Sequel: Upwards

Frontwards

The importance of being honest.

Sunday 10th February, 2006.

I woke up the second the bus stopped in LA. The first thing I noticed was that the air conditioning was on full blast and it was fucking freezing on the bus. The second thing I noticed was that once again, Frank had beaten me out of bed.

I slipped on my black skirt and the vest that Alice had picked out for me, and then headed towards the kitchen. It smelt like coffee and I wished I could drink some, despite the fact that I had never had a cup of coffee in my whole life. Damn baby.

“Morning, sweetie,” Alice chimed from the table. “Hey, nice outfit, who picked that out?”

I rolled my eyes and told her she was a dick as I poured myself some apple juice.

“Who’s a dick?” Gerard asked, sauntering into the kitchen in his boxers and a t-shirt. Gerard waits until the very last moment before he will succumb to getting dressed. Because he is insane.

“Your mom’s a dick!” Mikey retorted from the couches. Just couldn’t resist himself.

“We have the same mother, you douche,” Gerard replied. “Hey, is that coffee?”

I sighed and poured him some coffee into a cup. “Here.”

“You’re the best,” he grinned. Like I didn’t already know that. “I like your shirt.”

Alice grinned smugly. “Thanks,” I said, giving her a grateful nod. “Where is everyone?”

“Checking in,” Mikey answered, pointing his skinny fingers towards the windows of the bus. We were apparently outside a big and rather fancy-looking hotel. I could tell it was fancy because the walls were almost all made of glass. Glass is fancy these days, yet it still concerns me somewhat that you would bother making a wall out of something so fragile.

“Sweet,” Gerard replied, sipping at his coffee.

An hour later, I was enjoying a nice bath in the hotel suite. That’s right, bitches, I said suite. Fucking penthouse suite. 4 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, 2 living rooms, big-ass kitchen. I could get used to this shit.

Just as I thought I was going to be able to enjoy a nice long soak, I heard a sing-songy “Daiiiisyyyy...” through the bathroom door. Why on earth did I ever think I may be able to have just a moment of peace?

I suppose, though, I’m not really in a position to complain too much about having friends who want to spend time with me. So don’t get me wrong. It’s just that I’m so used to being by myself that I’m really having trouble adjusting to it. It’s pretty exhausting.

“Mister Iero would very much like to escort you on a walk once you have finalised within the bathroom chambers,” said a voice which I assumed to be Alice’s but which actually sounded more like Reese Witherspoon in The Importance of Being Earnest.

“Oh, how simply marvellous,” I called back, in the same type of voice. “Allow me to complete my bathing and inform Sir Iero that I am delighted to accept his offer, and shall be prepared for him within the hour.”

“As you wish, Madam,” was her response.

I smiled to myself and glanced down at my belly. It is certainly growing in the uterus area. Another few weeks and people will be offering me their seats on the bus and whatnot. Not that I take buses these days. Apart from the big one outside. But that’s not really what I mean. Oh shut up, Daisy. What was I saying?

Oh, yes. Frank and I went for a walk along the beach. It was an absolutely gorgeous afternoon. California, you have not disappointed me. Well done.

People tend to go mad for the beach on sunny days, but if you ask me, it’s a little overrated. Beaches are a pain in the ass and I’ll tell you why: For one, sand gets friggin’ everywhere. It’s impossible to wear shoes on the beach because sand gets inside them and it's hell. You have to go balls out and walk along barefoot and although some may find this terribly romantic and bohemian, I find it to be extremely annoying because once sand is on your foot, you have to wash it off before you can get your shoes on. And you know where you have to wash your feet? In the fucking sea. And then you have to walk back across the beach and back to the pavement, where the sandy-foot situation only gets about a thousand times worse. Or the alternative is you have to put your shoes on with wet feet. But when you’re wearing fucking flip-flops it’s all arbitrary because the sand just gets flipped right back onto your wet soles.

