‘Italian restaurants always make me think of our last holiday to Italy,’ Leo says, swigging his beer.
‘That was a great holiday,’ I reply. ‘The sun, the sea… all the sex.’
‘Those things were great,’ he laughs. ‘I think the bit that meant the most to me – and I know I’ve never told you this, and I probably should have – was that last night at my Nonna’s apartment when we were all sitting out on the balcony, drinking ice-cold drinks and eating taralli, and she turned to me and she said: “this one is a keeper.” I knew then that I needed to ask you to marry me.’
‘That was a year ago,’ I laugh, sipping my cocktail.
‘Well, it took me a little time to build up the courage,’ he laughs.
‘That was a great holiday,’ I reply. ‘The pizzas at that place on the beach – my God. Best thing about that trip, though… none of my family was there.’
‘Your lot aren’t that bad,’ Leo laughs.
‘Erm, they’ve invited themselves on our date tonight,’ I point out. ‘That’s too much.’
I was so hyped to go on a romantic date with my wonderful fiancé that when my mum called and demanded we go over for dinner, I told her we had dinner reservations we couldn’t cancel so late in the day, at which point she called the restaurant, amended my booking to accommodate four more people, and then called me back to let me know it was all sorted. So, here we are, sitting at a table for six, waiting for my parents, Belle and Dan to arrive.
‘Look at it this way, you can share your news with everyone now, and they’ll all think you’re amazing and talented…’
‘You’ve known them for over four years, Leo. Even you can’t believe what you’re saying,’ I laugh.
Tonight we’re dining at Carlo’s, an Italian restaurant in town. After Belle’s wedding I went straight back to LA to sort things out there before moving back to England, but when I did finally get back, this restaurant was where Leo and I had our first official date. It’s just your typical Italian restaurant. There’s nothing overly special about it (unless you count the courgette fries, they’re too good), but it’s special to me.
‘Hello, hello,’ my mum mumbles as the Harrison-Ryan rabble arrive and take their seats. ‘You’re here before us, Mia, it’s a miracle.’
‘I mean, it’s my date…’ I start before giving up.
I give the waiter a chance to take the newcomers’ drinks orders before getting down to business.
‘So, seeing as you’re all here, I have some news,’ I start, pausing until I’m sure I have my parents’, Belle’s and Dan’s full attention. ‘I’ve landed a new writing job, ghostwriting Dylan King’s autobiography.’
‘Whose?’ my dad asks.
‘Ghostwriting?’ my mum echoes back. ‘So, you mean doing the hard work and not getting the credit?’
‘Well, yes, that’s what ghostwriting is, mum. It pays really well, though. It pays for house stuff and wedding stuff – and more.’
‘Speaking of the wedding, have you started making arrangements?’ my mum asks. ‘Belle says you’re refusing.’
Leo looks at me.
‘I didn’t say she was refusing. I just said she wasn’t bothering,’ Belle adds, talking about me, not to me.
‘I’ll get more done now I know I can afford it,’ I reassure everyone.
‘So, will you get to meet Dylan?’ my sister asks.
‘Yeah, I have to shadow him for a while,’ I explain. ‘I need to find out all about him, listen to his stories, observe his lifestyle and turn it into a book about his life. I’m so excited.’
‘Wow,’ Belle says, seeming genuinely impressed. ‘That’s pretty big news. I’m not sure anyone could top that… except…’
Oh God, is she really going to try and upstage me?
‘We’re pregnant,’ she squeaks at the top of her voice. Diners and staff all around the restaurant hear her news and applaud.
‘Both of you? What a funny coincidence,’ I reply.
‘Well, just me, silly,’ Belle says. ‘It’s still early, so we were going to wait, but seeing as how we’re sharing news…’
‘Oh my goodness, Belle, that’s fantastic,’ my mum cries, not only showing an emotion, but projecting it at a person too. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’d had therapy.
I cannot believe my sister. She just couldn’t stand me having good news to share. She just had to go and upstage me, and she’s certainly found a great way to do that – even my dad is crying!
