My Big Fat Low-Fat Wedding

chapter 18



I hear muffled voices conversing as I make my way downstairs this morning.

“Lara?” I say incredulously. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew it.” She looks at my fiancé. “You didn’t tell her.”

“I did.” Callum glances at me. “I told you last night, remember honey?”

“Told me what?” I’m starting to lose patients with these two.

“We’re going on a bridal show holiday!” Lara bursts with enthusiasm.”

“A what?” I finish walking down the remaining steps.

“Lara is taking you to wedding conferences around the county, Em.”

“She is?” I squint questioningly at them both.

“I am.” Lara answers.

“What on earth for?” I still don’t quite know what’s going on around here. “Bridal fairs can hardly be called holiday hot spots.”

“You deserve a relax though, babe. And this way you can sample more delights for the wedding.”

Oh. Now I understand. I remember Callum mentioning something about him wanting me to eat more, last night. So he thinks he’s going to fatten me up by sending me off on some bridal show excursion, does he? “But Paige is already providing our wedding menu.”

Lara and Callum exchange glances of mutual agreement.

“Not everyone will want to eat health foods at our wedding, dear.” Callum kisses me on the cheek and departs through the front door. “Have fun you two, I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

A couple of days? “I can’t just leave the cafe for days on end.”

“It’s all taken care of with Anika and Fiona. Callum sorted it out for you, Em.”

I guess there’s nothing else for it. I’m off to bridal shows around the county and I’m going to have to enjoy myself whether I like it or not. The fact of the matter is though, I’m determined not to enjoy myself too much on the food tasting front. Damn it. I should have brought plastic baggies with me or something. I’m thinking about spitting out whatever I take bites of at the bridal conferences.

I’m feeling sneaky and ever so clever when Lara and I arrive at the first wedding venue on our list. But all my resolve flies right out the proverbial window once we hit the cookery division of the bridal conference. The place is massive and there are experimental cuisine dishes on offer I’ve never seen the likes of. A few months before graduating from cookery and catering college, we’d done some food creating with technology and new edible chemicals. But it was nothing in comparison with the amazing foods I’m seeing here before my very eyes.

“Have a seat ladies.” We’re ushered into a restaurant-like seating area by a woman dressed all in white chef’s wear, complete with tall baker’s hat. I say the seating area is like a restaurant, but really it’s more like eating time at a wedding reception. All the tables are decorated exquisitely and some even have colourful pieces of crystal tossed about on top of the silk table cloths.

“This is all so over the top, Lolz. Our wedding is only going to be low-key.” I whisper to her. “We had to compromise on our decor budget in order to afford the facilities.”

“I told you not to have your wedding at Chez Expensivo, remember?” Lara plucks a peach coloured carnation from the sparkling crystal vase on the table. She holds it to her nose and inhales greatly. “This is incredible, the food aromas around here are plugging up my senses. I can’t even smell this, can you?”

She shoves the flower under my nose and I sneeze. “Ah-choo.”

“I didn’t know you were allergic.”

“I’m not. It’s just you put that in my face so fast…” I’m suddenly distracted by a three tiered tray that’s being wheeled over to us. The beautiful looking contents of the tray are being pushed by the chef woman and there are some heavily steaming looking dishes involved.

Everything I ever planned about dieting vanishes from my mind as soon as the first samples are laid out in front of me. Lara and I spend the rest of the afternoon going from one caterer to the next, tasting all the delectables they have to offer. There’s also a lot of wine on offer to occupy our pallets and soon enough I’m feeling slightly more than tipsy.

“There’s a gown show on the runway right now, Em.” Lara warbles at me with sleepy eyes.

“You’re drunk, missus.” I tell her pointedly, because I’m pointing a finger straight at her nose.

She bats my hand away. “I’m not drunk. I’m pleasantly buzzing, thank oo veddy mooch.”

“Oh riiiiiiiiiight. And that’s not drunk-arsed speak at all.” My retort drips with sarcasm at her alcohol-tongue-thickened words.

“Look!” Lara wails. “They’re coming down the aisle!”

She’s right. The modelling runway before us has been decorated and carpeted to look like a church aisle. Along the sides of the runway are pews facing the aisle. We take some empty seats and watch the flow of massive, billowing white gowns as they’re paraded down the fashion aisle by stick insect thin and tall models.

“Wow, their so tall.”

“Wow, they’re so skinny.” Lara leans onto my shoulder.

“It’s not their fault.” I mumble. Feeling drowsy, I tilt my head onto Lara’s cranium. “They just have really thin DNA.”

