Authors: Portia MacIntosh
‘Well, isn’t that impressive,’ Dan’s mum says, not even sounding the slightest bit sincere.
I glance over at my parents to see what they’re making of this conversation but they hardly look up from their meal. It’s not that I feel like I need their approval, it would just be nice to feel like they were proud of me.
‘You’ll have to write a movie based on my wedding,’ Belle says excitedly. ‘Just make sure you make my character much thinner and prettier than me.’
This is one of those things that my sister says – but doesn’t really mean – so that everyone in the room will shower her with compliments. As expected, everyone tells her how pretty she is and how slim she’s looking.
‘You used to be quite fat, didn’t you, Mia,’ Belle’s best friend (and my former bully) Nancy announces to the whole room. ‘If Belle wanted to feel more confident about her shape I’m sure you could offer invaluable advice… unless you do it the Hollywood way and stick your fingers down your throat.’
Everyone laughs at Nancy’s charming little joke about eating disorders, because we all know eating disorders are
hilarious
.
‘Well, my sister does look great,’ Belle starts, ‘and I just seem to be gaining weight all the time.’
My sister sounds glum and embarrassed that the over-dinner conversation is all about her weight.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ I say to try and make her feel better. ‘I work in a place where people wrongly think that skinny and success go hand in hand, so it’s easy to do what everyone else is doing. If I worked in a bakery like you, I’d probably gain weight.’
‘So you think I just eat cakes all day?’ my sister asks me angrily.
‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ I insist – because I didn’t. ‘All I meant was that if I had your job, and I was surrounded by sweet stuff all day, I would probably eat more than I do in my office where all they lay out is fruit.’
‘You think I eat too much and that’s why I’m fat,’ my sister concludes, pushing her plate away.
Once again, everyone’s eyes are on me. I can tell as they all watch me shovel a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth that they all agree with Belle.
‘Don’t be foolish, Belle,’ my grandma chimes. ‘You don’t want to be as thin as Mia, it’s not healthy to be like she is.’
‘You’re perfect just the way you are,’ my mum insists. It’s funny, because when I was chubby not once did she tell me I was perfect as I was. Even now that I am aiming for perfection, she still thinks there’s something wrong with me. ‘You’re so happy with your life that silly things like a few pounds here or there don’t have any bearing on your happiness.’
‘It must be hard for you, Mia, to see your little sister getting married while you’re still single,’ Nancy says in a faux sympathetic voice.
‘And writing all those romantic stories, but having no love in your life,’ my auntie says, continuing Nancy’s sentiment.
I shrug my shoulders.
‘No, because Mia isn’t romantic,’ my sister says, and I’m not sure if it is in my defence or if she’s joining in with the Mia-bashing. ‘She thinks love is silly.’
‘Surely she can’t think that,’ a girl about the same age as my sister chimes in. ‘She wrote Nate From Next Door – which I love – and you can’t write like that if you don’t believe it.’
Everyone looks at me for an explanation as to how I can have little interest in love but write about it so convincingly.
‘Does George Lucas believe that Ewoks are real?’ I ask the room. ‘Does Bram Stoker believe in vampires? Does even one person who works for Disney in any capacity believe that an old bloke can float his house to South America using nothing but a shit-load of balloons?’
I hear a few sniggers from the kids’ table at my use of the S word, but the grown-ups are all staring at me like I’m some kind of monster.
‘Well, that’s depressing,’ Nancy laughs.
‘My favourite love story is a lie,’ Belle’s friend says solemnly.
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I can’t help but snap. ‘It’s fiction and fiction is made up. That’s just the way it is.’
Everyone continues to eat in silence and I feel bad for ruining the atmosphere, but it wasn’t my fault. Belle is getting married and she’s happy, and that’s great. Why can’t people just be happy for her and stop obsessing over what her happiness means for me, her older sister who is still on the shelf. Don’t they think I am happy with my life? I am ecstatic when I am back in LA, it’s just being around this lot that makes me miserable.
‘Good morning,’ I sing brightly as I enter the kitchen.
Like the rest of the house, the kitchen is all decked out in white. The chrome appliances are the closest thing this room has to offer in terms of colour, it’s so white and clean it’s giving off the creepy vibes of a hospital operating theatre. I watch as my sister chops up a plate of sausages before dousing it in ketchup and handing it to Josh – on second thoughts, it’s more like a morgue than an operating theatre.
