Page 2 of A Lot to Unpack
‘What are you talking about? Of course it does!’
He shrugs.
‘Liberty, I’m telling you, you need to care less about what people think. You’ll never be happy if you’re constantly worrying about appearances.’
This coming from the man currently tweezing his nose hairs in the mirror. With my tweezers.
‘And you need to stop using my tweezers for that,’ I tell him. ‘They’re for my eyebrows. Not digging around in your nose. Use the trimmer I got you.’
‘I don’t like it,’ he says, inspecting the monster hair he just yanked out. ‘It makes me feel old.’
‘You need to care less about what people think,’ I tell him, mocking his North London accent.
He finishes up and drops the tweezers back into my bag without giving them so much as a wipe. Then he steps into his suit trousers, still with his towel wrapped around his body, like I haven’t seen him naked hundreds of times.
I finally swing my legs out of bed, avoiding eye contact with the retainer cocktail I sipped, and psych myself up for the day.
It’s a lunch party, thank God, which means with a bit of luck it’ll be over before we know it, and we can escape into the city for dinner and maybe a drink or twelve to decompress.
It’s not that I hate my family – well, not all of them. I love my parents. But my cousin Hannah and her mum, Auntie Eleanor, are not easy to love. Not unless you like passive aggressiveness and feeling bad about yourself, at least.
I think the problem comes from Hannah and I both being only children, and the only two of our generation, so everyone has always compared us to one another, pitted us against each other even, and we’ve always been so different that that was never going to go well. Hannah was captain of the netball team, so bubbly and confident, whereas I was more shy and preferred to hide from the world by getting lost inside other worlds – books.
Everyone knew Hannah. No one knew me, and I liked it that way. But when you’re unknowingly participating in a popularity contest, that doesn’t work out all that well for you. At school Ialways got top marks – of course I did; I read every book I could get my hands on – so maybe that’s why Hannah and Auntie Eleanor always leaned into other things being more important – things that would go with us into adulthood. Things like getting married first and/or before turning thirty.
Honestly? I try to let it go over my head. So what if I’m thirty? I have a job that I love, a good boyfriend, and we’ve talked about marriage (as a concept at least) and I’m sure it’s on the cards, for the future, when we’re ready. But why rush? I’d rather get married at fifty, when I’m sure, than thirty, only for it to end in divorce.
‘Are you going to be a while, getting ready?’ Ben asks, buttoning his shirt.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ I tell him.
He leans over to kiss me so I move my lips to meet his, only to realise he was actually leaning over me to grab his watch from the bedside table. His watch – a vintage Omega one that his grandad left him – really carries his outfit sometimes, to the point where, as uncomfortable as Ben might look in a suit, the watch adds a level of style and sophistication. Even I have to admire it. Apparently, the face used to be white, but they’ve all discoloured and changed over their lifetime, giving each watch a unique look. Ben’s is a vibrant orange shade now, with a crackled pattern – sort of like tiger bread. I don’t think he loves the look of it all that much, but he knows it’s expensive, so I think that’s why he wears it. And then, of course, he wears an Apple Watch on his other wrist, which undoes all the hard work of wearing a stylish watch. I love a smartwatch, but a man wearing a watch on each wrist looks mad.
‘You’ll be fine. Just smile and nod and drink all the prosecco,’ he tells me.
That’s not a terrible idea.
‘Thanks,’ I say, grabbing my dress, ready to become a blur of hair and makeup and clothes. If I only had time for one, I think it would be the makeup. Today definitely feels like a day for war paint. Today, I don’t want to give anyone any excuse to say I wasn’t present, or that I wasn’t happy for my cousin – and I definitely need to make sure I don’t give anyone any excuse to think I’m jealous. If anyone thought I was jealous of Hannah marrying Samuel, the kind of guy who lives up to the donkey in his name, I would be mortified. He’s one of those guys who always manages to say the wrong thing, who puts his foot in it whenever he can, who always seems to find the words to offend.
Ben throws on his suit jacket like it’s an old hoodie, tugging it over his shoulders with the sort of enthusiasm usually reserved for putting out the wheelie bin.
‘Can I go watch the football in the bar while I wait for you?’ he says, already halfway out the door.
‘I won’t be long,’ I point out, unrolling my heatless curls. ‘I only need to cake on my makeup and put on my dress…’
‘I could catch the first half, please,’ he says, giving me big sad eyes, like I’m keeping him from visiting a dying relative, not sitting in a hotel bar watching a bunch of men running around a field.
‘Fine,’ I say with a sigh. ‘Go on then.’
‘You’re the best,’ he replies, leaning in for a kiss that is mostly on my nose. ‘I’ll meet you at the party, I won’t be late.’
And boom, he’s gone – as fast as his trainers will carry him. Fantastic.
Ben and I have been together for a couple of years – living together for a few months now – but we work for the same company so we spend a lot of time together. Sure, there are things about him that drive me kind of crazy, but being in an adult relationship means overlooking those little things and focusing the stuff that matters. Nobody is perfect, right?
I head into the bathroom to get ready and immediately stop in the doorway because… wow. The place is a mess.
There are beard hairs pretty much everywhere. In the sink, on the sink, somehow under the sink. Oh, and I can’t even count how many towels he’s been through.