“What are you talking about?”

Suddenly, Lara sits up so my head falls forward before I manage to catch my balance.

Blink.

“What’s the matter?” I yell stupidly. Glancing around makes the aisle tilt in my wonky drunken vision.

“Nothing is the matter apart from you talking bollocks about model genetics. They aren’t born that way, Em. They puke themselves thin, or starve themselves.”

I’m flabbergasted. “Some of them don’t.”

A girl who doesn’t look a day over sixteen stomps down the aisle in a dress that’s cinched in so tightly around her middle, she looks like she’s got a twelve inch waist.

“Seriously, Em. You think our genes would have any of us at such an unhealthy weight as that?” Lara points rudely at the model as she sashays by, so I shove her arm down. “What? It’s survival of the fittest, and all that. Being that thin isn’t healthy.

“What about her?” Now it’s my turn to point. And I do so at the obviously fuller figured model who’s just come out onto the runway. As a matter of fact, I think I rather like this bridal fashion show. There are women of all shapes and sizes showing off wedding dresses.

“See, Lolz? Some women really are skinny by nature.”

“Hmmmmm.” My best friend still seems dubious. “Whatever.”

I have to laugh. Lara hates it when anyone but herself wins an argument. I’m not going to press my point home with her though. She gets the picture now, I’m sure. Besides, I’m happy to be spending time with my best friend away from her shop. Maybe now that her stupid robot isn’t around I can actually find a suitable dress for my wedding. I must be the only bride-to-be in existence who has put off settling on a bridal gown until the last minute. I’ve been so busy panicking about my weight that I haven’t actually sorted out the very problematic piece of material that I’m stressed about fitting into!

“Oh my god, Emily?” A woman’s voice snaps me out of dress-stress mode. Turning, I see a gorgeous blonde woman in the pew behind us. “It’s me, Veronica, from Ibiza.”

Oh shit. I’ve just instantly become the unluckiest person ever. I don’t know how it’s possible, but the one person in this world who thinks I’m a lesbian has just miraculously shown up in my life once again.

***

“Oh hiiiiiiiiiiiii, Veronica!” Lara practically screams at the woman. “Are you here with your fiancé, what was his name?”

“Hello, Lara!” Veronica sounds as enthusiastic as my weirdo best friend. I’m sure Lara is absolutely loving this. After all, it was my idea at the time to tell Veronica that I was indeed a complete and total lesbian.

We were holidaying in Ibiza, Lara and I, when we turned eighteen. That summer we had bunked with another girl, Veronica, and her fiancé. Why they were engaged to each other at such a young age I have no idea. Why they’d decided to go on holiday together in Ibiza had me further clueless. But there we were, Lara and I, rooming with two youngsters in love.

At one point the seemingly normal Veronica had become convinced that her fiancé was suddenly having an affair with either myself or Lara. The girl had broken down in tears and started acting like a lunatic. So I’d had the brilliant idea of telling the young Veronica that Lara and I were a lesbian couple. After that, Veronica had stopped harassing us completely and we were able to enjoy our holiday in peace. Well, if you call getting slammed at bars every night peaceful, but that’s the way of things at that age and in that area of the world.

What’s not the way of things, normally, is bumping into someone you met on holiday.

“Oh that’s my Craig, and yes we’re finally getting married. See!” Veronica extends her left hand over the pew bench. There’s a giant rock emblazoning her ring finger.

“Wow!” Lara exclaims loudly. “That is stunning!”

“Let’s see your rings then!” Veronica claps her hands together and stares at us both with insane eagerness in her eyes.

Oh my god. She thinks Lara and I are here together for our wedding. She thinks we’re engaged to be married to each other.

I glance at Lara, trying to keep my face from revealing panicked features. Lara, however, looks absolutely pleased with herself. “Go on, Em. Show her the stunner I got for you!”

So she wants to keep up the lesbian farce. Well I for one think we’re all old enough to come clean now and I’m certainly not going to pretend that the engagement ring Callum and I picked out together was bought by my fake lesbian girlfriend.

“Very funny, Lara. I think we should—”

“What’s funny?” Suddenly, the smile of glee is wiped off Veronica’s face. The woman looks as mad as she did all those years ago in Ibiza.

I’m having second thoughts now. What if my revealing of the non-lesbian truth leads this woman into a mental breakdown? What if she ends up dumping her fiancé all because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut and carry on with a silly little lie? What if—

“Emily!” Lara bellows. “Show her the bloody ring!”

