Loathe Thy Neighbour

x ............................................................................................................................................................... All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. 2020 Copyright. All Rights Reserved. ................................................................................................................................................................ Cousin Betsy looked like a meringue. Felicity Arnold was not jealous. Not in the slightest. And she wasn't in the least bit annoyed at her over the top, over exaggerated giggle every time somebody commented on her ginormous dress. Nor was she irritated beyond comprehension, that after all these years Betsy had a habit of ending every sentence as if it were a question. She had been tedious and exasperating at age nine. Now, at age twenty six, the same age as Felicity, she was every bit as mind numbingly boring as she always had been. The whole wedding was pretentious, claustrophobic, and packed with relatives She didn't care for. But this is what you got for coming home, to somewhere everybody knew your most embarrassing childhood secrets and loved to recount those stories at the most inopportune of moments. Like the moment where a very dashing suited man, very alike in features to Channing Tatum, (not to mention the expanse of muscular form that had her squealing silently) suddenly appeared at her side. Her second cousin, or was it her third (and more importantly, why the hell did it matter who the meddling crone was) decided to tell the story of her high school prom, where she was stood up mid dance by her date and had the misfortune of a 'nip slip' incident all on the same night. Such was her luck, as was the fact that half way through the story the groom’s sister joined them at the bar. She was so strikingly beautiful that felicity nearly fell off her chair. She noticed Channing Tatum nearly did too. He was gone before he'd ever been hers and she sighed, shoulders sagging as she downed her rose wine. 'Don't you think you'd better slow down?' Her mother appeared beside her, right where the wretched cousin had been. 'Isn’t that your fifth glass?' Felicity raised an eyebrow, glaring at her mother. Forty-seven years young and with skin to make any twenty-year-old jealous, her blonde, slender mother took the empty glass and slid it away from her. Another little gripe she had with life, was that whereas her mother was skinny as a rake and could eat anything she wanted, she herself had curves. Sometimes those curves appeared where they shouldn't, and thankfully a career in dancing had kept her figure under control. Now she was retired from her profession, she knew it was just a matter of time before she ballooned. Her father’s side were all larger, with a penchant for butter and cream, and instead of inheriting her mother’s lightning fast metabolism, she inherited a lust for calories. To add insult to injury, her younger sister by eighteen months was the image of their mother. She appeared on the other side of Felicity, concern on her face. 'I told you not to come flick. It must bring back some bad memories.' Felicity glared at her sister. Every opportunity she got, Sapphire seemed to mention her sisters own ill-fated wedding, just last summer. A year had gone by but the pitying looks from family and friends were at an all-time high as they learned of Betsy's impending nuptials. Her fiancé Taylor Lambert had decided, just moments before she was due to walk down the aisle, that he didn't want to get married. He'd stood there, hands in his pockets, kicking the gravel in front of the church, unable to meet her eyes. Okay so it hadn't been a fairy-tale relationship, but she had invested two years into that indecisive man child, and he had chosen the worst possible moment to say that he wasn't ready. Her mother’s face had looked like it did right now. Poor chubby little felicity, hopes dashed, happy ever after ruined. The only consolation was that both her mother and her sister were single, and they didn't have attractive dates to rub in her face and cause her to become steadily more inebriated. She was about to answer her sister, when the bride and groom entered the marquee. A chorus of cheering erupted, and she narrowed her eyes as Betsy kissed her husband. Whilst pretending to care what the groom’s family had to say, waiting outside the church for photographs to be taken, she'd heard that the groom was a successful sports journalist. He worked for ESPN and had his own show. Tanned, tall, dark and very very handsome she felt like storming out right then. The proverbial toys had been thrown out of the pram. This was not fair. Why did her irritating cousin get the guy? She heard whooping as the groom announced that the bride had something to say, and being that she was most definitely tipsy, she decided to vacate the room as quietly as she could. Betsy's high-pitched voice sounded, and she could feel her teeth grind together. Her cousin always had the ability to make her cringe, and right now it was either get out or find an emergency dentist. She jostled her way through relatives with cameras, and the model who had stolen Channing Tatum. Eager to get out, she stormed towards the exit, not looking where she was going. It all seemed to happen in slow motion, the shock on the face of the man carrying the wedding cake, the gasps from the guests behind her, and the beautiful four-tiered cake sailing through the air, followed by a flurry of guests desperate to catch it. She watched helplessly as it slapped against the ground, icing splattering the bottom of her very expensive non-returnable gown. Then she heard Betsy sobbing, and the dashing groom consoling her, whilst narrowing his eyes to slits in Felicity’s direction. The cake had been designed by her aunt, who had died just a week before. She pondered continuing her exit strategy, but she was far too intoxicated to do anything other than giggle. Relatives stared in horror, as she recounted the incident in her mind’s eye. This was the kind of thing that only happened to her. Normally she would shrug off her mother, but right now she knew that she had to bow out as gracefully as she could. Mother on one side, Sapphire on the other, they led her to Betsy, where she slurred the most saccharine coated apology that she could muster, and then they escorted her to her car. 'I'll drive her home.' Her mother said, her mouth set in a tight line. 'Why don't you go and see if that guy wearing the grey tux is single? I'd love a little sugar mommy action.' Perhaps it was the adrenaline from the cake hurling incident, perhaps the alcohol, or maybe it was the way her mother divulged her sordid love life, but she suddenly had to be sick. If the icing didn't render the dress non-returnable, the vomit definitely did. Elegant as always, Felicity left the wedding.