In contrast to all the horizontal lines created by the drawers, frameless cabinets and work surfaces, the vertical blinds cast shadows all around the room. Long, thick, dark shadows, creating prison cell type bars everywhere. These bars may be an optical illusion caused by nothing other than an obstruction of light, but they feel real. I feel like I’m in a prison.
‘Morning, Mia,’ my sister says as she fries bacon. ‘We were just talking about how you can’t get married, even if you want to.’
Forget what I just said. It’s not like an operating theatre, it’s not like a morgue and it’s not like a prison – I’m right in the heart of the psych ward.
I glance around at the other people in the kitchen. Josh, my only ally in the room, left as soon as he got his breakfast, so that just leaves me with my sister, my gran, my mum and my auntie. Despite the warm weather outside it is positively frosty in here.
‘I’m sorry, what?’ I ask, because that made no sense to me at all.
‘I’ve been reading up on wedding superstitions, you know, just so I have all bases covered,’ my sister explains.
‘That makes perfect sense,’ I say sarcastically.
‘Mia,’ my gran interrupts, ‘superstition is such a large part of getting married.’
‘
And
being married, am I right, Auntie June?’ I say as I give her a nudge and wiggle my eyebrows. I thought she might be able to see the funny side of what happened yesterday by now, but the angry frown on her face confirms otherwise. ‘So, what does that have to do with me?’ I ask my sister.
‘Three times a bridesmaid, never a bride,’ my mum warns me – the same mum who bullied me into being my sister’s bridesmaid even though she knew I had already been a bridesmaid twice when I was younger.
I stare at her blankly.
‘Basically,’ my sister begins, ‘the whole idea of being a bridesmaid is so you can distract the evil spirits that try to ruin the wedding.’
‘Like vodka?’ I laugh, causing my gran to click her tongue at me. ‘Like a stunt double then?’ I ask, semi-seriously.
‘Yes,’ my sister says excitedly, clearly delighted that I get it. ‘So the bridesmaid deals with the evil spirits that will be trying to stop the wedding from going ahead, but in doing so the bridesmaid catches a lot of bad luck – like being single and alone forever.’
‘Mia is doing a good job of that so far,’ my mum snorts.
‘Oh, see before I just thought it was a silly tradition but now… I think you ladies are completely nuts.’
‘Mia,’ my sister squeaks, ‘don’t speak to Mum, Gran and auntie June like that.’
‘And you.’ I point at my sister. ‘You’re the queen of crazy if you believe that. If you really did believe it, there’s no way you would have asked me.’
My sister looks embarrassed.
‘Wow, really?’ I ask in disbelief. ‘You believe this rubbish and you’re still willing to let me take the risk?’
‘Well, you’re never going to get married, are you?’ my sister reasons.
I look over at my mum for some kind of support.
‘And we did spend your share of the wedding fund on your sister,’ my mum half jokes.
‘Unbelievable,’ I say as I shake my head. Thank God I really don’t have plans to get married because my family are trying to make sure I’m fucked from the word go.
Belle wanders over to me sheepishly, spatula in hand.
‘You’re not mad are you, sis?’ she asks.
‘Of course I’m not,’ I say, giving her a playful shove so she knows I mean it. ‘You’re right, I don’t ever want to get married, I’m just messing with you.’
‘Phew.’ My sister breathes a sigh of relief and gets back to her bacon.
Am I stupid for being upset over everyone constantly reaffirming that I’m never going to get married? I know why I don’t want to get married, but they don’t understand the way I feel. I can only imagine they think that no one would even want to marry me in the first place.
I know this is only my first proper day here – but already I can’t wait for this stupid wedding to be over, so I can get on the fastest flight back to lovely LA, relaxing in the knowledge that I’ve clocked enough family hours to last me at least a couple of years.
‘Bacon sandwich?’ my sister asks me.
‘Oh, no thank you,’ I say politely. ‘I’m not really a fried food person.’
‘But you used to love bacon sandwiches,’ my mum insists.
‘I’m sure I used to love being breastfed, but I wouldn’t very much like to do it now,’ I insist.
I don’t know why I expected to get a few laughs from the room, that joke was never going to go down well. My mum rolls her eyes, my gran tuts and my auntie looks repulsed.
