Authors: Portia MacIntosh
‘You think I’m jealous?’ I squeak. ‘Mum, Belle has everything
she
wants in life, the things I want are very different. You think I don’t have anything?’
‘Well, what do you have?’ my mum asks, and I feel my jaw drop.
‘Mum, I have more money that I can actually spend. I have a great job in an exciting industry. I get to hang out with movie stars. I have an awesome apartment where the weather is amazing… you think that’s me not having anything?’
‘Well, not really,’ my mum replies, and she’s totally serious. ‘What good is it all if you have no one to share it with?’
‘Mum, I’m going to rinse my hair now. If you’re not gone by the time my head is out of the water I think I might just go back under and stay there.’
‘Why are you being like this?’ she asks. ‘I’m just worried about you.’
‘Well I’m fine, OK?’
My mum nods her head before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.
I can’t believe what she just said to me. I have achieved so much, and yet my mum is more impressed by my sister for finding a bloke stupid enough to marry her at twenty-four years of age – surely anyone can do that? I could do that if I wanted to, but I don’t. People are just going to have to accept that.
After my bath last night I was far too tired to dry my hair so I went to bed with it wet, which means I woke up with damp pillows. What you can’t see can’t get you in trouble with your sister though, so I flipped the pillows upside down, just like I did with the quilt my first night here to disguise the fact that it is covered in makeup – still not sure what I’m going to do about that one.
I quickly blow-dried my hair before slipping on a pair of denim shorts and white off shoulder T-shirt. I covered my face in makeup and then headed downstairs ready to face everyone. The plan is to look smart, act bright and just generally show people that I am glad to be alive – that ought to quash any rumours regarding my failed suicide attempt.
‘Good morning,’ I say cheerily as I enter the kitchen. ‘What a beautiful day it is today.’
Hmm, perhaps I should take it down a notch.
My auntie is sitting at the table. There is a cup of tea in front of her but she is just staring into space as Josh and Max run around table. They have their hands shaped like guns as they chase each other, taking fake shots as they quote their new favourite movie.
‘Oh man. I shot Marvin in the face,’ Max yells.
Some of the quotes aren’t so bad.
‘This is some fucked-up repugnant shit,’ Josh calls out.
But some of them are much worse.
Auntie June doesn’t even flinch at the dirty words that just left her ten-year-old son’s mouth. I make myself a coffee before sitting down opposite her.
‘Listen, I’m really sorry about letting the kids watch that film,’ I tell her sincerely. ‘I had no idea they were going to…’ I rack my brain for the right words, ‘… embrace it like they have.’
‘Does he look like a bitch?’ Josh shouts at Max.
‘What’s done is done,’ my auntie says flippantly.
‘Does-he-look-like-a-bitch?’ Josh yells again.
‘I know,’ I continue. ‘I’m just really sorry. I hadn’t anticipated this.’
‘Then why’d you try to fuck him like a bitch?’ Josh continues as he points a loaded hand at Max’s face.
‘I’m going for some air,’ my auntie says calmly as she gets up and leaves through the back door.
‘Hey, Vincent, Jules,’ I call the boys over once we’re alone. ‘Listen, can you tone it down a bit with the movie quotes? You’re going to get me in trouble.’
‘Is it true you tried to kill yourself last night?’ Josh asks me curiously.
‘No. Where did you hear that?’ I ask.
‘Everyone is saying it,’ Max informs me.
‘Everyone, huh?’
The boys nod their heads.
‘Listen, I promise you that it isn’t true. Don’t listen to what the old people are saying, they’re all going senile.’
‘What’s senile?’ Josh asks. If there’s one thing I’m learning about kids, it is that they ask a lot of questions and that they remember everything you tell them. ‘Will I go senile?’
‘It’s a sort of crazy that only old people can go. You’re fine.’
The boys both look visibly relieved.
‘So, less Pulp Fiction quotes around the adults, and I didn’t try to kill myself. That concludes our lessons for today, now go play video games or something.’
‘Well, at least you’re being honest with some people,’ I hear my sister say angrily as the boys run off.
As I turn to face her, I realise that she has been crying again.
‘Belle, listen, I didn’t tell anyone I tried to kill myself. Mum just decided that, and I tried to put her straight but she didn’t listen.’
‘You think I care about that? God, not everything is about you, Mia,’ she snaps.
