Jessica returned home from work that Friday afternoon to a scene that felt almost cinematic. The heavenly aroma of Italian food—a rich blend of garlic, tomatoes, onions, and herbs—filled the air, while the bittersweet strains of Joshua Kadison drifted softly from the speakers. Her fiancé Scott emerged from the kitchen with an exuberant, “Hello, darling!” enveloping her in a warm hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek.
“Hi, Scott,” she greeted, tossing her handbag onto a side table. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the restaurant tonight?”
With a mischievous grin, Scott replied, “I took the night off. I’m the boss—if the staff can handle it, so can I!”
Jessica laughed. “Fair enough! So, what delicious treats have you whipped up tonight?”
“It’s almost ready. Come on in to the kitchen,” he said, leading her along. As they entered, Jessica noted the set table, the softly flickering candles, and a bottle of wine waiting in the dining room.
“Ah, so we have a special occasion?” she teased.
Scott’s cheeks warmed. “Sort of. Just enjoy dinner tonight, and I’ll explain later.”
Shrugging, Jessica added, “Okay. Need any help, or do you have everything under control as usual?”
“Under control, darling—of course! What else could you expect?” he replied.
Jessica sank into one of the chairs around the kitchen table, watching Scott move with practiced ease as he put the finishing touches on the meal. “It never ceases to amaze me,” she mused, “how true lovers of cooking—like Maman and Père—bring their restaurant home on closed nights.” Inhaling deeply, savouring the tantalizing aromas and Scott’s graceful, busy movements, she allowed herself a small hope: This will be a good marriage. We’re the best of friends—maybe that’s enough this time.
“Come along, sweetheart. Go sit in the dining room; I’ll bring the meal in,” Scott called.
Moving to the dining room, Jessica smiled at the elegantly set table: jade-green plates, polished silverware, fresh flowers, and flickering candles arranged with care. Looking out the window, she saw tall trees lining the fence like proud sentinels, and a gentle serenity washed over her. Moments later, Scott returned bearing plates of freshly broken focaccia, herb bread, and bowls of creamy mushroom soup served in rustic sourdough bowls.
They sampled the fare in companionable silence for several seconds before Jessica broke in, “Mmm, Scott, this is wonderful!”
“It’s a new recipe—I wanted to try it out for the restaurant,” he explained.
“It should do really well. Superb!” she said, taking another spoonful. “So, is tonight just a trial run?”
Scott offered a sheepish grin. “Well, yes—though only the most beautiful lady in town gets to be the first to try it!”
As they bantered about trivial town gossip and the amusing antics of Scott’s staff, the conversation meandered over a robust seafood salad and a delightful berry tiramisu. When they finally lingered over coffee, Scott cleared his throat.
“Jessica, I need to talk to you about something.”
With a playful smile, she teased, “Oh? Was dinner meant to butter me up?”
“You might say that,” Scott began, shifting to the chair beside her. “Jess, it’s about the wedding.”
A ripple of unease passed through her. “Ye-e-e-s?”
Scott hesitated, his uncertainty evident despite having rehearsed this moment in front of his mirror that afternoon. “Jess, I really hate doing this after everything you’ve been through, but…”
“But you don’t want to get married anymore,” Jessica finished for him, her tone steady even as she fought back a surge of frustration.
Gently, Scott brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “Jess, please don’t take this the wrong way. I want to marry you so badly, but I can’t.” He let his hand rest on hers. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I’m gay.”
For several long seconds, Jessica stared at him in stunned disbelief. Then, quietly, she rose from the table and moved to the window, gazing out at her carefully tended garden. Every harsh word she’d been about to say evaporated into the night air. In that silent moment, her heart broke a little for him. She could only imagine the turmoil he’d endured trying to live up to society’s expectations.
What’s the kindest way to handle this—for his sake? she wondered. Humour. Laughter might be the gentlest medicine. And for herself, having mended her heart one too many times, she resolved that one more break wouldn’t be her undoing.
With a deliberate effort, she giggled.
In the window’s reflection, Scott caught sight of the slight tremor in her frame. Alarmed that he might have ruined everything, he stepped behind her, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. “Jess?” he asked softly.
Startled, she spun around and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder to muffle her giggles. Confused yet relieved, Scott returned the embrace.
“Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry!” she managed between giggles. “I know it’s not really funny, but I just can’t help it!”
Slightly exasperated, Scott stepped back and slumped into a dining chair. “Well, funny is better than a meltdown, I suppose.”
Her laughter subsided at his half-chiding tone, and Jessica returned to the table, sitting beside him. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she asked, “So… what made you decide to come clean?”
After a long sip of coffee, Scott met her gaze. “It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. You’d eventually get hurt by all the town gossip, no matter where we lived. And me… I’ve tried denying it for far too long.” He paused before continuing, “I kept putting it off because I thought a third broken engagement would be too much for you.”
Touched by his earnestness, Jessica cupped his face. “I suppose it does explain why you never wanted to go to bed with me,” she teased gently.
Scott shifted uncomfortably. “Well, uh, yes.”
Unable to stifle another bout of laughter, Jessica chortled. “Oh, Scott, the things we do, huh? So—have you, er, found somebody else?”
