Fast Forward (19 page)

“Oh, well of course we’d give you a discount, Elaine.”

“Oh, thanks.” She placed a hand on her tulle heart and sighed. “You and Will are so lucky.”

“What do you mean?” My champagne tube hesitated near my mouth as I awaited an answer.

“I was watching you two before. He’s just as much in love with you now as he’s always been. You’re very lucky.” We both glanced at Will who was comparing fake muscles with someone dressed as The Hulk, even though Max Sheldon outdid them both hands down with his natural muscles.

“Um, thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“You know what, Kel? I often wonder … if I could go back in time and make different decisions, would Peter and I still be together? If I’d followed my dreams instead of casting them aside in the hope of being the perfect wife and mother, maybe I wouldn’t have resented him and myself and things would be different. I just wish I knew.”

Elaine was more deserving of a fast forward than me, or in her case, a fast backward, or a random rewind or something like that, so she could live the life she’d wanted and possibly save her marriage. Why was this phenomenon wasted on me? “What were your dreams, Elaine?”

“You know, become a chef and open a restaurant, or even a little cake shop with cake decorating classes on weekends, make beautiful wedding cakes, birthday cakes, the lot. But Peter’s important job with the police department and his unpredictable schedule would have made it impossible to manage that plus the kids, and it’s not like we could have afforded a nanny.” She took a swig of champagne. “It was easier to put my cooking skills to use in the home. Sometimes I wonder though, if my family knew how good they had it. How good they
have
it.”

Wow, this woman had literally pushed her dreams aside for her family. She was practically a saint, but her sunken smile and tired eyes told me this wasn’t something women should aspire to. What good was she to others if she wasn’t totally happy with her own life? Women should go after what they want, and surely there were ways to manage a family and a lifelong passion. I’d done it, hadn’t I? The future me, I mean.

“It’s not too late, you know. What’s stopping you from opening that restaurant or cake shop now that the kids are older?”

She flicked her hand towards me and chuckled. “Oh, not this conversation again. I’m just too tired now to start anything new.”

“But if you’re passionate about something, surely that passion would feed your energy?”

“Maybe … ah, I don’t know. I should probably just let things be. I’ve got a good life, a healthy family. I shouldn’t complain. Anyway, tonight’s about you, so when are you opening your presents?” Elaine’s face changed to a somewhat forced expression of excitement and I felt sorry for her. I almost wanted to give her my birthday cake and tell her to make a wish that would send
her
back in time.

“I’m not sure, I guess Will or Ryan will tell me when it’s time for that. They seem to have everything under control.” I attempted a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Elaine asked.

I squirmed a little. “Yeah, it’s just that I’m wearing this …” I leaned in close to her ear, “support underwear and it’s a bit on the tight side. Plus I really need to go to the ladies room.”

Elaine gave me a knowing smile. “Why do you think I wore this ghost costume tonight?” She laughed and I tried to join in but that only put more pressure on my bladder. “Well you better go now while the guests are preoccupied with each other.” I shot her a worried look and her eyes widened. “Do you need me to … help?”

“Oh, God no.” Was she serious? I mean, I was used to changing into different outfits with a small audience around me, but that was when my body easily slipped in and out of things. Now it would be like sumo wrestling with myself—not something I particularly wanted an audience for. “I mean, I think I’ll be fine. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, maybe you could come and check on me?”

“Deal.” Elaine winked and I wandered off towards the bedroom ensuite, which was the only bathroom I knew the location of in the house. As I passed the kitchen, a caterer cut a bunch of fresh chives with scissors, sprinkling the green flecks over mini pancakes topped with cream-cheese. I walked over to her.

“Excuse me, could I borrow those for just a few minutes?”

“The chives?”

“The scissors.”

“Oh, well of course. Just give me a second.” She cut up the remaining chives then washed the scissors and handed them to me, curiosity on her face.

I gestured to my bedroom. “Just remembered something I forgot to do earlier. Have to, um … cut something.” I scooted off before I sounded more ridiculous and the fact that earlier she had seen me half naked and in the midst of being strangled by rip-proof fabric meant she knew exactly what the scissors were for.

