Page 1 of A Lot to Unpack
1
I sit up in bed, all of a sudden, and gasp.
Waking up is usually such a gentle process, sleepily stirring, slowly coming around as your eyes adjust to the light of day, but not today. Today it’s like flicking a switch. Today I’m quite anxious though, to be fair.
I grab the glass of water from the bedside table, briefly disoriented by the fact I’m not on my usual side of the bed – well, Ben doesn’t like to sleep next to the door, so he wanted to take the left while we’re here at the hotel. I wouldn’t read too much into it, except I remember the two of us watching a movie where the couple were arguing about who slept closest to the door, because that’s who would apparently get murdered first, and he didn’t say a word at the time, but I can’t help but feel like his actions have always spoken louder.
I clutch my glass in both hands, about to down the contents, when something hits me in the mouth.
‘Oh my God,’ I call out.
I look down into the glass and there it is, bobbing around like an especially minging ice cube. A retainer – Ben’s retainer.
‘Ewww…’
Ben appears in the doorway to the bathroom, brushing his teeth.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, toothpaste foam dribbling down his chin.
I hold up the glass.
‘Your retainer is… in my water,’ I tell him, not quite able to believe the words I’m saying.
‘Oh, sorry,’ he mumbles, totally unbothered, as he heads back into the bathroom to spit into the sink. ‘I forgot the case. I didn’t want to leave it on the hotel sink or sideboard. You never know what kind of germs are in hotels. If they shone a blacklight in here the place would light up like a Christmas tree.’
Not from anything we did, I think to myself, setting my glass back down on the bedside table, pulling a disgusted face at it as I do.
‘I didn’t think you would be drinking it,’ he says as he returns from the bathroom. ‘It’s almost time for the party. I’ll buy you a fresh one.’
He’ll buy me a glass of water. I’m one lucky, lucky lady.
We’re in a hotel in Leeds – my hometown – and while Ben might be concerned that the germ count is off the charts, it’s my stress levels that I’m worried about. We’re up here from London, where we both live and work, for my cousin Hannah’s engagement party, and while I’m sure her fiancé is lovely, and the party is going to be fabulous, I just know that I’m going to be plagued with questions about when it’s going to be my turn, and Hannah can’t hide her smugness that she not only managed to seal the deal first, but that she did it while she was still in her twenties. At thirty, sadly, I’ve missed the cutoff – I didn’t even realise there was a cutoff because, news flash, there isn’t.
Ben is staring at me, standing at the end of the bed with a towel wrapped around him – but not around his waist, like you would expect. It’s around his chest.
‘I think you’re nervous,’ he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed, picking up one of his green trainers from the floor. ‘You seem nervous.’
‘I’m not nervous,’ I reply. ‘I’m just… mentally preparing myself. For what’s to come. I already know it’s going to be a whole thing because, for someone who usually likes to make everything about herself, I know that Hannah is going to somehow make this about me too.’
He raises an eyebrow.
‘As long as we keep our heads down and just… smile and nod, we’ll get through it unscathed,’ I add.
He smirks and starts tightening his laces.
‘You worry too much about what people think of you, Liberty,’ he tells me.
‘You’re not wearing those, are you?’ I ask, ignoring his comments, getting back to the task at hand.
‘My trainers?’ He wiggles the offending footwear at me. ‘Yeah – it’s a party in a garden.’
‘It’s a garden party with a dress code, at a luxury hotel,’ I remind him.
‘Exactly. Grass. Soft terrain. You need grip,’ he points out. ‘These are my smartest ones – I wear them in the golf clubhouse.’
‘Golf?’ I repeat back to him. ‘We’re toasting an engagement, not teeing off. I packed you some smart shoes – please wear them.’
‘The dress code doesn’t apply to shoes,’ he replies.
