The Wedding Planner [Larry Stylinson]

April 10: Louis

"Jesus Christ, could he get a bigger diamond?" I ask, shocked.

Lottie is holding out her left hand with this monstrous diamond ring. Her mascara is running all over the place and she can't stop jumping up and down. All she keeps saying over and over again is, "He proposed!"

"Did it just happen?" I wonder.

She nods and wipes her eyes. "Yeah, about an hour ago. It was so romantic Lou; you should have been there! Wait, no, I take that back. That might have ruined the moment."

"It's fine," I shrug. "I knew anyways. Tom asked for my permission months ago. I–"

"He did?!" she sighs dreamily.

"Yes," I roll my eyes. I don't like being interrupted. "Like I was saying, I told him he didn't need to ask for my permission because I don't own you and it's the 21st century but he just wanted to make sure anyways. We actually had a whole debate about it, it was pretty enjoyable."

I grab her left hand and inspect the ring with my eyes. Man, that thing is huge. I'm surprised she can even hold up her hand.

"So, an accountant huh?" I ask, eyeing the ring. "He must make good money if he can afford this big guy over here."

Lottie blushes and shakes her head. "Not everything is about money Lou. . . I love him. We've been together for four years now. I guess he wants to start our lives together. This is so exciting, oh my god. HE PROPOSED!"

She squeals and I grimace. Don't get me wrong, I'm definitely happy for my sister. . . okay, so maybe it's eighty percent happy and twenty percent jealous. Okay. . . make that sixty-forty. Lottie is six years younger than me and she's going to get married before me! That makes me feel kind of pathetic.

I've tried dating around and getting myself out there, but I don't know. . . every time I go on a date with a girl, I feel nothing. It's been like that ever since my last girlfriend, Eleanor Calder. Halfway through the relationship, my feelings for her just disappeared and I felt nothing. Since then, I've gone on dozens of dates, but they always end in the same way. The dinner/movie/picnic/you-name-it ends, and I give them a goodnight kiss. They leave with a smile on their face and I always have a weird grimace. After every girl I kiss, my lips start to feel weird and it's obvious that I'm not into them. I'm starting to think maybe I'll end up alone for the rest of my life.

"It's going to take months to plan," Lottie gushes. "There's so much to do! How am I going to get it all done in time? Louis, will you help me?"

"I mean I'll try my best," I start off. "But there's only so much I can do. You might need to hire some extra help."

"Oh, you mean like a wedding planner?" Lottie asks, thinking about it. "Hmm, that could work. That would definitely help with the stress of planning. I'm going to look into that, thanks Lou!"

She gives me a kiss on the cheek and saunters off to the kitchen, no doubt to tell the rest of the siblings. Fortunately – or unfortunately, I'm not too sure – I was walking by the front door to head to the bathroom when Lottie barged in and told me the news.

I try to visit the girls and Dan as much as I can whenever I have time. It's all been really tough for us since we lost our mom a few years back. . . and now with Fizzy gone too. . . it's just been a rough time. I had to take some time off work because of it, and I haven't had the courage to go back yet. I'm pretty sure they're about ready to fire me, but they just don't know how yet. I was supposed to go back to work a week ago, but they called me and said they found a replacement for now and I can take as long as I need to mourn and get back on my feet.

I don't know what to do, I feel like my life is falling apart. Now that Lottie is getting married, it makes me think that I need to get back on my feet, like my boss told me. I've given up on shaving and I'm in definite need of a haircut.

"LOUIS! GET OVER HERE," Lottie calls out. "THE GIRLS WANT TO KNOW HOW HE PROPOSED. COME JOIN US!"

I sigh and run a hand through my greasy hair. I shake my head and shut my eyes. That's it. . . starting tomorrow, I start working on myself again.