“Thanks.” Elise hesitates, then awkwardly comes forward and pecks me on the cheek. “Bye, Becky. Thanks for all your help.”
When she’s gone, I sit down again and look at my piece of paper, trying to concentrate.
But I can’t stop thinking about what Elise said.
What if she’s right? What if there are loads of people out there, all trying to get us presents and unable to?
Suddenly I feel a fresh stab of fear. What if they abandon the attempt in frustration? Or what if they all buy us nasty green glass decanters, like the one Auntie Jean bought for Mum and Dad that still gets brought out every Christmas?
This is serious. I pick up my phone and speed-dial Luke’s number.
As it rings, I suddenly remember promising the other day to stop phoning him at work with what he called “wedding trivia.” I’d made him stay on the line for half an hour while I described three different table settings, and apparently he missed a really important call from Japan.
But surely this is an exception?
“Listen!” I say urgently as he picks up. “We need to register! We can’t put it off any longer!”
“Becky, I’m in a meeting. Can this wait?”
“No! It’s important!”
There’s silence — then I hear Luke saying, “If you could excuse me for a moment—”
“OK,” he says, returning to the phone. “Start again. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is, people are trying to buy us presents! We need a list! If there’s nothing for them to buy, who knows what they might get us!”
“Well, let’s register, then.”
“I’ve been wanting to!” I squeak in frustration. “You know I have! I’ve been waiting and waiting for you to have a spare day, or even an evening—”
“I’ve been tied up with things,” he says, a defensive edge to his voice. “That’s just the way it is.”
I know why he’s so defensive. It’s because he’s been working every night on some stupid promotion for Elinor’s charity. And he knows what I think about that.
“Well, we need to get started,” I say. “We need to decide what we want.”
“Look, Becky. Do I really need to be there?”
“Of course you need to be there! Don’t you care what plates we have?”
“Frankly, no.”
“No?” I take a deep breath, about to launch into a tirade along the lines of, “If you don’t care about our plates, then maybe you don’t care about our relationship!”
Then, just in time I realize, this way I get to choose everything exactly as I want it.
“Well, OK,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
“Ha-di-ha. Well, all I can say is, you’ll be sorry when I put you in a pink tuxedo.”
“You’re right,” says Luke. “I will. Now I have to go. Really. I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.”
I put down the phone, reach for my coat, and pick up my bag. As I’m zipping it up, I glance at my piece of paper again and bite my lip. Maybe I should stay here and think a bit more, and try to come to a decision.
But then… whether we get married in England or America, we’ll need a wedding present list, won’t we? So in a way it’s more sensible to go and register first — and decide about which country to get married in later.