into her driveway. “Did you drive past your old stomping grounds?”

“You know me, can’t drive up here without doing a flyby my favourite places,” I said.

My cousin Kylie made her way over to the car and gave me a big hug. I patted her round belly gently and said, “You look like you’re ready to pop.”

“I am, any day now. Thanks for noticing.” She laughed.

“Hello, darlin’,” Mum said, “How’s Lynne?”

“Mum’s doin’ it a bit tough, Aunty Dolly. For her, not being here for the birth is almost as bad as having Chemo, I think. I know she feels better knowing you’ll be with me.”

Mum gave Kylie an extra squeeze.

“Where’s Kenny?” I asked as we unpacked the car.

“He’s gone to the shops to pick up some groceries. He’s doing Tuesday Night Bakey on Saturday night just for you two.”

“I love Tuesday night bakey; he is the only one that gives your baked dinner a run for its money, Mum.” I laughed.

“I know, but don’t tell Kenny he’ll get a big head,” Mum said.

“Too late,” Kylie and I said at the same time, laughing.

***

As it turned out, little Lochie took my entire two-week holiday to come into the world, ten days late. When we weren’t helping Kylie try to find ways to hurry him along, Mum and I frequented cafes and shopped in as many thrift stores as we could find while we waited. I had hardly thought about Brendan Maloney at all. When Lochie finally arrived, he was perfect, but because he was in no hurry, Mum and I had to head home the next day. I had to return to work and whatever else might be waiting for me.

I was only home a few days when Bren rang and asked if we could catch up on the weekend. He was single and hoped to take me to Black Head Beach for lunch on Saturday. I said yes. We lazed on a grassy bank overlooking the beach, under a tall pine tree, eating fish and chips and didn’t stop talking for what felt like hours. It was the best first date ever.

One week later, he surprised me at Mum and Dad’s. It was 7 in the morning. He had been surfing Crowdy South Side and said he couldn’t drive past our house without calling in. Bren hadn’t met Mum or Dad yet, and he thought today seemed the perfect day to fix that. I was still in bed and heard the distinctive thrum of his Volkswagen Beetle as it pulled up outside our house. Heart thumping, I knew I had about 30 seconds before he knocked on the door. Mum could answer and stall him. I jumped out of bed with wild, Crowdy hair sticking up in all directions. Why could I never find a hairband when I needed one?

As Mum and Bren chatted on the veranda, I ran about madly, holding my hair up in what would have been a high ponytail if only I could find a bloody hairband.

“Cal, it’s for you,” Mum said, not quite yelling. The house wasn’t that big.

Shit! I walked to the door, still holding my hair up in my hand. Bren’s eyes grew wide when he saw me. He was probably thinking, what have I done? Then they crinkled at the edges, and he smiled.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I said.

Standing in front of him, smiling like a crazy person, I blushed at him seeing me in my oldest, torn and tattered nightshirt. I had owned it for half my life, buying it with my first pay cheque when I was only fifteen. Navy and white stripes with a red line drawing of Sleepy beside a deep V-neck—it was threadbare, full of holes, and had one sleeve hanging on by a thread. It fell to mid-thigh, showing off a pair of tanned and toned legs. I was very attached to it. It would soon become his favourite thing for me to wear.

We ate Coco Pops on the veranda of Mum and Dad’s little fishing cottage, looking out over Crowdy Bay, chatting about how we would spend the day. Dad wandered out to say hello. For two men of few words, they chatted easily. That was it. Bren had met Mum and Dad and already knew my older sister Sue, her husband Mike, and their four gorgeous little girls, Kahli, Teagan, Jordon, and Tori.

Bren was good mates with Mike’s younger brother, Graeme, which is why he knew half my family before he met me. Not long after we started dating, I realised the first time I saw Bren was at Graeme’s wedding two years before. Deb and I had watched the riverside ceremony from afar as all our little nieces were flower girls. I remember thinking aloud, ‘Who is Graeme’s groomsman, and where’s he been hiding him?’ This made Deb laugh, and then she reminded me I had a boyfriend at home.