Another thing about beaches is the fucking morons that they attract. Smug teenage girls in their tiny weeny bikinis with their bleach-blonde hair and their ribs sticking out all over the place. Put some fucking clothes on, you slags. You’re tanned enough already. Shouldn’t you be in school, anyway? And as if they aren’t bad enough, you also get the other end of the spectrum: fatties. And I’m not talking about people like me, who are a little chubby and want to modestly cover up in pretty dresses. No, I’m talking about 200lb, old, sweaty, almost-naked people. Nobody wants to see that. Yes, it’s great that you’re confident with yourself, well done for you, but some people just should not wear Speedos. In fact, nobody should wear Speedos, ever. Add to this mess all of the uncontrollable dogs, kids and rogue volleyballs, and you have a Daisy Montague nightmare. And all of those people I just mentioned are looking at me like I’m a mental person for daring to wear clothes.

And finally, we come to the sea itself. Which I happen to be allergic to. “Oh, come on Daisy,” people have said to me many a time in my life, “come and have a swim in the sea!” And to these people I say no. No I will not come and swim in the sea because if I do so, my skin will turn red and itch and swell until I am nothing more than a shrimp of a woman. So sadly, I must decline. I will just sit here and get sandy and watch you all having fun, shall I? Wonderful.

So when Frank suggested a walk on the beach, I was a little disheartened. But who am I to say no to that lovely little face?

“Don’t you just love the beach?” he sighed contentedly, smiling all the way up to where his cheeks met the bottom of his sunglasses.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him no, so I just made a non-committal ‘mmm’ sound, and reached out for his hand. Thankfully this seemed like an acceptable response.

We carried on walking along in comfortable silence for a little while. I was trying to think of the best way to bring up marriage. It’s scary, thinking about marriage. It’s a massive thing. Huge. And if I didn’t need to marry him, who knows what would have happened? We probably would have got married at some point anyway because we love each other and often that’s what people do when they love someone. So I didn’t want to make it sound like I was using him to stay in the country, although ultimately I guess that’s exactly what I was doing. It’s a tricky situation.

Just when I thought I had figured it all out; when I thought of a brilliant way to breach the subject, I opened my mouth to say it all, and my brain just totally fucked me over. Which probably shouldn’t have surprised me. “I can’t stay in this country forever, Frank,” is what I would have liked to say. “My visa will expire and I’ll have to leave, but I’m not sure where I’ll go since I can’t fly right now. I really don’t want to be worrying about immigration and getting deported and risking the baby. I’m pretty concerned about how I’m going to manage to stay here legally.” All of this is what I had planned on saying.

“Do you want to you marry me?” is what came rushing out of my fucking idiot mouth. I wish that just for once, my body would be my friend. I wish my brain and my mouth could co-operate that little bit more so that shit like this wouldn’t happen.

Frank froze in his tracks and I stopped beside him, his hand suddenly going a little limp in mine. I chewed my lip to stop myself from saying anything else stupid and making the situation any worse.

“You want to marry me?” he finally asked, eyebrows lost way beyond his fringe. His voice was a little squeaky but that can probably be expected in such a scenario.

I nodded shyly and figured I had better say something else. “I’m sorry. I know I kind of sprung it on you but I’ve been thinking a lot and it makes sense. I mean, I love you, obviously. And we’re having a baby together. And I need a green card to stay in the country and marriage just sort of seems to make sense, doesn’t it?” His face was blank. Shit. “Or maybe not. Shit. I’m sorry. Forget I ever mentioned it.”

He shook his head. “No, Daisy, I think it’s...” He paused and took a deep breath. “I’d love to marry you.”

My jaw dropped. “Really?” I stuttered.

He grinned. “Yeah, really. I’ve been thinking about it too and you’re right, it makes perfect sense.”

I started to smile. “So we’re going to get married?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I guess we are.” And then he pulled me into this perfect kiss and we were both smiling like idiots and laughing and we were right in the middle of someone’s volleyball court but fuck them. We had other things to think about.