I bite my bottom lip to stop myself saying something in temper.
Belle drops a white folder covered in pictures of confetti, rings and champagne glasses, and quotes like “happily ever after” and “YOLO: You only love once” plastered across it, down on the table. As she sits down and places her head in her hands I realise I have two choices: I can leave as fast as my legs will allow me before she has the chance to say anything else, or I can ask her what the matter is and face the consequences of whatever that may be. As much as I want to do the former, I can’t leave her here like this.
‘What’s wrong, Belle?’ I ask, rubbing Bridezilla’s shoulder without getting too close.
‘The florist doing the flowers for the wedding,’ I know what a florist is… ‘they’ve cancelled. Something about a death in the family. Well I hope they can’t get flowers for the funeral,’ she yells. Yikes, she’s in full-on crazy mode.
‘Come on, calm down. We can fix this,’ I assure her, but she’s having none of it.
‘My wedding is cursed,’ Belle insists. ‘Even if we sort this, something else will just go wrong.’
‘Well, whatever goes wrong, we’ll fix it. Your wedding is
not
cursed,’ I insist. ‘Good luck and bad luck aren’t real, if you believe you have bad luck then you will. It’s like: is the glass half full or half empty? It just depends how you look at it.’
‘What glass? What are you talking about?’ my sister snaps, clearly annoyed by my attempt to make her feel better.
‘What I’m saying is that you need to stop thinking your wedding is cursed or it will be. Let’s just fix this problem.’
‘How?’ she sobs.
‘We’ll find a new florist, it’s not rocket science. Let me go get my iPad, I’ll find you one.’
‘You’d do that for me?’ my sister asks, baffled by my kindness.
‘Yeah. Well I am head bridesmaid, aren’t I?’
‘A nice one though? Not a horrible one to make me look stupid?’
I grit my teeth as I head up to my room to grab my iPad. She’s lucky I’m not the person she thinks I am or she’d definitely end up with disgusting flowers after planting that seed in my brain.
***
‘Hey Hannah,’ I say as I pass my fifteen-year-old cousin on the corridor outside my bedroom.
‘Wow, what are those on your feet?’ she asks.
‘Oh, you like them? They’re barefoot sandals. They’re great for the beach because they’re not like wearing shoes, but they look awesome.’
‘I love them! Do you have any more?’
‘Yeah, of course. Do you want to borrow some?’ I offer happily.
Hannah nods excitedly.
Hannah Edwards is exactly the kind of girl who would have bullied me if we went to school together. Lucky for me I’m her older cousin with the awesome clothes and the movie star best friends, which means I am useful to her every now and then. She is tall with an athletic figure – which makes sense, being a popular kid and being good at PE kind of go hand in hand – and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her without her long brown hair tied up in a sporty but oh-so-cool ponytail. Like any teenager today she forever has her phone in her hand, not that anyone knows what she’s doing on it.
As I rifle around in the suitcase I never truly unpacked (just in case I need to run for my life) Hannah sits down on my bed.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Hannah says quietly.
‘Of course,’ I reply as I search through my things that are now all over the floor.
‘When you were my age, could you talk to your mum?’
‘Could I talk to my mum? I could hardly look at her,’ I laugh. ‘But seriously, no. Not really. We’re not big on talking in this family, are we?’
Hannah shakes her head. She seems quiet, like maybe there’s something on her mind.
‘Are you OK, Hannah?’
‘What if I had a secret?’ she starts cautiously. ‘But I couldn’t talk to my mum about it?’
I think for a moment. If Hannah were to confide in me and her mum were to find out, I really would be in big trouble.
‘Han, I’m sure you can talk to your mum about anything. Try her, she might surprise you.’
Hannah looks unconvinced.
‘Here you go.’ I present her with a pair of pink crocheted barefoot sandals, which she gleefully slips on. ‘You can keep those if you like.’
‘Wow, really? Thanks, Mia,’ she chirps as we leave my room. We head downstairs together, bumping into Auntie June by the front door.
‘What on earth are you wearing?’ she says as she spies her daughter’s new footwear.
‘Aren’t they awesome?’ Hannah moves her feet so her mum can get a good look.
‘You look like a prostitute,’ my auntie says, unimpressed.
‘I’m fairly sure prostitutes wear shoes,’ I chime in, offended because they were mine after all.