Bren met Deb and her boyfriend, Andy, when they returned home from Sydney a few weeks later. From day one, he was family. We had been officially dating for just over a week, and from our first date, we were inseparable.

Almost a year later, I met Bren’s mum and dad for the first time. The morning air was crisp, and the sky stretched out in a clear blue sweep over the beachside town of Port Macquarie, just north of Crowdy. Seagulls squawked overhead as athletes jogged past, while I stood at the sidelines, cheering Bren on.

I thought I had picked Bren’s parents out near the finish line, as they scanned the course with quiet pride. But I wasn’t sure if it was them. I was so nervous about meeting them, I had barely registered how well Bren had done in the race.

Neither the fact that he had a girlfriend when we met nor that I was six years older than him sat well with them. Which was fair, seeing they had no clue who I was. He had forewarned me many times in the months prior that they would take a bit of getting to know. I told him not to worry; I was great with parents. Bren ran to me when the race finished and gave me a sweaty bear hug.

“That was fun,” he said, shaking his hair, making sweat go everywhere, laughing as I dodged it. We were still laughing when his Mum and Dad walked up to us.

“This is Callie,” he announced, beaming. “Cal, this is my mum and dad, Margaret and Len.”

They smiled and nodded in my direction. I smiled back, hoping they couldn’t see my nervousness; I listened intently to the conversation as they chatted with Bren about the race. He asked if they wanted to join us for lunch, but they couldn’t. Len had to return to feed the animals, and it was a one-hour drive back to their farm. They hugged Bren goodbye and left. “Well, that was painless,” he said as he tucked into an orange quarter, balancing two more in the hand he was pushing his bike with. Swinging a backpack onto his back, he loosely wrapped his free arm around my shoulders as we made our way to the car.

“Yeah!” I said. “Fairly painless.”

This meeting marked the beginning of several awkward moments over the next couple of years as we all got to know one another. I often felt like I was on the back foot with Bren’s family, a square peg in a round hole. In the early years, I found fitting in at Bella Downs, the family farm, hard. I berated myself after visits for being too chatty, not chatty enough, too opinionated, and not voicing my opinion. I couldn’t find my groove. It felt strange. I had always been a people person, but wasn’t coming across that way.

“It’ll be hard for them to get to know you if you’re not being yourself around them,” Bren said.

“I know,” I said, “I just get nervous. After all, they think I broke up your last relationship.” I grimaced as I spoke.

“You didn’t.”

“Well, I know that, but they don’t. I’m trying hard to be myself, but it’s awkward.”

“They’ll love you just like I do, eventually, I promise.”

And there it was! The L-word. Everything would be alright.

September 1998

I knew something was up when we turned at Black Head turn-off. We were supposed to go to Forster, a little coastal town 30 minutes south of Old Bar, where we were now living together. I will never forget the day we moved into our little red brick house with its mission brown roof and trim. I unpacked the entire contents of the small flat we had shared into our new, slightly bigger home through tears while watching snippets of Princess Diana’s funeral. It was heartbreaking to watch those two young boys follow their mum’s coffin as we hauled boxes, and I unwrapped crockery and cutlery, placing them in their new home.

We pulled into the car park, stopping right in front of our old kissing spot overlooking Black Head Beach. The sky was clear, the kind of crisp blue that feels like a promise, and the air was surprisingly warm for early September. It was the third anniversary of our first date.

“This is where we first kissed?” I announced playfully.

“Is it?” Bren replied like he didn’t remember,

“I know it’s where I first saw your jocks.”

“What! How did you see my jocks on our first date?”

“You were wearing black lace jocks.”

“Was I?”

“Yep, when you stood up, the wind got under your skirt, and I saw your jocks, for the first time.”

“Not much to see then,” I laughed. I was in my Wonderbra and G-string era. “I don’t remember that at all.”