I jut my left hand out fast.

“Oh.” Veronica’s facial features calm as she stares at my ring. “That’s umm… different.”

“You bet your bollocks it is!” For f*ck sake. Lara is milking the over the top lesbian persona thing. “I had it made special. It’s the jagged line readout of my beloved’s heartbeat as a sonogram.”

“A what?” Veronica looks confused and I can’t say I blame her.

It was my real fiancé’s idea to get matching rings with our heartbeat lines etched into the platinum metal. It really was a romantic gesture. The only problem is that it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense without the matching ring that my male partner wears!

Lara does her best to explain further, but Veronica now just looks bored, that is until her fiancé shows up. He’s a dark haired man wearing a grey suit that looks tailor-made. No wonder Veronica was always hysterical about her man. The guy must be minted. I guess that’s something to covet if you’re a gold-digger. Not that I think Veronica is that sort of woman. I don’t even know her. The chances of all four of us meeting like this is just uncanny and super unlucky. I’m supposed to be de-stressing today and this situation is so not relaxing in the slightest.

“Craig!” Veronica squeals with delight as her fiancé sits down next to her on the bench. “You remember Emily and Lara from Ibiza, right?”

He raises his eyebrows curiously. “The lesbians?”

“Yes!” Veronica enthuses and I cringe inwardly. Somehow I don’t think either of them would remember us today if I hadn’t come up with the brilliant lesbian lie. Well how was I supposed to know I’d be cursing myself in my mid-twenties while I was only eighteen? Isn’t there a rule somewhere in the universe that says what happens in Ibiza stays there? Or is that something about Las Vegas?

“Right you are, Craig-O.” Lara leans over the back of the pew and pokes Craig-O in his double-breasted chest.

“Oh my god, Lolz.” I put my face into my palm, embarrassed at my friend’s obvious drunkenness.

“Isn’t that the cutest lesbian nickname?” Veronica is all smiles at her fiancé.

“Let’s see a lesbian kiss then.”

Did Craig-O just verbalise a strange request?

“Come on, love!” Lara puckers her lips at the same time I’ve decided to raise my mortified head. “Let’s show them our post-vows smooch that we’re going to do at our wedding.”

Oh. Okay. That is it. This is the final straw. Best friend forever, or not, Lara has taken things too far. There is no way I’m going to share a lesbian kiss with her. Not that I mind if real lesbians want to kiss in public. Or that I even mind straight women trying out same-gender snogging, it’s just not something I plan on ever doing with someone I’ve known basically all my life.

I’m the sober one here. Lara doesn’t realise half the mortified feelings she’s going to wake up to upon sobering.

“You’re a cheeky one, Craig darling.” Veronica slaps the back of her fiancé’s hand playfully. “It’s almost as if you don’t believe they’re proper lesbians!” She barks a hysterical laugh and gets that familiar crazy look in her eye.

Lara is still puckering her lips at me. She’s moving in closer. Veronica is staring at me like a maniac. Her fiancé is gazing at myself and Lara lasciviously. Dear god how do I get myself out of this incredibly awkward situation? I don’t know what to do. Should I just go with it, smooch my friend, and get it over and done with? What’s going on with my lips? They’re pooching out of their own accord! I can’t control myself! I don’t know what to do! What to do—

“Blllaaaaaarrrgghh.”

Lara has stopped puckering her lips at me because her mouth is wide open as she vomits into my lap.

***



Having vomit spewed into your lap is not an advised way of relaxing during a bridal show tour.

I’d cleaned up the best I could in the ladies toilets and then Lara and I had gone to our hotel room so I could change. That was yesterday. Today’s bridal show visit was conducted without imbibing a single drop of wine. Now that we’re headed home I’m ever so grateful no alcohol was consumed on day two.

“Thanks for a lovely time, Lolz,” I say, standing in the doorway once we arrive at mine.

“I’ve said I’m sorry like a million times.” Lara pouts.

“I know. It’s just… sick is disgusting.”

“Yes… yes it is.” My best friend bows her head in shame. “And it was really extra disgusting sick with all that specialty food I ate.”

Oh. Never mind. She’s not shameful. She’s exacerbating the problem.

“Remind me never to invite you to one of my food tastings ever again.” I’m about to slam the door in her face when she puts a hand out to stop me.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel.”

I sigh loudly. “No, of course I wouldn’t. But you’re banned from eating my specialties for at least a month.”

She hisses inwardly through her teeth. “That’s harsh. You’re a mean old cow, aren’t you.”