I was really busting now, so I quickly closed the bathroom door—but didn’t lock it in case an emergency rescue was necessary—then eased the dress up towards my hips. It didn’t need to be all the way up, just enough that I could get at the support suit with the scissors to cut a strip either side to free things up a bit and be able to weasel the knickers down enough to do the deed. Getting them back up again … well, I’d deal with that when the time came. If absolutely necessary, I could wait for back-up to arrive in fifteen minutes.

I held onto the fabric and positioned the scissors on each side, before pressing down to snip the suit. Only it didn’t snip. I tried again, but the scissors only slid sideways as though blunt, which they weren’t because I’d distinctly heard the sharp snipping sound when the caterer used them.

Bloody, bloody hell
.

I tried stabbing part of the fabric with a sharp corner of the scissors, but it only stretched the suit, not even unravelling a single thread of the triple-woven-rip-proof-piece-of-crap-weapon-of-mass-destruction. If I ever got this suit off, it could be rolled up to double as the heavy duty stretchy rope that William had wanted from the hardware store.

I tried and tried and tried to break through the fabric, but the material was obviously cut-proof as well, at least in terms of regular kitchen scissors. Maybe I needed a surgical scalpel. I even considered hollering out the bedroom window to my lycra-clad neighbour to ask if I could borrow her garden clippers, but I needed to go to the toilet. Now. I put every ounce of strength I had into lifting the support suit to the minimum height necessary and after beads of sweat moistened my forehead and track marks appeared on my thighs from my fingernails, I did it.

I took as deep a breath as I could and reached my arms underneath to start attacking the support knickers and if it wasn’t for my strong desire to go, I would have given up. Eventually they cooperated and I managed to create a small channel of freedom to comply with the anatomical requirements of the situation.

A minute later I met with relief, until I had to reverse the movements for the second time tonight, but at least I only had to go part of the way. To humour myself I tried the scissors again, which was a complete waste of time, although that didn’t really matter because it meant I would be slightly closer to the elusive birthday cake/happy birthday singing/make a wish time of the evening.

Despite probably needing some dressings—or perhaps skin grafts—on my fingernail-induced wounds, I emerged relatively unscathed from the bathroom, discarding the pathetic excuse for scissors in the kitchen on the way back. Before I turned to walk back to the living room, aka, Party Hub, a large white cardboard box standing on the kitchen bench took my eye. The caterers were busy facing the other bench, so I sneaked behind them and gently lifted the lid on the box just a fraction.

My birthday cake!

I couldn’t make it all out but it appeared to be a model of a water fountain, with twinkly decorations dangling from the top like sprays of water. One large candle protruded from the top and my eyes lit up as though candles themselves. If I could just light it, I could make a quick wish and this party, this life, would be just a memory. In minutes I could be waking up in my fresh organic cotton sheets, stretching my limber arms and sauntering to the bathroom to smile at my twenty-five-year-old face in the mirror …

“Mrs McSnelly!” The caterer I’d stolen the scissors from flicked the lid closed and I blinked and jumped back in surprise. “You go back and enjoy your party, you mustn’t be in the kitchen. No more peeking, okay?”

I dipped my head in shame like a schoolgirl caught skipping school and with the help of her gentle yet firm hand on the small of my lower back I scurried back to the party where Elaine looked anxious.

“I was about to go in after you!”

“It’s okay, I survived, but the damn thing is scissor-proof!”

“You tried cutting yourself out of it?” Elaine’s ghostly eyes rounded and she looked quite eerie.

I nodded and she shook her head with a chuckle. “Oh, Kel, you poor thing! Do you think you’ll get through the night?”

“Hopefully. But I’ll just go easy on the food and drink. I can’t be having to do that every hour or so.” I wiped remnants of sweat from my forehead.

“Actually, I’m thinking I might have a similar problem, only I have too much material.” She eyed her costume and lifted the layers. “How am I going to lift all of this? I don’t even know if I’m going to fit in the bathroom.”

I looked at my friend’s concerned face and she looked at my sweaty face, and we burst out laughing. “We make a funny pair, you and I,” she said, draping an arm around me as we walked towards some guests who were feigning fright at Elaine’s costume.

