It's Not You, It's Them

by Portia MacIntosh

  I grab my bag and take my phone out. I know I haven’t had a signal while I’ve been here, but you can call the emergency services on any network, right? It doesn’t matter, because my phone has died. Because I haven’t been able to use it, I haven’t been bothering to charge it. Today is just getting worse and worse by the second.

  ‘Hello?’ I call out, coughing to clear my throat. ‘Hello?’ I call louder.

  No one calls back, except the echo of my own voice.

  I’m injured, all alone, and no one knows I’m missing to even start looking for me. Of all the bad decisions I’ve made, this one has got to be the worst.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Idea for an article: ‘Ten things I wish I’d done before I died’.

  I mean, first and foremost, obviously, I wish I’d never come out here on my own in the first place. When I’m upset, I’m irrational. Well, no, I’m always irrational, but I am even more irrational when I’m upset. I suppose it’s a bit of a cop-out to say that the first thing I wish I’d done before dying was ‘not die’, so I guess we’ll scrap that one.

  I wish I’d told my family that I loved them more often. It’s not that I didn’t tell them, it’s just that I’ll never be able to tell them enough. If there’s one thing I’ve learned recently, it’s just how amazing it is to have a family who love and support you.

  I wish I’d learned a useful skill, like sign language or first aid. Or even just something that would serve me well in life, like sewing or cooking.

  I wish I’d cared less about what people thought about me. About whether I looked stupid when I was dancing. About whether my back looked fat in that dress I wore to that party in 2014.

  I wish I hadn’t compared myself to other people, whether it was at work when I thought my writing wasn’t good enough, or when I found myself face to face with the ex-girlfriends of current boyfriends (admittedly, that’s only happened once).

  I wish I’d worked less, and seen more of the world. I never really got chance to explore different continents, and do crazy things like paragliding or scuba diving.

  I wish I’d watched Game of Thrones, because I spent so much time at work wondering what the hell people were talking about, and feeling left out for not understanding why it was taking winter so long to come.

  I wish I hadn’t been so pessimistic. Whenever anything happened, the first thing I would do would be look at the negative side of things. Like getting snowed in with Mark’s family. I didn’t see it as a chance to get to know them, I saw it as a nightmare – admittedly, they didn’t do much to help that, but still. I never felt like my glass was full, no matter how much was in it.

  I wish I’d worried less. I worried about everything. I worried about worrying so much, and when I didn’t have anything to worry about, I worried about that, too.

  I wish I’d been more open-minded. When Mark mentioned wanting kids, I stuck to my guns, making it clear that I’d never wanted them. I never stopped to consider whether I might want them with Mark specifically.

  Finally… I wish I’d married Mark. He was the love of my life, and the thought of never seeing him again hurts more than my ankle does (and that’s a lot).

  I slip off my boot and examine my ankle. It’s pretty swollen, so I scoop up some snow and cover it.

  I’m so cold, so wet and so lonely. If this is the way I’m going to die, I’ll be so annoyed. How did Roxie Pratt die? Oh, she got pissed off, went out in the snow, fell over and got hypothermia.

  Mark will be so mad at me; he’ll think it’s so like me to do something so stupid and die so senselessly. He’ll say that, for someone who worries so much, I don’t worry enough where it matters. And he’d be right, of course. It drives me crazy how often he’s right and I’m wrong about things. Still, I’d do anything to hear him shout at me one last time.

  ‘Roxie,’ I hear Mark call out.

  Yeah, like that. Oh God, is one of the symptoms of hypothermia that you start imagining things? I’d google it, but my phone is dead.

  ‘Roxie,’ I hear his voice again.

  I never knew hallucinations were so realistic. I guess that’s the point.

  ‘I’m here, sweetheart,’ I call back sarcastically, my voice getting lost in thin air.

  ‘Where?’ he calls back.

  ‘On the floor,’ I laugh. This is stupid. But at least I have my delusions to keep me company.

  ‘Shit, are you OK?’ Mark asks, running towards me.

