I hate weddings. I hate the effort, the cost and the stress that comes with it. But most of all I hate the falseness, and how that falseness is fuelled by everyone in attendance. How solemn vows are shared with so little thought. How beautiful speeches are given to those in attendance with promises made to never stop loving, caring and trying to please the other. All those words ring hollow in time and are shown for the sham they are.
Of course I am not the best advocate of marriage. Not when the man who'd directed such wonderful sentiments at me a decade ago clearly didn't mean them, shown by him leaving me for the younger, fitter strumpet from work. And in doing so, leaving me to raise the children we'd had together alone.
The fact that his new marriage was seemingly perfect, and that he'd had another child, made my own singledom rankle even more.
I'd warned my sister of such things but had, perhaps rightfully, been told I was bitter. Five years of loneliness would do that to anyone though, especially as my tenuous grasp to my mid thirties was starting to slip.
No such worries for my sister though. Younger by six years, slimmer and abundantly happy to have snagged a good looking man. I even begrudgingly liked her future husband - Will was smart, compassionate and we shared plenty in common, so he was easy to get on with. He might even stick to his vows. Certainly my sister seemed to think so, confidently lording it over me of the future and happiness they would undoubtedly share.
Why she had picked me as a bridesmaid when we'd never really gotten along was beyond me - perhaps so my daughters could be flower girls. It had meant we all got to dress up though, which at their ages of eight and six was very exciting. Our outfits didn't match though - they more mimicked the appearance of their aunt in white dresses and a daisy crown, while I wore a figure hugging peach number that showed off the curves I had grown anxious about in my age. I even thought it perhaps showed off a little too much skin with it finishing just above my knee and showing off the cleavage my sister had always been envious of.
My girls had both been brilliantly behaved during the day and had been a good distraction from the faux-happiness that had surrounded me throughout. But God they were exhausting, and I was incredibly thankful that come nightfall my parents had agreed to take them to bed so that I could have a few hours off. I imagine they expect me to drink and party with the rest of the wedding party, and in a sense they're half right - I make an appearance on the dance floor, at least for a few songs, but seeing my sister drunk already and barely able to stand is enough to convince me I'm done being sociable.
With a bottle of bubbly in hand I head out into the moonlit grounds and around the small lake at the back of the hall where the wedding had taken place. It's quiet, with just the faint bass of music and drunken singing audible. I take a seat on a rickety bench and let the night air wash over me.
I don't know how long I'm alone because it's something I'm so used to by now. The bottle is half gone though when I hear the crunch of footsteps on the gravel path behind the bench.
"Izzy? What are you doing here?"
I'm honestly startled to see Will standing under a small lattice archway.
"Me? What are you doing here?"
I can barely see him in the faint light, but I can see a smile in between his well groomed, short beard. It's the same length as his dark hair, and even looking slightly unkempt after a long day he still looks remarkably handsome.
"Good question - I guess I just wanted some fresh air," he answers with the slight slur of someone who's been drinking most of the day, coming to the bench and sitting down beside me without asking if he could. It's his wedding day though, so I can hardly tell him to fuck off.
We both stare out at the hall where a rainbow of lights shine through the windows onto the green grass between the lake and us. It's pretty, I think, as I take a swig of champagne straight from the bottle. This makes Will chuckle.
"I see you're having a good time," he says with absolutely no judgement. Anyone else, my sister especially, and I would be sure the comment would be barbed with disappointment. I eye him with a smile and offer the bottle to him. He doesn't hesitate in taking it.
"I prefer this party I think," I reply as he drinks. "Me, some champagne and, if you look carefully to your right, there's some ducks. Does your wedding have ducks?"
Will sputters and drink spurts from his mouth, which I tut at. "Fuck's sake, don't waste it - I don't want to have to go back in for more."
"Sorry sorry," he apologises, then reaches into his light blue jacket and pulls out a leather hip flask. "Does this make things square?"
I take it without comment, unscrewing the top and sipping what I guess is an expensive whisky. It's something we have in common, the two of us having spoken at length about our favourites. I smack my lips approvingly and keep hold of the flask, eyes forwards at the venue.
"Where's my darling sister?" I drawl, and even though I'm not looking at him I can feel Will stiffen beside me. That, I presumed, was the reason for him seeking some fresh air.
"I asked her... I asked her not to get too pissed." he hisses, his anger and frustration oozing off of him. "But she had to invite Justin, didn't she? And he's been plying her with drinks most of the night. She can barely fucking stand Izzy."
The whisky burns down my throat as I take a few moments to consider a response. I can't exactly defend my sister when even I'd advised against inviting her ex to the wedding. She'd insisted he was just a friend, and while I believed that from her point of view, I had always suspected that Justin held a candle for Hannah even now.
A difficult situation for Will to be in for sure. I offer him his hip flask as a condolence and I give him a weary smile.
"I'd say it gets better, but I'm perhaps not the best person to give you advice on marriage."