As if it wasn’t supposedly bad enough, having my little sister get married before me, now I’m getting married and she’s one-upped me with baby news. It doesn’t matter how many steps I take, my sister is always ahead of me.
‘Let’s just keep this between us for now,’ my sister says. ‘Early days.’
‘Well, congratulations to you both,’ I say. I’m pleased for them, I really am. I’m just annoyed at her timing, but I’m sure she wasn’t trying to upstage me.
‘This is wonderful, just wonderful. We have so much to look forward to,’ my mum says. ‘Presumably the wedding will still happen before the baby? Still planning it for the summer?’
‘We can race,’ Belle giggles.
‘We might just get in there first,’ Dan says, suddenly interested because now there’s something he can win.
‘I’m getting round to it,’ I tell them. Again. Not that it’s anything to do with them, all they have to do is attend.
‘Are you letting Leo be involved in the planning?’ my mum asks.
‘Am I letting him?’ I repeat back to her. ‘Hey, Dan, which bits of your wedding did you plan?’
‘Well…’
‘Your suits, presumably – at least,’ my mum chimes in, jogging his memory.
‘No, well, Belle picked those to match the dresses, which I wasn’t allowed to look at…’
‘What about you, dad, what did you bring to the table for your wedding?’ I ask.
My dad pulls a face.
‘I don’t know. It was years ago, Mia,’ he replies. Solid input from my dad there. Now he’s in his sixties, he’s quieter and duller than ever. He’s basically furniture at this stage, the amount he socialises with people.
‘See, men don’t give a shit,’ I say.
‘Language,’ my mum says. I may be 33 years old, but ticking me off for swearing is a reflex I don’t think she’ll ever shake.
I’m not wrong, though. Men very rarely give a shit about the finer details of the wedding – I hardly give a shit myself.
‘I’d actually like to be involved,’ Leo says.
My mum and Belle look on, smugly. I try to give my fiancé a subtle kick under the table, as though to say: shh, you’re not helping, but I miss and end up kicking the table leg, causing a loud bang.
‘Oops,’ I say, trying to cover it up. ‘Clumsy me.’
‘Do you remember Mrs Turner?’ my mum asks me.
‘Erm…’ I wrack my brains.
‘Old Mrs Turner,’ my mum adds. ‘Purple rinse.’
Still nothing.
‘Her husband, Malcolm, got an award from the council for going around all the parks, picking up the dog mess during the school holidays so the kiddies didn’t paddle in it.’
‘I’d definitely remember that guy, I’m sure,’ I laugh.
‘They lived two houses up from your gran and granddad, until they moved – they used to let you play on their tree swing when you were a kid, long before Belle was born,’ my mum continues. ‘Remember?’
‘I don’t think so…’
‘You must,’ my mum insists.
‘OK, sure,’ I lie. ‘I remember.’
‘Well, Mrs Turner has a daughter called Deborah. She’s a wedding planner. I could ask her to give you a hand,’ my mum says.
Wow. I had to get lost down memory lane just so my mum could tell me she knows a wedding planner. I’m pretty sure she could’ve told me without my recalling some old lady’s house I played on a swing at when I was three.
‘I don’t need a wedding planner, I’m going to do it,’ I reply. ‘But thank you for the offer,’ I add, not wanting to throw kindness in her face – y’know, just in case that was kindness.
Why is everyone so concerned about my wedding? I’m going to plan it, I really am, but what’s the rush? We’re aiming for next summer. If places book up, we’ll just do it when the place we want is free – we don’t even know where we want yet.
I know there’s so much to do. I know there’s the venue, the food, the dress, the suit, the cake, the photographer, all the dumb extra shit you’re supposed to have, and the small but very real issue regarding the bridesmaids, and how I don’t have any because I don’t really have any close female friends, and my female family members all said no… I’ll panic about all this later, though, because right now I have a job to think about. I’ll get around to wedding stuff eventually.