Her use of the word cow stings. I haven’t told Lara about the cow-poop-in-face incident, and I’m determined to never ever breathe a word of that fiasco to her ever. What is it about gross things lately? I might as well have a swimming pool installed and get the thing filled with vomit and poo. Then I could jump into it every morning just to ensure karma already knows I’ve had my daily dose of foul bodily fluid drenching.

After reassuring Lara that I’m only partially joking about banning her from my cookery tastings, she finally leaves. I’m ready to drag myself upstairs into a steaming hot bath, but the doorbell chimes.

“I said you’re not banned.” I shout upon opening the door again, thinking Lara is still standing outside.

“Banned from what?”

It’s not Lara. It’s Brenda.

“Oh nothing.” I sigh. “Come on in.”

“Actually, I need you to come out here and join me.”

I highly doubt she needs me to do anything. Nevertheless, I walk out the front door and far away from a relaxing warm bath. “Where are we going?” I ask my soon-to-be-mother-in-law as we hurry along the pavement.

“There’s a new treatment at my spa that I think you’ll really benefit from, Emily.”

When we arrive at the Meli Spa I’m taken into the treatment area. “I didn’t know they had private rooms.”

Brenda tells me to sit on the bed that resembles a hospital gurney. “Now you just lie there and the nurse will be in shortly.”

Nurse? Since when does a beauty treatment require the assistance of medical staff? I’m feeling slightly worried as I lie here looking up through the sky-light above.

“What’s keeping them?” Brenda leaves the room and I’m left to stew in my worried state of mind.

While she’s out I quickly text Callum:

WHAT’S THIS NEW TREATMENT YOUR MUM HAS GOING AT THE MELI SPA?

He doesn’t reply and when Brenda returns to the room I’m even more concerned to find that the nurse she went to retrieve is a redheaded man.

“What sort of beauty treatment is this, Brenda?” I ask her nervously.

“It’s a detox treatment, darling.”

“A what?” I jump quickly off the bed.

“Relax, it’s just an enema.”

I… I can’t even… my brain cannot process…

Why do I do these things to myself? Why did I leave the confines and safety of my house with Brenda the obvious lunatic? I could have been happily laid back in a nice warm bath by now, rather than fearing for the state of my inner bowels at this present moment in time.

“Brenda. I’m not having the shit sucked out of my arse. I can use the toilet just fine on my own thanks.”

The ginger bloke raises his eyebrows and stops fidgeting with his shit-sucking machine for a second.

“Your waste products are not sucked out, Emily. They are merely washed out pleasantly with local fresh water that rejuvenates the digestive tract.”

Well, well, well. Someone’s been paying attention in the how-to-sell-an-enema-to-hapless-f*ckwits class. I for one am no such f*ckwit who’s gullible enough to have the shit either sucked or washed out of them… out of me… whatever! It’s so not happening to my backside.

Knock, knock, knock. There’s a pounding on the door. “Emily, are you in there?”

“Callum!” I scream overly dramatically at the sound of my fiancé’s voice. “I am in here, please save me!”

“Oh for god’s sake, Emily.” Brenda scowls at me and opens the door.

“Mum, I specifically said you shouldn’t ask Emily about this procedure.” Callum walks into the room and the redhead nurse guy choses this moment to wisely —in my opinion— leave.

“I know you did, dear, but I just though Emily would benefit from—”

“Oh Mum.” Callum cuts his mother off mid-sentence, which is something I’ve never known him to do before. “Just please, not this time, okay?”

“But I’m only looking out for your health, sweetie.” Brenda looks as though she’s going to cry.

I feel really bad. I didn’t know Callum was going to show up here. I guess he’d been alerted to my whereabouts when I’d sent him that text. I’m also guessing Brenda had asked him first about this enema thing. And I’m thirdly assuming he didn’t go for the idea.

I’m glad that my fiancé is in agreement with me about the goings-on inside my own lower intestines, and I don’t see why Brenda is taking it to heart. She really must love keeping people in shape. It must mean a lot to her.

“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea, Cal—”

He cuts me off with an angry glare. “Look,” he says, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Let’s all just have lunch at the spa restaurant, okay. It’s my treat. I think we all need to relax for a bit.”

And just like that he’s back to being my hero once again. My darling fiancé has just saved me from faecal disaster for the second time in one week. The first time may have involved cow faeces instead of my own human shit, but who cares? I’m just glad I won’t be dealing with shit from the backend of any species today.