An hour later I mentally kicked myself at not having the willpower to resist the delicious food and drinks on offer. You’d think I would have learned after my last trip to the bathroom, but somehow my subconscious—or my stomach—seemed to be in control, making me eat everything that was offered. Elaine asked if I was sure I had enough room in my stomach, to which I replied “I’ll make room,” popping another mini cream-cheese pancake into my mouth. Big Night Caterers had done a fine job and if I remembered when I got home I’d invest in their company. Not that I knew how one goes about investing, but I could find out.

I glanced around the room at my guests, all laughing, talking and eating, and noticed Ryan approaching Bungy Ben in his frog/snake outfit outside in The Galaxy. His mouth opened to speak, but another young man went up to them and joined the conversation, and Ryan’s body stiffened at the intrusion. I was about to go out there in the hopes of luring the young man away for some reason I hadn’t decided on yet, when Will’s voice took over the room.

“Attention please, everyone,” he said into a thin silver stand that was obviously a microphone. “I’ve taken the liberty of creating a little quiz in honour of this milestone in Kelli’s life, so bear with me while I pass around a barcode for you all to scan into your e-pads. Then you can open the quiz answer sheet on your screen.” Will walked around the room with a small card and multiple beeps ensued as people scanned the card into their e-pad. Even Mr and Mrs Caveman had e-pads, although their colour matched their fabric sashes.

Hang on … you can change the colour of your e-pad? I quickly opened my menu and clicked on ‘settings’, scrolling down until I found ‘e-pad appearance’. Sure enough, a choice of colours was available. I clicked on ‘red’ and instantly my e-pad strap transitioned smoothly to a shiny red to match my dress. Nice!

I held out my e-pad when Will approached but he skipped me. “You don’t need to do your own quiz, honey, you can just listen and enjoy.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

Will took his place again at the microphone and cleared his throat. “Okay, time to find out who knows Kelli the best! Anyone who scores one hundred percent gets a special treat from the lucky dip,” he said, pointing to one of the waiters who held up a round receptacle and shook it gently. “So, this is how it’s going to work. I’ll read each question aloud and you’ll have a brief amount of time to choose an answer. I’ll reveal the correct answers as we go along. I’ve programmed your answer sheets to automatically tally your scores at the end of the quiz, so there’ll be no cheating.” Will eyed Ryan.

“Hey, why are you looking at me?” Ryan defended. “Are you suggesting I don’t know enough about my own mother?” he said with a tinge of sarcasm.

To be honest, he probably knew more about me than I did.

“Let’s begin,” Will said in his best game show voice. “Question one: What is Kelli’s middle name?”

Ha! I took back what I said about Ryan knowing more about me than I do. This quiz would be a cinch!

Regina, aka, Marilyn Monroe sidled up to me. “So, what is it, hon?” she whispered.

“Hey, no cheating, Regina,” Will scolded with a determined glare.

“Oh come on, it’s what I do best,” she replied and I didn’t know if she was being literal or cryptic with that comment.

I made a show of zipping my mouth shut to deter potential cheaters, as Will continued. “Okay, time’s up. The answer is … Diana. Kelli Diana Crawford and now Kelli Diana McSnelly.”

I flinched, but wasn’t sure if that was because I still wasn’t used to my hideous surname or because of my mother’s name being a permanent part of my own.

“Oh darn it, I put down Diane instead of Diana, I knew I shouldn’t have listened to you, sweetheart,” my father-in-law Homer Simpson said, playfully nudging his wife in the ribs with his elbow.

“Question two: What was Kelli’s career before starting KC Interiors?”

Ha! Another easy one. Shame I wasn’t being tested, I really wanted a surprise from the lucky dip.

“And the answer is of course … she was a model.”

I put my hands on my hips and flashed a pout, although inside I coiled at the phrase ‘was a model’. I still am!

“Question three: Where did I propose to Kelli?”

Okay, I take that back about taking that back about Ryan knowing more about me than I did. I bet he knew this
. Will had probably told our children a million times if it’s important enough to be included in the legendary Quiz About Kelli.

Guests whispered and multiple eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The room looked bizarre with the holographic screens floating in front of everyone and I wondered how and where Will actually did propose. I bet it was a traditional down-on-one-knee at my favourite restaurant kind of proposal.