Twenty One
The Weight of Us
MIA
THE DRIVE TO MY parents’ house is painfully familiar—the same winding roads I’ve traveled since childhood, now carrying me toward an engagement party that feels anything but real.
Austin drives with the same casual confidence he seems to carry in everything he does, his hand draped over the wheel while the other rests on my thigh. He doesn’t look nervous. Of course, he doesn’t. Austin is the kind of man who walks into every room as if he owns it.
I, on the other hand, can feel my stomach knotting tighter with every mile.
“You’ve gone quiet,” Austin says, casting a glance at me before turning his attention back to the road.
I manage a tight smile. “Just mentally preparing for the onslaught.”
“Of what? Compliments about how ridiculously good-looking your fiancé is?” he teases, flashing me a grin that would disarm most people.
I roll my eyes, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. “No. More like a barrage of questions about wedding dates, colour schemes, and whether or not we’re planning to give my mum any grandchildren in the next five minutes.”
Austin chuckles, his deep, rich laugh filling the car. “Sounds manageable. I’ll deflect some of the pressure—take one for the team.”
Team.
The word makes my chest ache in a way I can’t quite explain.
I force the thought aside as we round the final bend, the familiar sight of my parents’ house coming into view.
The house itself is a masterpiece, complete with ivy creeping up the stone fa?ade and manicured hedges that look like something out of a magazine. But tonight, the usual charm has been cranked up to an almost obscene degree.
The driveway is lined with lanterns that cast a warm glow against the gravel, and the garden—what little I can see of it through the sea of parked cars—is a glittering spectacle of twinkling lights and elaborate floral arrangements.
Oh, for fuck sake.
“Wow,” Austin says, parking the car. “Your mum really went all out.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter, already dreading the inevitable theatrics that await us inside.
Austin steps out first, moving around the car to open my door. He offers me his hand, and I take it, the solid warmth of his touch grounding me for a moment.
“Ready?” he asks, his expression softening as he looks at me.
“Not remotely,” I admit, but I let him guide me toward the house anyway.
The sound of music and laughter spills out from the garden as we make our way up the stone steps that leads to the front door. The door swings open before we can knock, revealing my mum in all her hostess glory.
“Mia! Austin!” she exclaims, her eyes sparkling as she pulls me into a hug. She’s wearing an emerald green dress that matches her eyes, her hair styled in perfect waves. And she’s clutching a clipboard—yes, a fucking clipboard—as if this party is a military operation. “You’re late.”
“We’re right on time, Mum,” I reply, stepping back so she can turn her attention to Austin.
“My future son-in-law,” she says, beaming as she pulls him into an embrace. He handles it like a pro, returning her hug with just the right amount of enthusiasm. “You look dashing, as always.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jameson,” Austin says smoothly. “You look lovely yourself.”
“Oh, stop,” my mum says, but she’s practically glowing as she leads us inside. “Everyone’s been asking about you two. Honestly, you’d think the King was coming!”
“Well, what do you expect to happen when you throw a party like this?” I murmur. My mum doesn’t hear, she’s too busy waving over a photographer. Yes, a photographer.
She insists on snapping a few candid shots of us walking arm-in-arm, and we are pushed and pulled into different positions. I’m practically blinded by the flash.
Austin plays along effortlessly, murmuring something in my ear that makes me laugh even though I don’t quite catch what he said.
Smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave.
Once mum has had her photo opportunities, she drags us through the house and into the garden.
The garden is a sensory overload. The marquee dominates the space, its high white peaks stretching toward the sky like the spires of a magical kingdom. It looks like something out of a fairy tale—if fairy tales came with open bars and an aggressive guest list.
Inside, the polished wooden dance floor gleams underneath a canopy of fairy lights, casting a soft, golden glow that could make even the most cynical attendee feel like royalty.
The DJ booth sits proudly at the far end, helmed by a young woman in a sleek black jumpsuit who bobs her head in time with the music, spinning upbeat tracks with an enviable level of cool.
Around thirty round tables are scattered throughout the space, draped in crisp white linen and adorned with floral centerpieces so tall they could double as jungle canopies.
Every detail is carefully planned, from the place settings with tiny gold accents to the waitstaff who glide between tables with the precision of ballerinas, balancing trays of champagne flutes and delicate canapés like they’ve been training for the Olympic Games of catering.