  I eyeball him suspiciously.

  ‘Are you real?’ I ask.

  ‘What? Yes! Did you hit your head?’

  ‘No, just my ankle. Oh, my God, is it really you?’

  I feel my eyes flood with tears. Mark is here, and he’s going to save me.

  ‘Put your arms around my neck. I’ll carry you back to the house.’

  ‘How did you know I’d snuck out?’

  ‘The twins told me.’

  ‘Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to die out here. How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘I followed your footprints. Roxie – it’s been, like, thirty minutes. Look up there, you can see the smoke from the chimney.’

  ‘Oh,’ I reply. ‘I thought I’d got much further.’

  ‘Where were you going?’ he asks as he carries me back towards the house.

  ‘The pub,’ I tell him. ‘I was going to run away with the soldiers.’

  ‘Of course you were,’ he laughs. ‘Let’s get you back to the house you tried so valiantly to escape from. We’ll talk there.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mark has dressed me up in a tracksuit, bundled me up in a blanket, placed a mug of hot chocolate in my hands and plonked me in front of the fire. I’m as comfortable as I can be with an elevated ankle.

  While Mark was making my drink, Alex popped in and had a look at my ankle. He says it’s a bad sprain, and that resting it should be enough. Now it’s just Mark and me.

  ‘The first thing I want to do is talk about what you overheard the other day, in the wardrobe,’ he starts, having a little laugh at the sheer bizarreness of that sentence. ‘It was wrong of me to imply that I’d broken up with Bea, when technically she broke up with me, but I didn’t want you to misunderstand the situation.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I was with Bea when I was a kid, and you don’t really know what you’re thinking or feeling then, do you? As I grew up, I realised that I didn’t love her. If I did love her, I probably would have loved her forever, but I didn’t, so when the job came up in London, I didn’t think twice about taking it. Do you know what it’s like when you don’t love someone who loves you so much?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘It’s like watching them slowly dying right in front of you, knowing there’s nothing you can do about it. I knew that, when I told her, it was going to hurt her so much, so when I told her about London and she said she’d dump me if I accepted the job, I accepted it. And then my problem was solved. I didn’t have to be the person who ended things and I still got what I wanted. I know that sounds cowardly, and I wish I could’ve done things differently, but that’s how it happened.’

  ‘She said she knew you were going to propose to her,’ I remind him, before shutting up and waiting for an explanation.

  ‘About that,’ he laughs awkwardly. ‘My mum told her that. And obviously I know that bit wasn’t true, because I had no intention of proposing to her.’

  I nod thoughtfully, waiting to see what he says next.

  ‘I should have believed you when you told me what my mum and Bea were up to, and I’ll never forgive myself for doubting you. It was unfortunate all that other stuff had to come out,’ he laughs. ‘Although we have kicked out that walking STD my sister was dating. She’s got some big decisions ahead of her, but we’ll help her figure it out. Alex and Millie are talking to each other, working things out. I could’ve done without knowing my dad was bi, but now I do. So…’

  I laugh with him.

  ‘I�
��m so sorry, honestly. I really didn’t mean for that article to go live, and at least it got taken down.’

  ‘I don’t know what you said to the twins, but they think you’re wonderful.’

  ‘They’re good kids,’ I tell him.

  ‘I had a heart to heart with my mum while you were locked in the bedroom. I told her how much you meant to me, and how happy you made me. She admitted that she’d had this idea in her head that if she got Bea and me back together, that I’d move home, and because of that she never gave you a chance. She sees that now, and she’d love for you to give her a second chance, too. And I definitely should’ve told them I was bringing you – you were right.’

  ‘Wait, can I get that in writing?’ I laugh, semi-seriously. This never happens.

  ‘I just want us to figure things out and go back to how happy we were before. Do you think we can?’

  I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as I take a deep breath. I need to say this without crying, but it’s hard.

  ‘I’m not sure we can,’ I tell him honestly. ‘There are things that you want, that I’m not sure I can give you. And I thought about it, while I was stranded in the snow, and I’m willing to reconsider things with an open mind, but I can’t make you any promises. Not like Bea could.’