‘Mia, I’m not entirely happy about your foul mouth and your disgusting sense of humour being around my kids,’ my auntie explains.
‘Well, I’m quite fond of my foul mouth and my disgusting sense of humour – in fact, I’m literally attached to my foul mouth, so unless you want me to stay away from my cousins…’
‘Could you? Thanks.’ My auntie forces a fake smile. I told you, she just hates me.
‘I could do you some sausage while the pan is still on,’ my sister suggests in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
‘I’m fine, honestly. I’ll just grab a coffee, I’m not much of a morning person.’
I don’t point out to my sister that sausages are also fried – the pan and the oil are the giveaway when it comes to what is and isn’t fried.
‘Well, there’s a machine over there. None of us have any idea how to use it though,’ my sister says with a shrug of her shoulders.
I glance over at the fancy, hi-tech coffee machine that no one has been able to figure out how to use. I’m a coffee junkie, so I have a similar machine at home – I’ll be able to work this, no problem.
‘When you’re done, go and put some clothes on because we’re all going to this fish and chip restaurant in the town. Well, everyone but Dan, he’s still stuck in bed with a bad back,’ my sister reminds me, like I might have forgotten.
‘I am dressed,’ I protest, glancing down at the hot pink beach dress I had deemed the most appropriate to wear around my family. ‘Anyway, I’m really tired from all the travelling yesterday so I thought I might just chill out here today, make sure I’m ready to start celebrating tomorrow.’
I give my sister an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. Hopefully by mentioning the thousands of miles I have travelled just to be with her on her big day she will be grateful enough not to force me into wedding-based celebrations just yet.
‘That’s fine,’ my sister says, much to my surprise. ‘Well, we’d rather not take the kids with us and Dan isn’t exactly up to looking after them.’
Wow, that’s twice today she’s brought up the fact I injured her fiancé. As far as I’m concerned, Dan’s bad back is not my fault, but I’m the only person in this house who doesn’t blame me.
‘You want
me
to look after kids?’ I laugh. ‘I’m sure they can take care of themselves.’
‘Josh and Max are only ten.’ My sister says this with such an alarmed squeak that you’d think I had just suggested we leave a toddler in the cutlery draw.
‘Anyway, she doesn’t want me near her kids,’ I say with a nod towards my auntie.
‘
She’s
the cat’s mother,’ my mum insists, reminding me of my manners – God forbid anyone should say anything that might be considered rude this morning.
‘It will do you good to learn some responsibility,’ my Auntie June insists.
‘You mean it will do you good to dump your child on me while you go off and eat chips,’ I reply.
‘Mia, why can’t you just do this?’ Belle pleads.
‘Because I’m not a child-friendly person,’ I insist.
‘You’re not a fried food person, you not a morning person, you’re not a child-friendly person – are you sure you’re a person at all?’ my mum snaps.
‘OK, fine,’ I say in submission. ‘I’m going to go and do some work by the pool, just let me know when you need me.’
It’s like I only need to be in a room for five minutes before everyone is pissed off and it’s all thanks to me. I’m not sure what it is about me that my family seem to find so intolerable because, from where I’m standing,
they’re
the ones with the flaws, not me. OK, so I may not be into love, marriage and babies, but I’m a nice person, I’m kind, generous and polite – all the things you’re supposed to be – until people give me reason not to be. I’m not cold like my mum, I’m not a bully like my sister and I’m not a horrible cow like my auntie. Perhaps I’m not as nice to my Auntie June as I could be, but this level of dislike comes after years and years of her actively despising me, and for no good reason.
The plan is to get comfortable by the pool, do a bit of work and then try and swim off the dinner I ate out of manners last night. I hadn’t bargained on babysitting two young boys but they’re good kids, I’m sure keeping an eye on them won’t affect my plans.
Finally connected to the beach house wi-fi, my phone springs back to life. After a day of peace and quiet from my best friend (who is also my calendar, camera, alarm clock, emailing device, web browser… oh, and it can make calls too) normal service has been resumed. There are several emails from my assistant, Dalia, filling me in on every little thing that has happened in the office as well as a few from Savannah and Molly who are already seeming pretty stressed out trying to get on with our latest project without me. Molly hinted that my boss was unhappy with me taking vacation days (that I was owed, might I add) while we’re in the middle of a new movie. If only they knew what a rubbish time I was having, I’d much rather be at work.