Pack yourself a toothbrush, dear

chapter one

"C'mon Louis, hurry up" my mother yells from the entrance of the church, her peach colored summer dress billowing in the air. She looks entrancing, really. 

 It was quite a hot day for a Doncaster summer morning. I was sweating profusely, and barely two steps away from melting like a Popsicle, although I couldn't tell whether it was because of the heat or my nerves.

It's normal to be nervous on your wedding day. It's a very important day and we're going to look down at this day many years down the line and so, it's okay to be scared, to be not entirely sure of how it's going to turn out. It's like childbirth. It's okay to wonder if you're child's going to be ugly, doesn't mean you don't look forward to it. 

Right ?

The pebbles seem to move away  underneath my feet, making me wobble slightly. The atmosphere was shrouded with tension and excitement and obnoxiously soft chatter among the aunts, who were in their prime gossip years. Pam's pot roast was a flop ? Catherine's daughter's pregnant at seventeen ? Elizabeth is having an affair ? 

 Anxiety was coursing through my vein, like drugs. I breathed out loudly through my nostrils. The alter was covered with white roses, which cost a fortune really. At the amount they charged, I sure hope they were plucked from the Queen's garden. Some of my family members were already seated; others were running around making sure the decoration was perfect. 

As if any of this matters. Would this day be less special if we were getting married in a barn ? Wedding's are just a shit show to reflect who's got enough money to order in silk curtains from Egypt and who's poor enough to provide plastic chairs to the guests. I bet none of them even care about this wedding, they're just looking for more topics to chit chat on a Wednesday afternoon and free Ricotta, jobless oafs. 

I'm overreacting. It's all okay. I'm just overwhelmed. shut up, self. Is it only me or has my rib cage suddenly grown tighter, constricting the so called exchange of air between my lungs? Or am I sub consciously holding my breath ?

"Tommo ! You look really happy, Tommo" Calvin stepped up from a corner, adorned in his high school prom tux and patted my suit slightly, beaming like the sun doesn't shine on Doncaster anymore and he has taken it's place. There's no one I hated more than Calvin at the moment. He was the one who convinced my mother to arrange for a ginormously useless ceremony. Lord knows I'm dying to connect my fist to his jaw and dislocate his useless skull from his body. I

"Thanks" I pressed my lips together into a Cheshire cat-like wide grin "It's a facade"

"Aww" his stupid, two times married and divorced, face pouted "Is Tommo getting the jitters ?"

"Shut up, Rodgers. You're lucky you have a kid" I warned, growling slightly and holding back my urge to scratch at his face "If you didn't, I swear to fucking-"

"C'mon, you're the groom. Loosen up, breathe, enjoy this." He smiled gently and grabbed on to my shoulder "Don't let your nerves ruin the most memorable night of your life You're going to love the life that's before you."

of my life. phew, thanks. that helped. Permanence, sure, that would make a commitment freak groom so much relieved.

"Yeah." I rearranged my tie and then, redid my cuff buttons. "Because weddings worked out so well for you, didn't it ? Your massive, monthly alimony to Henna speaks on your behalf." 

"It's different, Loubie. Henna told me she wanted to get married in a leather bikini and wanted her ex boyfriend to commence the wedding. I should have taken a hint." Calvin grinned manically, grabbing an oyster from a server nearby, "Eleanor has no ex, you're her first boyfriend and so, there's no need to worry. Wait, who's the pastor again-"