Bad Bridesmaid. Portia MacIntosh
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I have never really been that close. I think we were when we were kids, but as we grew up we grew apart. While I was a chubby, nerdy outcast at school, Belle was always a skinny, sporty member of the in crowd. Her friends were all exactly like her – you know how hard they try and make the different Bratz dolls look different, but at the end of the day they’re all exactly the same – massive heads, tiny bodies and huge eyes, but with different coloured hair? Well that’s what Belle and her mates were like. Despite being Belle’s sister – and me being older than her and her friends – they didn’t mind teasing me when they were all over at our house. I suppose it comes with the territory of being the uncool, podgy sister, but that doesn’t mean it hurt any less. They don’t pick on me any more, although I’m not sure if that comes with the territory of having loads of money and being able to get them tickets to movie premieres.
When Belle called me up to tell me she was getting married, yes, I really did ask her if she was doing it because she was pregnant – and, yes, if I had been holding a cocktail I would have spilled it everywhere. I have only met Dan, the guy she is marrying, twice. He seemed OK, but at twenty-four years of age I think Belle is way too young to be tying the knot. Dan is twenty-four as well, and you’ve got to wonder about what’s going on inside the head of a young lad who is so keen to put his fun single days behind him so soon in life.
The only thing that surprised me more than the fact that Belle was getting married was when she asked me if I would be her chief bridesmaid. My sister knows all too well what the new Mia is like and that includes the way I feel about weddings. I haven’t been a bridesmaid since I was a little kid (I suppose people stopped asking me when I got too chubby to look nice in photos) so I don’t really remember what it entails. Whatever it is, I know I am not the girl for the job. I asked her if I could think about it, and quicker than you could say “I do” my mum called me up and informed me that I would be calling Belle back and accepting her kind offer. The thing that bugged me was the reason why Belle asked me. I mean, we’re not close, so I can only imagine she is doing it for appearances; to have her successful sister by her side.
Even though it sounded like my idea of hell, I finally agreed to do it, safe in the knowledge I could pop home for a couple of days, do the wedding thing and then jump back on a plane and pretend it never happened. Well, it was a nice idea while it lasted but shortly after I agreed, plans for the big day started being made – well, I say big day, it’s actually more like ten big days. I haven’t been fully briefed on the details yet, all I know is that the happy couple have rented a huge house on the beach in Cornwall so that most of the wedding party can stay there and celebrate with them. What I also know is that my boss hates me right now because we’re really busy and I have had to book over a week off instead of four days. I’m not the employee of the month at the best of times, so I’m going to have to do some major butt-kissing when I get back.
While I am happy about not having to visit my hometown this time, I am not exactly jumping through hoops about the fact that I’ve got a twelve hour flight to London followed by a five hour train journey to the far side of Cornwall. I’m going to be knackered when I get there. Belle has planned my journey to the second, so at least I know when I arrive she and Dan will be waiting for me at the train station, ready to give me a lift to the party house so I can spend way too much time with the family I moved over five thousand miles to get away from. Oh joy.
***
‘Is this your first time flying?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘Why would you ask that?’
The young man sitting next to me nods towards my hands. I hadn’t even realised I was doing it, but I’m slowly but surely tearing up a sick bag into tiny pieces.
‘Oh. My sister is getting married,’ I say by way of an explanation.
‘So you thought you’d, what, make extra confetti?’ he teases.
I playfully throw a handful of shredded paper at the total stranger. Thankfully he takes my gesture as intended – as a joke – and doesn’t have me manhandled off the plane by an air marshal.
‘I’m heading home for my little sister’s wedding. She’s twenty-four. I’m twenty-nine and I’m single.’ I stare at the stranger expectantly until he works out what is so wrong with that. It doesn’t take him very long.
‘Rather you than me, sweetie,’ the stranger says as he sweeps his long fringe from over of his eyes. ‘You should have paid someone to be your date, get everyone off your back.’
‘Oh, they would never believe I was a reformed character with a sudden respect for monogamy. It was only a couple of days ago I called my sis and told her she could come and stay with me if she wanted to call it all off. Anyway, it’s too late now – unless you’re not busy,’ I jokily suggest with a wink.
‘Honey, they’d be far more likely to believe you’re a romantic than they would me being a straight guy.’
I can’t help but laugh. It did occur to me that my new friend was rather camp, but this is LA after all and you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘I’m going to London to try and meet a prince! I want to marry into royalty.’
‘I’m not so up on current events back home,’ I explain, ‘but I’m fairly sure most of the royals are taken and/or straight.’
‘Well aren’t you a Debbie Downer,’ he teases. ‘I’m Ethan, by the way. I suppose we should do names.’
‘Yes, we seem to have skipped that bit. A mere formality considering we’re already plane pals. I’m Mia.’
‘Yey! Plane pals!’ Ethan squeaks. ‘We can share our lunch and go to the bathroom together.’
‘I’m all for distributing the calories but it might look like we’re trying to join a different kind of club if we go to the loos together,’ I laugh.
‘Speaking of the not so exclusive Mile High Club – which I have been a proud member of since 2009…’ we slap each other a high-five, ‘… that cute flight attendant is checking you out.’
‘No! He’s gay, right?’ says the girl who was just preaching about not judging a book by its cover.
‘He’s straight. I’m the authority on the matter and he is hot for you.’
I smile back at the tall, muscular flight attendant. His gorgeous smile and his dirty blonde hair would usually make for my type, but he’s almost too pretty. Too polished and perfect. Of course, I can’t tell Ethan that this gorgeous creature’s teeth are too white. That his face is too symmetrical. That his clothes are too neat. He looks like he’d want to snuggle afterwards and that’s the last thing people do in aeroplane bathrooms.
‘Not my type,’ I insist to Ethan.
‘Your type isn’t gorgeous and crazy for you?’
‘Nah,’ I reply with a laugh. ‘You might be into that weird stuff, but I’m not.’
‘You like a bad boy?’ Ethan asks.
‘I do. I like them manly and dangerous looking. Rough and ready, heartbreakingly handsome, could have any girl they wanted – that’s my type.’
‘So you like the chase,’ Ethan concludes. ‘You reel them in and then you throw them back.’
‘Well, you know, if we’re sticking with the fish metaphor, you kill them when you catch them. What would I want with a dead fish? I just chuck them back, leave them for someone else to suffocate.’
‘Mia, honey, you are a case study waiting to happen.’
‘Why thank you,’ I reply proudly.
As the in-flight movie starts playing, Ethan and I – or the plane pals as we’re now known – both reach for our headphones. It’s some weird animated movie and all the characters are things you would find in the bathroom. I watch Ethan recoil in horror as he watches a talking toilet brush chatting