A corkboard appeared in our apartment kitchen. Sarah pinned color samples, business cards, and a photograph of the Amalfi Coast to it, and I added printed confirmations and reminders about payment dates. We argued over whether to hire a videographer and whether it was worth paying extra for flowers that would be thrown away by the next morning. Even when we disagreed, I assumed the disagreement meant we were still planning a shared future.
We had wanted to honeymoon on the Amalfi Coast since our second year together. Sarah had shown me pictures of cliffside towns and small restaurants with tables overlooking the water. I had promised we would go once we had saved enough, and we spent a year putting extra money into a separate account. When we finally booked our wedding, we began comparing flights and discussing whether to rent a car or use the trains and ferries.
Then one evening Sarah announced that she wanted to change the honeymoon to Bali. She said the beaches looked better, the resorts offered more privacy, and the whole experience would be less conventional. I was surprised because she had been the one who suggested Italy in the first place. I asked what had changed.
"Liam went recently," she said. "He showed me pictures. He said Italy is beautiful but kind of predictable, and Bali feels like you're actually doing something with your life."
I looked at her across the kitchen island. "Our honeymoon is supposed to be about us. Why is Liam's travel opinion deciding where we go?"
Her expression hardened. "He's not deciding anything. I'm allowed to hear somebody describe a place and change my mind."
"Of course you are," I said. "I'm just asking because we planned Italy together."
"You say that like we signed a contract." She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. "You always act like changing a plan is some kind of personal attack."
I wanted to explain that the location was less important than the way she talked about it. I would have gone to Bali with her, and I would have been happy to discover somewhere new together. What bothered me was that Liam's preferences had become the reason she dismissed ours. I tried to say so, but she shook her head before I finished.
"Maybe that's the difference between us," she said. "I don't want to spend my whole life following a spreadsheet."
The words hurt more than I wanted to admit. That night, I sat alone at the kitchen table with the honeymoon booking information open on my laptop. The lights from the corkboard reflected in the window, making the pinned photographs look like little pieces of a life someone else was having. I closed the laptop without changing the destination and told myself we would talk again when we were less tired.