Page 85 of A Lot to Unpack
Today is going to suck, frills or not, let’s face it. It should have been my big redemption arc. Me swanning in, fresh back from New York, fancy new job, handsome man on my arm.That was supposed to be the story, after what happened at the engagement party. It was going to show everyone that I was okay now. That what happened in the summer was just a blip, not who I was. I guess I was hoping that, if people were going to be talking about me, it would be for good reasons, rather than gossiping about what happened before. I don’t want to be known for that – as the dick pic girl, who exploded with rage by the toilets.
I can already feel the glances. Is that Liberty? Didn’t she have a bit of a breakdown last time? And maybe I’m imagining it, maybe this is me projecting, but I’m already tired of defending myself in my head. I know things are bad when I’m rehearsing my arguments.
I’m currently in Hannah’s hotel suite, sitting in a velvet armchair in the corner, sipping prosecco – the breakfast of champs.
Hannah’s sitting centre stage, in front of the mirror, checking her curls are still secure. She seems calm but excited. Not nervous at all.
The room is full of women – everyone giddy and full of prosecco, so you can imagine the volume level. My mum, her usual breezy, chatty self, is passing around pastries, which will hopefully sober up some of the older ones, but leave me with my buzz, the one that’s going to get me though the day. Auntie Eleanor is perched on the edge of the chaise, sitting awkwardly, trying not to crease her outfit. Gran looks gorgeous in her twin set, with her big hat (not as big as Auntie Eleanor’s though – hers is so big it’s got its own seat by the door). And then there’s April. Hannah’s best friend. Who had a wedding in the south of France last summer that, if you believe her, was attended by a minor royal, a footballer, and two runners-up fromLove Island(different seasons – not sure why that matters).
‘I mean, yes, technically we had fireworks,’ April continues, examining her nails, ‘but classy ones, not tacky ones. We flew in an opera singer from Rome – you really struggle, to find quality in the UK these days… although I’m sure your wedding will be great, Han.’
‘Thanks,’ Hannah says with a smile.
I think I’d be taking offence from that, but why get upset on your wedding day?
‘No one had fireworks back in my day,’ Gran says. ‘Well, not unless people had too much to drink and started spilling family secrets.’
‘Remind me to buy you a few cocktails,’ I joke.
She gives me a wink.
‘I really can’t wait,’ Hannah blurts. ‘I don’t even care about the fireworks. I just want to be married. Honestly. I know it won’t always be perfect, but we’re going to buy a bigger house, have babies, start our family right away, not leave too long between each kid.’
‘How many do you want?’ Mum asks.
‘At least four,’ Hannah replies.
‘Wow, and I thought one was a handful,’ my mum jokes.
‘I was an angel,’ I protest playfully – although I’m sure I was. I’m more chaotic as an adult, to be honest with you.
It’s nice to hear that Hannah has a plan. She knows what she wants and she’s starting strong, going all out to get it. Sure, it might not pan out that way, but she’s looking to the future and she’s excited.
My heart feels heavy. I have no relationship, no job, no dreams – no hope.
And of course I’m sitting in a room full of married (or very soon to be) women. The one sad single girl listening to everyone being excited for the future, or reminiscing about the past.
Whatever way I look, it makes me feel sad. I feel like a tornado, leaving chaos in my wake, knowing I’ll destroy wherever I head next – but not the wedding, I’m going to be on my best behaviour today. I want things to be perfect for Hannah. That’s why I’ve told people Jordan is still held up, but he sends his apologies.
My brave face is firmly on, now I just need to work out the prosecco dosage to keep it there.
It’s going to be a long day.
35
I’m taking a detour, on my way from the hotel to the events building, to grab my mum’s lipstick from the car.
My dad rolled his eyes and told her to wear one of the other six in her handbag – which could be an exaggeration or it could be true – but she’s bought a special one, to match her mustard dress, so I volunteered to go grab it, just to have a breather, to get away from the wedding chaos, even if it’s only for a minute.
It’s a bit of a trek to the car park, where the event parking is. It’s out of the way, in a sort of woodland clearing, under the canopy of the trees. Even bare, they’re so tall, it’s like being in a cage.
I don’t have a coat on, because we were only supposed to be walking to the events area, and I didn’t want to be carrying a coat around with me all day. My God, it might be a bright day, but it’s freezing, and the deeper I walk into the woods, the darker it seems.
There’s no one else around, just rows of cars catching pops of light filtering through the trees, and it’s so silent, the kind of quiet where your ears start looking for things to hear, imagining all sorts.
You know that old question: If a tree falls in a forest and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound? Does that apply to all noises? Because I’ve got all this stress and frustration inside of me, and this feels like a good spot to just… let it all out.
What about if a woman screams into the void, mid-breakdown, on the morning of her cousin’s wedding? Will anyone hear it?
