“Happy Birthday!” Jamie walks towards us grinning, welcoming us into the restaurant where we had our wedding breakfast last year and where we’re eating with friends before my 30th birthday party begins later this evening.

Or so we had thought.

Aaron walks ahead of me, tension hanging between us, everything still feeling rather raw.

I try my most relaxed, most polite smile, wracking my brain for the least awkward way to pass on the predicament we seem to find ourselves in.

One of those I wish the ground would swallow me up moments.

Here goes.

“So, we forgot to invite our friends,” I say. I hear the implication in my voice that doesn’t allow Aaron to defend himself: he forgot to invite our friends. But it’s too late to take it back now and, anyhow, Jamie doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay!” she says without her warm expression changing, A* worthy Drama skills activated – a skill firmly in the locker of any great waitress.

“Which means we won’t need the table of twelve,” I confirm. “There will be six of us though,” my tone is uplifted – if only slightly – grateful for my two best mates checking in on the pre party plans in the group chat midweek.

Aaron stands just ahead, my silver ’30’ helium balloons bobbing expectedly in the air above him.

We’re a sorry sight, to say the least.

“That’s perfect!” Jamie exclaims. We all know the situation is anything but, but it’s essential for social etiquette that we allow it. And so I offer a smile. If anything, I’m sure we’re all silently relieved the table of twelve is being downgraded to a six and not a two.

“There’s a table of six right there in the corner for you,” she says, almost as if this was always the plan; as if I needn’t feel any embarrassment for inviting Jamie into our awkward birthday faux pas.

Well, at least someone’s invited.

Just twenty minutes ago, Aaron and I were in the taxi on our way over to the restaurant when I said, “I can’t wait to have my bride gang back together again.” The plan was to have a couple of hours with my bridesmaids (Courtney, Sarah, Rachel, Tarryn) and bridesman (Callum) and their +1s before we headed over to the main event.

“So Cal, Taz and Rach are all good to meet us at the restaurant?” I asked, knowing Courtney and Sarah were already on their way.

“I don’t know,” Aaron replied.

I laughed. “Oh right,” I played along. “You didn’t invite them, yeah?”

Aaron continued, “No, I didn’t.”

A pause.

“You did,” he said carefully.

Aaron and I searched each other’s faces for the, “Aha! Joking!” punch line.

Neither of us could find it.

The air was still. I’m sure I even saw the taxi driver tighten his grip on the steering wheel.

I stared ahead for the remainder of the journey, trying to work out how Aaron and I ended up in this miscommunication blunder.

When I tell the events of the evening later on at the party, I claim to have kept my composure.

Aaron rightly points out that I was so silent he didn’t know if I was about to cry or file for a divorce.

Thinking back, I’m not sure I knew yet either.

“I’ve got another 10 years to wait before I can make this up to you on your 40th,” Aaron exclaims, comedically flopping his head into his hands.

We’re back in the restaurant and Aaron and I have nearly found our way back to our senses of humour. Making the most of my slight change in tone, Aaron brings out his phone and intentionally angles it so I can see his message to Courtney and Sarah, “Hurry,” it says.

Looking around our friend-less table as I sit in a not-so-subtle frock with my, ‘It’s all about you’ sash folded up in front of me, I give myself a talking to: You can either (continue to) throw a strop or find this funny, Kat. I turn to Aaron whose eyes are pleading for the latter and we choose funny, letting out such a giggle that I swear I see Jamie’s Oscar-worthy this-isn’t-awkward-at-all expression transition to well-thank-God-for-that for just a moment.

Courtney, Tommy (Courtney’s husband) and Sarah join us soon enough, Charlie (Sarah’s husband) heading over in an hour’s time after the football. We eat tapas and sip cocktails, all pitching in periodically to make jokes at the situation’s expense and often more specifically at Aaron’s.

The thing is, it wasn’t all that long ago, Aaron and I were joined by 50 of our absolute best mates in this restaurant. A restaurant where, as we stood up to make our wedding speeches, our nearest and dearest banged on the tables and cheered so hard, I thought there had been an admin mess up and we were accidentally headlining Glastonbury. This restaurant already holds such special memories for us and I, a week on from our 30th birthday snafu, now know this is another memory I’ll be cherishing for a while.

Until Aaron makes up for it in ten years’ time, that is.

Charlie soon joins us, ordering an Estrella when he does and plonking himself down to complete my favourite kind of table of six.

“I was expecting more people to be here,” he remarks.