“Jocksie,” he said, shaking his head, “I can’t believe you don’t remember?”

“Well, you didn’t remember our kissing spot?”

“Did I say I didn’t remember?” he said, smiling.

“You’re such a torment.”

“Seriously, I want to spoil you this weekend. I appreciate you helping me while I’m training. Ironman is a team effort,” he said.

I threw my arms around his neck. Then, I kissed him hard on the mouth.

“Kissing spot,” I said, planting kisses all over his face until we started to laugh.

We often packed an overnight bag when Bren trained at Forster so we could make a weekend of it. After we unloaded our bags at the motel, I went shopping while he trained for a couple of hours before meeting me back at The Berkley.

“I’m making good use of the spa,” I yelled when I heard him push through the door of our room. “Come and get in; we have plenty of time before dinner. Maybe we should get takeaway and lie in the spa all night.”

“You can stop yelling; I’m right here, and no, we’re going out,” he laughed, leaning against the bathroom door jamb and biting into an apple.

After tossing his apple core in the bin, he wrapped a towel around my shoulders and swept me out of the tub. Patting me gently on the bum and pointing me toward the bedroom.

“Go and get ready. I know how long it takes you to straighten your hair,” he teased.

“You’re bossy tonight,”

“I hope you bought your high, high heels.” He yelled as he slid into the spa.

He loved heels. The higher, the better, preferably on me, naked. A walk on the beach followed dinner. Taking my shoes from my hand, Bren kissed me as we walked barefoot in the sand. Every so often, he stopped and kissed me again. We kissed a lot. It was a perfect starry night, clear and still, the sound of waves crashing on the shore the only sound to break the silence. My heart was beating out of my chest.

We were running out of beach, fast. If, as I suspected, a beach proposal on a starry night was coming, Bren would have to make it quick. We stepped off the sand onto the concrete pathway, and my heart dropped to my toes and bounced back into my chest, leaving the slightest sting. Tonight wasn’t the night! He handed back my shoes with a massive smile before we returned to the motel, hand in hand. Shit, my gut feeling had been off. Not that it mattered; I was happy just walking beside him. Bren started patting his pockets as we got to the foyer of The Berkely.

“I’ve got the key,” I said, rummaging through my bag to find it.

When I looked up from searching, he was on one knee, smiling brighter than I’d ever seen, his arms outstretched toward me as he nervously held up a small open box. He had taken me by surprise.

“Marry me,” was all he said.

“Yes!” was my answer.

Then I squealed as I jumped up and down. Bren slid a gorgeous bevel-set solitaire diamond ring on my finger, got up, swept me off my feet, and spun me around. It was official. I loved that he was still nervous, even though we had picked the ring together almost a year before. It was a sure bet that I was going to say yes. When and where the question was popped would be the surprise. My husband-to-be was not a predictable man. I loved that about him.

The first person we shared our good news with was my younger sister, Deb. She and Andy had moved home to be closer to family. We called in and saw her at work on our way back to Old Bar the next day. She looked up as we walked into her store, beaming.

“What have you two been up to?” she asked, smiling back at us, “you look like you’ve been up to something. Give it!”

With that, I held out my left hand. Deb squealed loudly and ran from behind the counter to hug us both, a reaction mirrored by Sue, Mike and the girls when we visited them to break the news. I wasn’t the only one who suspected something. After getting all the proposal details, Deb presented us with a stack of beautiful bridal books tied with a white ribbon for me and a bag of chocolate Caramello Koalas for Bren, his all-time favourite snack. Of course, Mum cried, and Dad said, “About time,” nearly shaking Bren’s arm off. Dinner at Crowdy was the perfect place to end our first day as an engaged couple. Mum and Dad happily shared how Bren had turned up at their door three days before, beers in hand, to ask for their blessing to propose. Bren rang his parents that night to share the good news and organise a BBQ to celebrate with them the following weekend. We chose not to have a long engagement. Six months was plenty of time to plan a wedding. And no, despite a few whispers, I was not pregnant.