How Not to be a Bride. Portia MacIntosh
swallow my cocktail the wrong way, spluttering as I laugh to myself.
‘Was it 420?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ she says quickly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘420 blaze it,’ I laugh. ‘No? Its just a joke, he’s just trying to be funny.’
‘I don’t think it’s funny,’ my auntie says seriously. ‘I suppose you do?’
‘I mean, I get the joke,’ I tell her. ‘He’s just being a silly kid, don’t worry. You can’t get high rolling up an Andrex.’
My auntie shakes her head.
‘Look, I hate to say this,’ she starts, and I just know that, if she’s saying it, she’s happy to say it. ‘But I seem to remember a certain someone letting him watch a Quentin Tarantino movie when he was just ten years old…’
‘Oh my God, you’re never going to let that go, are you?’ I say. ‘So I let the kid watch Pulp Fiction – I don’t even think anyone smokes a joint in that film. It’s mostly cocaine they’re doing. If he starts snorting lines of talcum powder in the bathroom, then you can blame me.’
No one is amused by this, apart from my granddad who chuckles subtly.
‘I’m going to go and find Leo,’ I announce as I push my chair back, carefully readjusting my dress to make sure I don’t flash anyone. Well, that’s one of the things about strapless dresses – one false move and there’s nothing to hold them in place.
Tonight I’m wearing a black Alexander McQueen dress with mesh panels that I think is beautiful, but which my mum deemed inappropriate for a family wedding. I bought this dress back when I was living in LA, when I could afford dresses like this. So, sure, it’s like five years old, but it’s couture and it fits, so I’m happy. I feel a little bit like the old me – just enough to make me happy.
‘Mind if I borrow him?’ I ask Belle, who is still dancing with Leo.
‘Sure,’ she replies. ‘I could do with a drink anyway.’
‘You cutting in?’ Leo asks me.
‘Erm, more like cutting you out,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s find somewhere to sit, that isn’t near anyone I’m related to, and chill out?’
‘Sure,’ he replies.
The dance floor is in the centre of the room, under a large disco ball, pinging off different coloured lights in all directions. Making a ring around the dance floor are the tables we all sat at to eat; then, around the edges of the room, a few sofas are dotted. Leo and I find one away from everyone else and sit down. Leo sits back with one arm stretched out along the back edge of the sofa, so I cuddle into him, resting my head on his chest.
‘So, promise me we’re having a chimney sweep at our wedding,’ he says.
‘Oh God, wasn’t that weird? My granddad says it’s tradition, for luck.’
‘The funniest bit about it is that, during the song, when we were all pretending they were chimneys and dancing around them, he gave Rosie a kiss – but because he had all that black stuff smeared on his face, he left her looking like she had a black goatee. They mustn’t have had a dress rehearsal, because she was fuming when she realised.’
‘So, we’ll probably give that a miss on our big day,’ I laugh.
‘They make a cute couple, right? I mean, he’s a dick, but he makes her happy,’ Leo muses.
‘Yeah. Mr and Mrs Ryan – Rosie Ryan,’ I say, to see how it sounds out loud.
‘Sounds like a superhero… or a porn star… or both,’ he laughs.
‘It does,’ I giggle. ‘But it works.’
‘Does Mia De Luca work?’ he asks.
‘Erm, it just sounds like something an Italian would say,’ I laugh.
‘Well, it’s something this Italian is going to be saying for the rest of his life.’
Leo smiles, until he notices the look on my face.
‘What’s up?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I lie.
‘Mia, I know when you’re lying, your voice gets much higher.’
I bite my lip as I wonder whether now is the time or the place to tell the truth.
‘Well, I’ve been thinking, and I’ll probably just keep my name.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s my name,’ I say.
‘Your real name or your fake name?’ Leo asks.
I grew up Mia Harrison, but when I moved to LA and reinvented myself, I legally changed my name to Mia Valentina, because I thought it sounded more the part. Now that I’m writing novels for a living, Mia Valentina makes a great pen name too. I just feel like it’s my name. It’s my identity and I’ve worked hard for the achievements and reputation that go along with it.
‘My “fake” name is my real name, you know that,’ I remind him.
‘Hmm,’ he says, taking his arm from around me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘I just think it’s interesting… it seems to me like you haven’t thought about getting married at all – other then deciding you don’t want to take my name.’
‘Hey.’ I turn my body to face Leo, placing my hand lightly on his cheeks. ‘Leo, I love you so much, and I’m so hyped to marry you. And I know you think I’m not thinking about our wedding but… I’m going to a wedding fair next weekend.’
‘Really?’ he asks, looking visibly relieved.
‘Yeah, Belle came over last weekend and brought me a stack of wedding magazines, and told me about the fair, so I’m gonna go.’
‘That’s awesome,’ he replies. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Are you sure you want to? Aren’t you working?’
‘Nope,’ he replies. ‘And I’ve love to come. I’m just so relieved. For a second, I was worried you hadn’t been thinking about the wedding at all.’
I grab Leo and kiss him to reassure him that I love him. I do love him, so much. I’ve just been so busy and so distracted, but I will go to this wedding fair and I’ll make a start on planning the wedding, and it’s all going to be great. I just need to make more of an effort, to show him I’m serious.
Yesterday I went to a wedding fair with Leo, so today I am browsing for jobs online, because weddings are so expensive and my unreliable income isn’t making me feel confident about being able to get married next summer, like we planned.
Everything at the fair was just so expensive and, for the most part, so stupid. I appreciate that rings, venue hire, food and drink are very expensive but unavoidable costs of getting married. But things like giant chocolate fountains, men who pose as topiary and to-scale ice sculptures that look like the happy couple are just excessive.
To say that it was just a money issue would be a lie. The truth is that working from home is so boring, and I spend so much time alone, that I think it would do me good to find a job in a place where I could make friends and see people every day. On quieter days the only person I see is Leo, and if you knew what a social butterfly I used to be, you’d know how hard I’m finding spending so much time alone these days.
So far, I’m not having much luck. I’ve looked at all kinds of writing jobs, from journalist jobs to copywriting gigs, but there’s