If this is the engagement party. What the hell would the actual wedding be like?
Austin lets out a low whistle, his expression caught somewhere between admiration and disbelief. “Your mum’s got taste. I’ll give her that.”
“Taste or a flair for the dramatic?” I mutter, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. It’s hard to miss anyone in this sea of perfectly curated outfits, but my mum’s crowd is good at blending expensive and over-the-top into a single entity.
“She might have overachieved a little,” Austin says, leaning closer to me. His breath brushes against my ear, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “You reckon she hired a wedding planner for this?”
I snort. “Mum is the wedding planner. And the project manager. And probably the DJ’s personal coach.”
Before Austin can respond, we’re intercepted by Charlotte. She’s glowing, her blood red dress catching the light in a way that feels both effortless and intentional.
“Hi guys!” she gushes, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone within a ten-foot radius. “You’re here!. I was starting to think you’d gotten cold feet.”
“Never,” Austin says smoothly, flashing her his best grin. The kind that could sell lies and luxury cars in equal measure.
I can feel my mum twitching next to me. I can tell she has a ‘meet and greet’ schedule that we are ruining by wasting precious seconds talking to my cousin. “Now, come along. There are so many people dying to meet you.”
And with that, we’re swept into the whirlwind.
Mum is relentless. Over the course of the next hour, she introduces Austin to every single person in attendance—some of whom I barely recognise myself.
There’s my childhood piano teacher, who looks exactly the same as she did when I was eight, except now she’s wielding a flute of champagne instead of a metronome.
I mean, why the fuck is she here?
Then there is Mr. Callaghan, the grumpy neighbour who once caught me sneaking out of my bedroom window at midnight. He gives me a pointed look when Mum introduces him to Austin, as if to say, And you thought you’d get away with that?
Again, why the fuck is he here? It’s as though my mum has rounded up everyone from the village to show off.
Yes, that’s exactly what she has done.
Austin handles it all like a seasoned pro, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with effortless charm. He remembers names, asks thoughtful questions, and even laughs at jokes that aren’t remotely funny. It’s infuriating how good he is at this.
Meanwhile, I’m hanging on by a thread, smiling so much my cheeks hurt and wishing for the ground to swallow me whole every time someone makes a comment about what a ‘beautiful couple’ we are.
At one point, my aunt Celia corners us near the bar.
She’s three drinks deep and her Aberdeenshire accent is out in full force, so much so, I have to really concentrate on what she is saying.
Her sequined dress catches every available light source, and her enthusiasm is as overpowering as her perfume.
“Oh, Mia,” she sighs, clutching my arm. “You’ve really hit the jackpot with this one. Don’t let him get away, dear.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say through gritted teeth, my fake smile firmly in place.
Austin, to his credit, keeps his composure. “She’s the real jackpot, actually.”
Aunt Celia swoons, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Oh, stop! You’re too sweet,” she gushes, giving him a playful swat on the arm. “If only you had a twin for my Charlotte.”
Austin flashes her a grin. “Sorry, just me.”
As soon as she’s out of earshot, I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“A little,” he admits, leaning in close. His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Your aunt’s perfume could double as a weapon. My eyes are burning.”
I stifle a laugh, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “Welcome to my world.”
The marquee is buzzing with energy as the night wears on.
The dance floor is packed, the DJ switching to a mix of nostalgic noughties hits that has everyone from my cousins to my gran showing off their moves.
Meanwhile, Austin and I take refuge near one of the quieter corners, sipping our drinks as the party unfolds around us.
“You holding up ok?” Austin asks, his voice soft enough that only I can hear it.
“Define ‘ok,’” I say, swirling the last of my wine in it’s glass. “If you mean surviving without a full-blown existential crisis, then yeah, I’m ok.”
Austin chuckles, his hand brushing mine. “You’re doing great. Better than great, actually. Everyone loves you.”
“They love us,” I correct him. “Big difference.”
“Doesn’t feel like one to me,” he says, his gaze steady.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe. He’s looking at me like there’s no one else in the room, and it’s equal parts thrilling and terrifying,
My mum’s voice snaps me out of it, calling us over to take some photos, and I seize the opportunity to break the tension.