all?’
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘I’m not.’ She grabbed my wrist. ‘Tell me. Tell me I’m not needy, Laura. Say it. Say you’re not needy.’
I picked her hand off my wrist. ‘No.’
She drained her glass. ‘I just don’t get it. What is this need for
a special dress
?’ She said ‘special dress’ in a little-girl voice. ‘Why don’t you just wear your favourite dress – the maroon lacy one? It’s not as though we’re the kind of people who take photos of ourselves all the time when we’re out in a desperate need to document our lives.’ I thought of the photo I’d sent earlier to Jim. ‘I think it’s so fucking tragic when people do that. What, so they can sit there when they’re eighty, pointing through albums mid-air with a virtual-reality glove, saying
And here’s another glorious moment I failed to participate in because I was too busy taking a fucking photo
. Wear the maroon. In ten years you’ll have forgotten you didn’t buy it especially. And you know what, Lo, it’s
your fucking wedding
.’
This one was from Tyler’s friend Agnes, the only friend from Crawford she’d ever kept in touch with – although Agnes had recently ‘gone over to the dark side’ (childrearing). Apparently Agnes had been so bombed on speed at her own wedding that when the photographer and members of her family were hassling her to get out of her room to have some photos taken Agnes had emerged enraged, her train hitched halfway up her legs, stood at the top of the grand central staircase and roared at the foyer of assembled guests below: ‘LISTEN UP, PEOPLE: IT’S MY FUCKING WEDDING.’ Tyler, boshed on the same speed, stood on a chaise longue and applauded. The phrase had since been applied to any situation where you were going to do something your way because it was your thing.
‘The whole idea of marriage
is
preposterous, though, in the modern age,’ Tyler went on.
‘Everything’s preposterous when you look at it too long,’ I said. ‘Especially the word “preposterous”.’
She swigged more wine and banged her glass down on the table. The glass base hit the wood with a jarring crack. ‘But there’s no ceremony for
friendship
, is there? Does friendship mean nothing in this world? Nothing to
you
?’
I lit up a cigarette and took the first drag back hard into my throat, so hard it made my eyes water. I looked at her. ‘Take a day off from this. An hour, even.’
‘Why? Because you know it’s true?’ I looked at her. She looked back. ‘If you go ahead with this wedding then you realise that what you’re actually saying is that your friendship with me is not meaningful and durable. That,’ she sipped her wine victoriously, ‘is the logical conclusion.’
‘Believe me, if I could marry you too, Tyler, I would.’
Would I? Probably not.
‘Did you know there are now as many unmarried parents as married parents in the UK? Things are changing. You don’t have to fuse the nuclear family any more.’
‘I don’t want to fuse the nuclear family.’
‘So why marry Jim at all? Why this insistence on upheaval?’
I looked at her and kept looking at her as I brought my glass to my lips. I had to make light of it, had to. ‘I dunno,
variety
?’
‘You’re ruining my life for variety’s sake?’
‘I’m not ruining your life! There’s more to your life than me! And I’m marrying Jim because I love him, I do, and this feels like …’ I couldn’t say ‘adventure’. ‘… progress.’
She smacked her forehead with her hand. ‘Progress? What about our hard-earned system? Have you forgotten about that? Isn’t marriage just another example of everything we’ve always fought against, as in the shit people do because they think they should rather than because they actually want to?’
I held her chin and turned her face to mine. ‘Listen to me, Tyler. I want to marry Jim. I have not been coerced or conditioned –’
‘But how would you –?’ She looked
‘I’m not.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘I’m not.’ She grabbed my wrist. ‘Tell me. Tell me I’m not needy, Laura. Say it. Say you’re not needy.’
I picked her hand off my wrist. ‘No.’
She drained her glass. ‘I just don’t get it. What is this need for
a special dress
?’ She said ‘special dress’ in a little-girl voice. ‘Why don’t you just wear your favourite dress – the maroon lacy one? It’s not as though we’re the kind of people who take photos of ourselves all the time when we’re out in a desperate need to document our lives.’ I thought of the photo I’d sent earlier to Jim. ‘I think it’s so fucking tragic when people do that. What, so they can sit there when they’re eighty, pointing through albums mid-air with a virtual-reality glove, saying
And here’s another glorious moment I failed to participate in because I was too busy taking a fucking photo
. Wear the maroon. In ten years you’ll have forgotten you didn’t buy it especially. And you know what, Lo, it’s
your fucking wedding
.’
This one was from Tyler’s friend Agnes, the only friend from Crawford she’d ever kept in touch with – although Agnes had recently ‘gone over to the dark side’ (childrearing). Apparently Agnes had been so bombed on speed at her own wedding that when the photographer and members of her family were hassling her to get out of her room to have some photos taken Agnes had emerged enraged, her train hitched halfway up her legs, stood at the top of the grand central staircase and roared at the foyer of assembled guests below: ‘LISTEN UP, PEOPLE: IT’S MY FUCKING WEDDING.’ Tyler, boshed on the same speed, stood on a chaise longue and applauded. The phrase had since been applied to any situation where you were going to do something your way because it was your thing.
‘The whole idea of marriage
is
preposterous, though, in the modern age,’ Tyler went on.
‘Everything’s preposterous when you look at it too long,’ I said. ‘Especially the word “preposterous”.’
She swigged more wine and banged her glass down on the table. The glass base hit the wood with a jarring crack. ‘But there’s no ceremony for
friendship
, is there? Does friendship mean nothing in this world? Nothing to
you
?’
I lit up a cigarette and took the first drag back hard into my throat, so hard it made my eyes water. I looked at her. ‘Take a day off from this. An hour, even.’
‘Why? Because you know it’s true?’ I looked at her. She looked back. ‘If you go ahead with this wedding then you realise that what you’re actually saying is that your friendship with me is not meaningful and durable. That,’ she sipped her wine victoriously, ‘is the logical conclusion.’
‘Believe me, if I could marry you too, Tyler, I would.’
Would I? Probably not.
‘Did you know there are now as many unmarried parents as married parents in the UK? Things are changing. You don’t have to fuse the nuclear family any more.’
‘I don’t want to fuse the nuclear family.’
‘So why marry Jim at all? Why this insistence on upheaval?’
I looked at her and kept looking at her as I brought my glass to my lips. I had to make light of it, had to. ‘I dunno,
variety
?’
‘You’re ruining my life for variety’s sake?’
‘I’m not ruining your life! There’s more to your life than me! And I’m marrying Jim because I love him, I do, and this feels like …’ I couldn’t say ‘adventure’. ‘… progress.’
She smacked her forehead with her hand. ‘Progress? What about our hard-earned system? Have you forgotten about that? Isn’t marriage just another example of everything we’ve always fought against, as in the shit people do because they think they should rather than because they actually want to?’
I held her chin and turned her face to mine. ‘Listen to me, Tyler. I want to marry Jim. I have not been coerced or conditioned –’
‘But how would you –?’ She looked
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