Page 6 of Storm in a Teacup
Julien is up in Leeds for business, which is part of the reason why we chose to have the bridal shower this weekend.
“Sure,” Kensie says. “Shall we make a pitstop for wine?”
We stop in at a Tesco for a cheap bottle of white before getting on a bus to head toward Mel’s place. Mel and I sit side by side with Kensie behind us, the garment bag draped over our laps.
“I cannot believe I am taking my wedding dress on a bus,” she moans. We don’t have a car with us, so it was either the bus, the tube, or a cab—and cabs are more expensive than buses. So here we are.
Once we get back to Mel’s flat, we change into sweats. Kensie borrows a pair from Mel, groaning in relief when she removes the heels she chose to wear today.
“They went with the trousers!” she argues when Mel gives her a hard time. “I have no shoes besides those heels that go with those trousers. Linny, do you have any crystals that will help my feet?”
“The crystals can’t erase poor decisions,” I say, twisting the amethyst band I wear on my right ring finger. “I don’t generally travel with ones I can’t wear, anyway.”
“Damn,” Kensie exhales.
We all pile in front of the TV. Kensie suggests a romcom or some show calledCrestwater, but Mel says, “No, no, let’s watchBuffy.”
So, we turn onBuffy the Vampire Slayer, a show all three of ushave seen more than once all the way through. Mel’s current rewatch has placed us in season two, so the debate of Angel versus Spike comes up, Mel arguing how Angel is good for Buffy and Spike is not, to which I counterargue that when Angel doesn’t have a soul, he isthe worst, and when Spike doesn’t have a soul, he’s annoying at best but capable of good and remorse, something soulless Angel is not. It’s an argument we’ve had many times before.
Kensie laughs along, saying, “I’m only here for Daddy Giles.”
Mel squirms in her seat. “Ihatethat you call him that.”
“I love it,” I say, sipping my wine. “Daddy Giles all the way.”
Kensie cackles. “I will never not call him that. I may be a lesbian, but Daddy Giles can get it.”
Mel shoves her lightly. “Shush, you.”
I settle back into the couch. I love hanging out with Mel and Kensie, and miss them when I’m home, but I also love my life in Edinburgh. It’s been my home for five years and I have no plans to leave, despite Mel’s constant begs for me to move to London. My dad lives here, and it’s where I was born, but it doesn’t feel like home.
When Auntie Carolyn mentioned she was considering closing the shop, I knew I couldn’t let that happen. So, I moved to Edinburgh from Syracuse, New York, where I grew up, and it instantly feltright.
It’s just a shame I’m alone there.
…
The presents have all been opened and the games have all been played, so now I am sitting in the emptying event space where we held the bridal shower, nursing my drink. Mel is off handling the barrage of people coming up to her offering their best wishes forthe fourth or fifth time, though I suspect all she wants to do is go home and look through her gifts. She hasn’t given me the “Rescue me!” signal yet, so I assume she’s fine.
I locate Kensie standing in a separate corner of the room in deep conversation with another one of the bridesmaids, Imani. I know Mel’s other bridesmaids, but none of them as well as Kensie. Kensie, on the other hand, is friends with all of them, which makes sense. She’s the one who is truly a part of this group. I’m the American cousin who lives up in Scotland.
My aunt Wendy, Mel’s mum, slides into the seat next to me, pulling my attention away from the friends I should be trying to make. I noticed her carefully walking across the room, but was unsure if she was approaching me.
She pats my leg. “Hi, love. You alright?”
I sip from my drink. “Fine. The bridal shower came together nicely, don’t you think?”
“It did. It did.” She focuses on me, pushing her glasses back atop her auburn hair. “How are your eyes?”
My jaw tightens. “Functioning as best they can,” I answer.
I don’t want to talk about my eyes, but it’s her favorite subject. Good for her, I suppose. Aunt Wendy and I share the same neurodegenerative eye disease, Retinitis Pigmentosa. Long story short: we’re going blind. RP equals loss of night vision, peripheral vision, and eventual total loss of vision. I’m having a great time with it. I really enjoy having my world slowly shutter around me, degrading bit by bit as the years go by. Makes things interesting, all that impending darkness.
She uses the topic as a bonding method, which is fine, but I would appreciate it if we could talk about something else.Anythingelse. I was hoping her attention would be too ensnared by Mel and the wedding to bring it up today, but that does not appear tobe the case.
“Same, same,” she says. “I heard about a trial they’re doing in the States…”
I try not to zone out as she talks, but she does this every time we see each other—asks me how my eyes are, then proceeds to tell me about a trial they’re doing concerning RP that more often than not deals with a different type than we as a family even have. It’s cool that there are people out there working on a cure, but it’s hard to listen to when they’re really nowhere close to having a solution. A fix. An end to this.
