Page 84 of A Lot to Unpack
‘Jordan?’ I say, aiming for breezy, as though she could be talking about one of my other men. ‘Oh. He’s… he’s not sure yet. He’s so busy with work stuff, in Leeds, he’s doing something new and it’s taking up a lot of his time.’
‘Hmm,’ she says, playing with the tassels on one of Mum’s decorative pillows. ‘You wouldn’t think he would be too busy for you though…’
‘He says he’s coming,’ I insist. ‘It’s just… if he gets held up… in his meeting.’
‘Right,’ she says, dragging out the word in a way that makes my back itch.
There’s a silence. Not long, but pointed. Then:
‘You know, we’ve all heard a lot about Jordan,’ she says. ‘Your mum has told my mum, who has told me…’
‘Oh, yeah?’ I say, carefully popping my flower back in its box, so that it’s safe.
‘Yeah,’ she says, smiling in a way that suggests she thinks he might be too good to be true.
It’s not that he’s too good to be true, I’m just too shit to hang on to him.
‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ she continues.
‘I can’t wait for you all to meet him,’ I reply. ‘He is real, you know.’
‘I never said he wasn’t real,’ she says, all innocent. ‘Just… you know, if you had made him up, that’s not unusual, I’ve seen it in romcoms.’
‘I didn’t make him up,’ I say quickly, too quickly, trying to awkwardly laugh it off. ‘He’s real. He’s… very busy. But he’ll try to come. If he can.’
‘All right, Lib, relax, I’m only messing,’ she says. ‘So… we still might see him tomorrow?’
I nod again, trying to smile.
I leave out the part where I know, with absolutely soul-crushing certainty, that we will not see him. Not a chance.
But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they believe he’s busy. That Hannah believes it, and doesn’t think this is me acting up because it’s her wedding, trying to steal sympathy, or attention or whatever. I want to show her that’s it’s all okay, so she can enjoy her day in peace, and I can go back to keeping my head down.
‘Well. If he shows, I look forward to meeting him,’ she says. ‘If not, I look forward to mocking you mercilessly until one of us dies.’
‘Thanks for the support,’ I reply, fairly sure she’s joking now.
She gives me a hug and heads for the door, stopping just before she opens it.
‘I can’t believe I’m getting married,’ she says.
‘It’s going to be great,’ I reassure her.
‘Yeah,’ she says, sighing, her shoulders relaxing.
I don’t know whether she came just to bring the flower, or to reassure herself I wasn’t going to be a problem, but clearly her work here is done.
Tomorrow’s going to be perfect and I’m going to be a contender for cousin of the year, because I’m going to smile, drink prosecco, make excuses for my fella who is so sad hecouldn’t make it, and then I’ll go home, back to my parents’ place and then…
And then I don’t know. Shit. But I’ll worry about that once the wedding is over.
34
The morning of the wedding is bright and crisp – cold, but not in a way that is unpleasant or wet or icy. The sky outside the hotel room window is actually blue, which is nice. There’s always a worry, with winter weddings, that they will be dull. Well, not in this family, but you know what I mean.
We’re at a country hotel just outside Leeds, the sort of place with grounds and deer wandering about like they own the place, and really tiny, fancy little foods, rather than the cosy staples you want at this time of year. I can’t remember what food I chose, but I know that it wasn’t fish and chips, or steak and ale pie.
I’m here, I’m in my silky mustard dress – as per the dress code for women. Men are to wear black suits, which is easy; most men have a black suit. I did not, however, have a mustard dress, so I had to buy one. Not sure I’ll ever wear it again, but at least I’m not a bridesmaid, so I got to choose a fit that suits me. April, Hannah’s bestie, is wearing her mustard bridesmaid dress, and it’s far too frilly for my liking. I’m so glad she never asked me.
