How Not to be a Bride. Portia MacIntosh
brought them over for me. I mean, if I were the cynical type, I’d think Leo messaged my sister and asked her to give me some wedding magazines in an effort to get me to start planning it, because I’m yet to start, but I’ve just been so busy with so many other things. Let’s say I buy into the idea that Belle just ran into Leo at the fire station, it still doesn’t explain why these magazines are in perfect condition and the dates show they’re the latest editions.
‘And,’ she starts, even more excitedly, ‘there’s a wedding fair in town next week.’
‘Thank you,’ I say brightly. ‘But let’s get Mike and Rosie’s wedding out of the way before we start planning another one.’
‘Get it out of the way?’ my sister shrieks. ‘Mia, you’re so unromantic. It still baffles me that you write romance for a living. It baffles me even more that you’re getting married when you clearly have no interest in weddings.’
‘I don’t have “no interest” in weddings,’ I clap back. ‘I’m getting married, aren’t I?’
‘Where?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘When?’ she continues.
‘Next summer – I don’t know yet.’
‘Who will be your bridesmaids?’ she persists.
Ah, now I understand what’s happening here. My sister is just trying to secure her role as chief bridesmaid.
‘Well, I thought about asking the cousins – Meg, Hannah and little Angel…’ I start, teasing my sister a little by not immediately asking her.
‘Well, let me stop you there,’ my sister says, shuffling to the edge of her seat. ‘Auntie June has already vetoed that idea.’
‘Erm, Meg is 17 and Hannah is not only 19 years old, but she’s got a three-year-old kid of her own, so I’m pretty sure they don’t need Auntie June’s permission.’
‘Look, don’t shoot the messenger, but that’s what Auntie June said and they respect their mum’s wishes.’
‘Dare I ask why?’ I start, pretty sure the answer will only make me angry.
‘She’s worried you’ll dress them… like you.’
‘You can tell me what she actually said,’ I insist.
‘Like tarts.’
Nice. Good old Auntie June.
‘Well, OK, so obviously I’m going to ask you,’ I continue, on a more positive note.
Belle winces.
‘Surely you’re not worried I’ll dress you like a tart?’ I ask in disbelief.
‘I just feel that, after everything that happened when you were a bridesmaid for me…’ she starts. ‘You were just such a bad bridesmaid. And I don’t want you thinking I’ll be trying to settle the score or any business like that.’
‘Belle, that never crossed my mind.’
It’s crossing my mind now.
‘Oh. Well, I just don’t think it would be appropriate,’ she says firmly. ‘I just don’t see why I should help you with your wedding when you did such an awful job with mine. I mean, I’d do a great job, for sure—’
‘Fine,’ I cut her off. I’m not going to beg.
‘Well, who else can you ask?’ she persists, suddenly so clearly desperate for the honour, but not until I plead with her.
‘Belle, I’ve told you, I’m too busy to start planning it right now,’ I snap. ‘I should be working right now, in fact.’
‘OK, fine,’ she replies. ‘I’ll get going then.’
‘I’ll see you at Mike and Rosie’s wedding next weekend,’ I tell her as I walk her to the door.
Once my sister is gone, I sit back down on the sofa and eyeball the pile of wedding magazines, with all the smug, happy, white-wearing brides on the cover, who probably know exactly what they want from their big day, and they’ve probably known since they were, like, eight years old. I’m not like most girls. I haven’t been planning my big day since I was a kid. While most girls were draping net curtains over their heads and playing with dolls I was outside playing football with my friends or inside watching wrestling on TV. Even now, as an adult, I have no idea what I want my wedding to be like, and now I have the added problem of not having anyone willing to be my bridesmaids, because I don’t have any female friends. I’ve always just got on better with boys. I like video games, violent movies, listening to music full of profanity – all hobbies that make my sister, and girls like my sister, look down their noses at me.
I’m just going to concentrate on finishing this book, get Mike and Rosie’s wedding out of the way and then I’ll see about planning my own. You never know, attending a wedding might be just the inspiration I need to get me going.
After a long and heavily religious church service (which I definitely don’t want), and a trip to a hotel outside town on an open-top bus (which was not nice in October), we finally arrived at the reception. We’re pretty much done with dinner now and I already have a long list of things I absolutely don’t want for my wedding.
Rosie looks beautiful, as always – she’s just got this kind of easy beauty about her, whereas I have to spend hours putting make-up on to look alive – but two things I absolutely don’t want for my big day include having my hair piled up on top of my head like a Mr Whippy, held in place with a tiara, and wearing a big, white dress, with loads of ruffles and shit hanging off it and bits connecting to other bits in places that will limit my movement. Yes, Rosie looks great, so long as she stands still. The second she starts moving she looks so terribly uncomfortable, I feel sorry for her. Apparently she’s got some kind of contraption under her dress that she can use to help her use the loo without assistance, but unless it’s a hoist, I’m not sure it’s going to help her all that much.
This wedding is exactly what you’d expect a wedding to be – and it’s exactly how I’d write it, if I were trying to include every wedding cliché I could think of.
All in all, I wouldn’t say it was a bad day, just not my taste. The speeches were relatively painless, if a little cringeworthy, and the food was OK – I pretty much just picked at my roast dinner. It was just way too much food given I’m wearing such a tight dress.
‘You really do look amazing,’ Leo tells me, holding my hand over the table. ‘Your hard work has paid off.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘Kind of makes all those times I had to spectate you eating pizza feel worth it.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please,’ the DJ booms over the PA. ‘The bride and groom are about to take to the floor for their first dance.’
I’m sitting at a table with my parents, my grandparents, Leo and Belle – Dan’s the best man, so he’s up at the top table. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of being chill, given my surroundings. As soon as my gran clapped eyes on me, she told me I was too thin, like I knew she would – my granddad told me I looked great, though, like I knew he would, the sweetheart.
My mum and Belle immediately turn their chairs to face the dance floor, excited for what’s about to come. It’s not that I lack confidence, but the thought of having everyone watching me as I ‘perform’ my first dance makes me cringe. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a first dance that didn’t make me want to punch myself in the face until it stopped. As Mike and Rosie take to the floor, I allow myself to feel a little hope, that this time might be different, that this dance might impress me. But then a chimney sweep walks out onto the stage. He’s wearing a wireless mic, attached to his