‘Well, that’s all they wear,’ my auntie says smugly, like she has one-upped me.
I shrug my shoulders. ‘I’m not their union leader, doll. I don’t care what you say about prostitutes.’
I laugh, and Hannah joins in. At this, June looks furious.
‘Hannah, go and find your dad, see if he’s ready to head out,’ she insists. Hannah does as she is told.
‘Mia, I want you to stay away from my kids,’ my auntie says sternly as soon as we’re alone. ‘You are a bad influence.’
‘I’ll stay away from your kids,’ I promise her. ‘But I can’t guarantee they’ll stay away from me.’
As my auntie storms off upstairs I head for the kitchen. Now to try and find my sister some flowers.
***
After helping Belle make a list of potential florists, I mixed myself a margarita, slipped on an itsy bitsy teeny weeny pink polka dot bikini, grabbed my iPad and snuck off to the beach to catch some rays and get some much needed work done. I did offer to go and help my sister check out the florists on our shortlist but she muttered something about sabotage so I stopped listening, lest I take offence and punch her in the face.
I take a big sip of my drink, push my oversized sunglasses further up my nose and lie back on my sun lounger. I’ll have a quick brainstorming session inside my head before I start tapping away on my iPad.
I only get a few seconds of peace before I notice a dark shadow over me – surely the sun hasn’t gone behind a cloud already, typical when I’ve only just made myself comfy.
‘For God’s sake, Mia, you’re practically naked,’ my sister moans. So it was a little rain cloud after all, here to rain on my parade no doubt.
‘I’m on the beach, I’m wearing a bikini. You’re the only one with the problem,’ I remind her.
‘There are plenty of people on this beach with a problem,’ she insists.
I look up and see Belle giving filthy looks to a group of male admires I didn’t realise I had attracted.
‘Something you wanted?’ I ask impatiently, keen to get rid of her.
‘Pretty much everyone has gone out – apart from Dan, who is still bedridden.’ She just loves reminding me of that. ‘So I’m thinking maybe you should come to the florists with me.’
‘As kind as your offer is,’ I start sarcastically, ‘I’m going to stay here and work.’
‘The only thing you’re working on is your tan,’ Belle insists.
‘That’s the good thing about my work, I can do it anywhere.’ I wave my iPad at her before taking another sip of my drink.
‘Is that alcohol?’ she squeaks, sounding thoroughly appalled that I am drinking when it isn’t quite the p.m. yet.
‘It’s happy hour somewhere,’ I say as I raise my glass to her.
‘So you’re not coming?’
‘You’ll do a much better job without me,’ I conclude, still a little pissed off about her not wanting me to go when I first offered.
I give my sister a wave as she storms off back towards the house. I just want a little time to myself, is that so much to ask?
I was so wound up when Belle left me that I didn’t get a second of work done. Something strange happened while I was lying on the beach. I pride myself on being a free spirit. I don’t do anything that I don’t want to (family weddings aside), I don’t go anywhere that I don’t want to (family weddings aside), I don’t wear anything that I don’t want to (bridesmaids dresses aside), but most importantly of all I don’t worry about a thing. After a few very stressful years as a fat teenager, I learned that there is no point in worrying – if you can do something about the thing you are worrying about then do it and your problem is solved, and if you can’t do anything then what’s the point in worrying about it? Problem also solved… and yet today I find myself worrying, just like I used to. I’m anxious. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my head is spinning and my stomach is gurgling. I’m panicking and it’s being trapped here around my family that is doing it to me. OK, so the beach house is a pretty sweet cage to be trapped in, but if I don’t stretch my wings soon I really will throw myself at the mercy of the sea.
I can’t stand being constantly blamed for everything that goes wrong, and it’s only going to get worse. Had my sister hired a professional to plan her wedding and oversee everything from the early stages right up until the end of the reception then everything would probably be fine, but because Belle has been overly ambitious without the skills to pull it off, shit is going wrong and rather than deal with it she’s pinning the blame on me – the evil sister who cursed her wedding.
I need to calm down. I am currently climbing the stairs to the beach house and as fit as I am, I can hardly catch my breath. The plan is to slip off my bikini, hop into the shower, fix myself another stiff drink and then slob out in front of the TV. Maybe if I watch a violent movie or shoot some zombies I’ll start feeling more like myself again.