  Mark takes my hands in his and looks into my eyes as he talks to me.

  ‘You need to stop comparing yourself to Bea, because you’ll never be her, no matter how hard you try.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I say sarcastically. I try to move my hands from Mark’s grasp, but he holds them firmly.

  ‘Listen to me, Roxie. She was my first girlfriend, she was my first kiss, she’s the person I lost my virginity to – but not everything I did for the first time was with her. She wasn’t the first person I truly loved. She wasn’t the first person who made my shit days seem not shit, because I knew I’d get to see her face at the end of it. She wasn’t the first person I could see myself spending the rest of my life with – you are. You might not think you compare to her, but she doesn’t compare to you. And I know you think that perhaps you can’t give me the things I want, but the only thing I want is you. I want to marry you. I don’t care where we live, or what we do for work, or if we never have kids, because, of all the things that could be in my future, you’re the only one that matters. I don’t know what it’s like to work aboard, I don’t know what it’s like to be a dad, but I do know what it’s like to have you, and I’m not losing you. OK?’

  And just like that, with those few words, all of my worries evaporate.

  ‘OK,’ I reply.

  ‘Ste is gone, Bea has gone to her parents’, everyone else wants to start afresh with you,’ he assures me. ‘Can we all start again with dinner tonight, and pretend the past few days never happened?’

  ‘I’d like to try,’ I tell him.

  ‘Come here,’ he says, grabbing me and kissing me on the lips. Mark parts his lips from mine quickly. ‘You devil,’ he laughs. ‘Did you just slip me the tongue?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I say softly.

  ‘Do you reckon you can have sex with a sprained ankle?’

  ‘Probably, but why would you want to have sex with my ankle?’ I tease.

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ Mark says, picking me up and throwing me over his shoulder. ‘Let’s see if we can go break this bed some more.’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I giggle. ‘But are you sure you don’t want to wait until we’re home? Whenever that may be…’

  ‘I don’t want to wait, although we might be able to head home tomorrow. Apparently the snow is going to clear significantly overnight and throughout tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ I laugh.

  Epilogue

  ‘It’s not you, it’s them’ – article, version two.

  First comes love, then comes family. When you meet the man of your dreams, you think: ‘Yes, that’s it! I have found the person I want to start my own family with and I have everything I need to be happy.’ What you don’t realise is that you don’t just start your own family, you acquire theirs, too.

  When your boyfriend is from a different background to you, it can be strange for his family when he takes you into their home. You’re just some outsider to them who is suddenly the most important thing in their son’s life. And they might find it hard to take to you at first, and you might feel the same way about them. You might not be their cup of tea, and they might not be your caramel macchiato, but that’s OK. Once you accept this and stop jumping through hoops to try and please them, you’ll start being your real self and they’ll fall in love with that girl, just like their son did. They did raise him, after all. It makes sense that they’d admire similar qualities.

  So what do you do if you meet your boyfriend’s family and they start comparing you to his ex? Hell, maybe they even miss her. That’s a good sign: that they took her in, and made her one of the family. It will be strange for them to do it all over again, but they’ll embrace you in the same way once they realise you’re sticking around.

  When you’re getting to know them you will realise that they’re not perfect. You might find out that they have skeletons (or dads) in the closet. You might realise that they’re doing plenty of things wrong, but for all the right reasons.

  If you show up and do nothing but be yourself and love their son with a fiery passion, and they still don’t like you, don’t worry about it. You’re not an ugly duckling who needs to bide her time, waiting for your time to shine, you’re a goddamn swan. You are wonderful and their son is lucky to have you. Don’t let his family make you feel like you’re not worthy of him, because you make him the happiest man in the world. If they think there’s something wrong with you, don’t give it a second thought, because there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s not you, it’s them.

  If you loved It’s Not You, It’s Them, then turn the page for an exclusive extract from Truth or Date, another brilliant, giggle-inducing romance from Portia MacIntosh!

