Page 87 of A Lot to Unpack
‘I know,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry she dragged you into it. But I also know you, Lib. You wouldn’t hurt me. Or anyone. Not on purpose. That’s not who you are.’
I’m trying not to cry but I can feel my eyes filling up. Oh, I have far too much eye makeup on for this, unless I want to turn up to the ceremony looking like an emo.
‘She’s always been like this,’ he continues. ‘Jealous, ruthless, manipulative – impossible. I realised I couldn’t work with her any more. Not even with the Atlantic between us. So I sold Matcher to her. Cashed out, to start again, but on the condition that I could poach the team I wanted, because I’m starting something new. Collaborating with RedFlags in Leeds. We’re building a new dating app – one with a rating system, so that bad users get strikes against their name. Red flags – or maybe even “icks” for lesser offences. Fewer creeps. More accountability. It will be bigger and better than Matcher.’
‘Like TripAdvisor, but for people who date?’ I joke.
‘Exactly,’ he replies. ‘And it means I’ll be in Leeds for a while.’
‘Oh, really?’ I reply. ‘And am I one of the people you poached?’
‘No, of course not,’ he replies firmly. ‘Paige already sacked you – you’re a new hire. If you want a job? I already know your references. I’ll ignore Paige’s, obviously.’
My smile grows.
‘I’d love that.’
He takes my hand and shakes it playfully.
‘Good. Look, I know we should probably talk more, about everything, but later, yeah? After the wedding?’
‘Shit, yes, the wedding, we’d better go,’ I say – my mum will just have to do without her lipstick. I’m sure she would rather wear a slightly different shade than have her daughter walk into the ceremony late.
We turn together and head back towards the hotel, our footsteps in sync. Just as we reach the doors to the function suite, the music inside starts to play. Oof, crisis averted. Imagine if I’d walked in late, with Jordan. Hannah would’ve thought I was doing it to show off.
Inside, we slip into our seats, with seconds to spare. My mum spots us, eyes wide, smile beaming. My dad gives Jordan a nod and a handshake as he sits down next to him, eyebrows raised in amused approval. He’s passed the initial vibe check; that’s a big relief.
And then the ceremony starts, kicking off the day, and just like that, my nightmare is a dream again.
Today might not be so bad after all.
36
I don’t think I’ve ever been to a winter wedding before. Well, people usually opt for the summer months, preferring the warm glow of the sun – and probably the security of knowing a freak snowstorm isn’t going to derail the big day by stranding the guests and/or having them slip on the ice.
Thankfully although it’s cold, the weather has been kind, so everything just feels so cosy and festive and positively Hallmark movie-esque. If I ever get married, I think I’d probably opt for a winter wedding too – so long as enough time had passed by for Hannah not to accuse me of copying her.
The function room is decked out for the wedding and for Christmas, which only makes it all the more beautiful and sparkly. At a summer wedding it might seem like too much but, here, with Christmas only a matter of days away, it feels exciting.
Twinkling fairy lights hang from the beams like stars, evergreen wreaths and holly wrap around the pillars, and there’s a twelve-foot Christmas tree standing proudly in the middle of the room that really is a showstopper. It’s not the Rockefeller Center tree, but it looks like it’s trying to give the bride a run for her money by stealing the show.
The most perfect thing of all though – and admittedly this is nothing to do with the wedding – is that Jordan is here. We’re sitting at our table, eating, chatting, having a lovely time. It means a lot, that he came, but things are still fresh enough between us to give us that cute nervous energy and magnet-like attraction to each other. Whenever our elbows so much as knock, it’s like lightning striking us. When our eyes meet, we can’t help but smile. Everything just feels so right.
‘Can I have your attention, please?’ the best man calls out as he takes the mic. ‘I’m Fred, the best man, and I guess it’s my turn to give a speech…’
Fred, who I don’t really know, already has his bowtie loosened and the top button of his shirt open – he’s giving off a Michael Bublé kind of vibe, except he doesn’t quite have the voice to pull it off. Not unless Bublé usually speaks with a south Leeds accent.
He taps the microphone in a way that I’m not sure is necessary in the year 2025.
‘Can you hear me at the back?’ he calls out.
A few people cheer. The less kind ones lightly heckle him.
‘Right, I’ll keep this short and sweet – like the groom’s attention span,’ he announces. ‘And his?—’
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Hannah elbows him, not all that subtly, which gets more of a laugh than his joke was going to.
‘Your cousin doesn’t take any prisoners, does she?’ Jordan whispers to me.