“Jessica!” Scott exclaimed, feigning indignation, which only sparked another round of giggles. “What do you think I am—a whore? I was about to marry you, for heaven’s sake!” He paused, still bemused by her mirth. “But, there is this guy I met at the last Caterer’s Association dinner in Pokolbin…”
Jessica roared with laughter again. “Oh, Scott!” Between hiccups, she managed, “so I guess the next question is… what now?”
“What do you mean?” Scott asked?
Jessica clarified. “Cancel everything?”
“I already canceled most of it,” he replied quickly, reading her puzzled expression. “I only had to cancel the celebrant and the hotel in Sydney. We were handling the invitations ourselves, and my restaurant was set to cater.”
Jessica sighed and poured herself another cup of coffee, her tone growing more serious. “Thank you, I guess. It would have been a lot to do all by myself for the third time.”
“Jessica,” Scott said gently, taking her hands once more, “I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but you’re my best friend. If I thought a marriage of convenience would make us happy, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But you deserve so much more than that, and here I am—a selfish little brat, perhaps—but I do love you. As much as any gay man can love a woman, I treasure our friendship and I never want to lose you.” He paused, searching her eyes. “So… friends?”
Jessica rose and pulled him into a warm embrace. “Oh, Scott, I’m surprised you even had to ask! You’ve given me so much happiness, and I wouldn’t fault you for being true to yourself.”
“I hardly know what to say, Jess. This isn’t how I imagined it,” he murmured.
“I’m full of surprises, Scott—you know that,” she replied softly.
“Indeed I do,” he said, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “Now, why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll take care of the dishes and come see you afterward.”
Nodding, Jessica made her way to the bathroom, quietly battling the sting of tears for yet another shattered dream. Don’t be silly, she chided herself, you can hold on until Scott leaves.
After her shower and her nightly routine, she descended the stairs to find Scott in the kitchen. Resting her head against his back, she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you, Scott. It really is okay, you know.”
Turning to face her, Scott rested his soapy forearms on her shoulders, careful to keep his hands soapy hands away from her. “Promise you’ll still talk to me?” he asked, his voice heavy with regret.
Inside, Jessica thought, This must hurt him as much as it hurts me. We both built castles in the air with our hopes for this marriage. “Don’t be silly,” she replied. “Of course.”
“Do you want your keys back?” he teased.
“Scott!” she laughed, pulling back. “We’re cancelling the engagement, not declaring war!”
“Sorry, sorry—just checking,” he said, returning to the dishes. After placing the last plate in the rack and drying his hands on a tea towel, he turned back to her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Absolutely,” she assured him with a smile. Scott couldn’t help but notice the quiet elegance in her whiskey-brown eyes and the gentle curve of her smile, though he sensed a wistfulness behind it. If only, he thought.
“Look, you head off now. I’m sure you’ll want to call your new paramour in Pokolbin and share the news,” Jessica said as she grabbed his hand near the hall table and picked up his keys. “Go on—don’t wait until tomorrow to start your new life.”
Standing on the front step, Scott turned back and brushed a knuckle against her cheek. “I’m truly sorry, Jess. I should never have proposed. I just wanted so badly to be normal.”
Her heart ached for him. “You are one of the most normal men I’ve ever known, Scott. Don’t ever change.”
With a sigh, he replied, “Thank you, Jessica. Sleep tight and be happy—you deserve it.” And with that, he was gone, his long legs striding toward his car, his blonde hair gleaming in the moonlit night.
Jessica waited until the red taillights disappeared before locking the door and retreating to her bedroom. From a cupboard, she retrieved her Favorite old teddy bear—worn and patched from years of comfort—and climbed into bed. The bear silently absorbed her tears as faint music continued to play in the lounge. Jessica listened until she realized it was still the Joshua Kadison CD, and soon the bittersweet lyrics of “Amsterdam” filled her mind:
“Well, here I am in Amsterdam
As winter waves good-bye…
Almost seven in the morning
And I’m walking all along
And the moon’s still in the sky.
And I have to laugh just thinking how
I’ve never found a home.
Pillows, yes, to lay my head
But I’ve mostly been alone.
Oh, Amsterdam, can you tell me what kind of man I am
A walker in the rain, a dancer in the sand,
Or just an insane music man?
All I really know is I don’t understand
I’m just waking up alone in Amsterdam.
A boy I see in the window there
I can’t help looking in
As someone’s arms pull him back to bed
I’m thinking what a fool I’ve been.
And the moon is trapped in an old canal
Like a madman in a cell
And I’m thinking how I’d like to know
Just one place very well.
Oh, Amsterdam…”
A quiet resolve settled over her. “Never again,” she vowed softly. “Enough is enough.” It wasn’t merely the loss of a prospective husband—it was the end of a dream. Though they would remain close friends, she would no longer allow herself to be lost in the fantasy of a perfect love.
The next morning, having begun to mend the sorrow of the previous night, Jessica called John and Yvette Robertson to accept their offer to manage their small, exclusive store, “L’atelier d’artiste,” in Adelaide. Within days, she said goodbye to her friends and to Scott, listed her house for sale, and moved all her possessions to Adelaide. A new beginning beckoned—with one promise echoing in her heart: But no men. No men.
The Auld Skald's Fudgel 