  Chapter 1

  ‘You look good in red,’ Nick tells me, stifling a laugh.

  Were I not so happy to have just tied the knot with the love of my life, I would’ve climbed the nearest palm tree, removed the biggest coconut I could find and thrown it at my darling hubby because, as much as I love him, I hate it when he’s right. Last week as we shopped for the few last bits for our honeymoon, I dragged Nick into Hollister where I saw this beautiful cream sundress. I knew that it would be perfect for our trip to Hawaii, but Nick didn’t seem convinced. He just doesn’t buy into fashion, he’s one of those guys who just doesn’t get it, whereas I’m the kind of girl who would swap a kidney for a Hermès bag. It wasn’t so much the price Nick took issue with (although he did say it was a lot of money for very little material), what he worried about most was the fact the dress was cream.

  ‘You’ll spill,’ he told me as I admired it on its hanger.

  ‘Fuck off,’ I replied.

  ‘You will,’ he insisted. ‘You’re the messiest girl in the world.’

  Of course, this just made me want the dress all the more, so I bought it and here we are, the first day of our honeymoon and I’ve spilled my Lava Flow cocktail all the way down the front. Just like Nick said I would.

  Nick retrieves the chunk of pineapple that garnished my drink from my cleavage and pops it in his mouth.

  ‘I told you you’d spill on it,’ he chuckles. ‘It’s a miracle you didn’t spill on your wedding dress.’

  ‘That’s because I couldn’t eat in it,’ I admit, although it wasn’t because I didn’t want to. ‘If I so much as inhaled too deeply, it felt like it might burst open – and flashing my boobs on my wedding day is just the kind of Carry On moment you expect of me. None of the glossy wedding mags prepare you for the fact that your wedding dress will be the most uncomfortable thing you’ll ever wear.’

  ‘Yeah, they don’t warn you that the first thing your new bride will do when she gets to the honeymoon suite will be hurry off her dress before pillaging the miniba
r either.’

  I scoop some of the cocktail slush from my chest and flick it at Nick’s bare stomach. He just laughs, lying back on the sand to catch some rays.

  ‘Throw it in the sea,’ he suggests. ‘Back to its natural habitat. I’ll bet it has missed the sound of the waves in the shop – so stupid.’

  ‘Leave Hollister out of this,’ I snap, jokily.

  I peel off my dress, lie down on the sand next to Nick and rest my head gently on his bicep.

  ‘I’ll tan weird if you cuddle me,’ he laughs, the sweltering heat from the Hawaiian sun beaming down on us.

  ‘You’ll get over it,’ I reply.

  Lying here with the man of my dreams, with nothing but the peaceful sound of the ocean filling my ears and the delicious smell of strawberries filling my nostrils, I sigh and smile to myself. I am so disgustingly happy.

  Unable to resist him a second longer, I climb on top of Nick, leaning forwards to kiss him passionately. He places his hands on my hips before running them slowly up my body. I part our lips, but only so I can moan softly at his touch.

  ‘I love you, Nick,’ I tell him.

  ‘I love you too, Ruby,’ he replies. ‘Ruby…Ruby…Ruby…’

  Nick’s voice grows louder, louder still and then more aggressive. It sounds like he’s pissed off, come to think of it.

  ‘Ruby,’ he shouts. ‘Wake up.’

  I jolt awake suddenly, sitting upright.

  ‘What the hell?’ he asks, angrily.

  I glance around for a second, taking in my surroundings… I’m not in Hawaii at all, I’m in my living room. I’m not wearing a bikini, I’m in my underwear. I’m not lying on a beach, I’m on top of Ben, a guy I’ve been seeing for a couple of weeks. Oh, and Nick isn’t my husband, he’s my flatmate. My boring, stuck up, joyless flatmate that I can’t stand. And I was just having a sex dream about him – eww! I feel my cheeks flush with shame – not because he’s caught me semi-naked with a bloke, but because I was dreaming about him. That I was in love with him, that I’d married him… I was about to have sex with him!