Mandy finds her brother in the hallway, smoking and leaning up against the discoloured, pockmarked wall. Mickey gestures his head back into the reception, the opening notes of La Bamba echoing and distorted out of ancient speakers. "So. You finally got that sister you always bitched about wanting."
Mandy punches him. Hard.
He reels back, holding his shoulder. "Ow, Mandy. What the fuck?"
"At some point, were you planning on telling me that you and Ian have been fucking? "
Mickey spins around, eyeing the corridor quickly, finds it empty. "Jesus, keep your fucking voice down, alright?"
She barely lowers her volume. "I could never work out why you were always hanging out with him. And he was always asking me about you. I feel REALLY goddamn stupid for not having seen this shit before now."
"Leave it, Mandy. Jesus. It's not a big deal."
"Oh, okay, sure. You know he's in love with you, right? Jesus, Mickey! You wanna to settle down and have a million ugly children with that whore, then fine. You wanna ruin your life, great, but don't fucking step all over Ian at the same time." She's taller than him in the stupid tranny shoes she wore tonight. Emphasises her words with more punches to his shoulder and arm.
Mickey shakes her off. "What, you think I set out to make Gallagher all bitch-whipped and mopey-eyed? Fuck off. He knew what he was getting himself into and I never promised him nothing."
He's using his tough guy voice. She fucking hates his tough guy voice. "Did you even tell him it was over before you decided to start fucking her? Do you even know how shitty it feels to find out that someone you fucking love is screwing around on you?"
Mickey barks back at her. "It wasn't like that, alright? It wasn't even my idea to fuck her. It shouldn't-" He stops himself short.
She doesn't let him. "What do you mean?"
He doesn't say anything, busies himself taking another drag of his cigarette. Touches the side of his mouth with his thumb.
She's less aggressive this time. "What do you mean it wasn't your idea to fuck her, Mickey?"
Inside, she hears their dad calling out another in a long line of toasts. Mickey's eyes slide away from hers and along the floor.
He stubs out his cigarette. Lights another one almost immediately. Sits down on a paint-chipped, piece of shit bench that creaks ominously. Says nothing for a minute. "He, he caught us. Dad. He brought her in to straighten me out. In front of Gallagher."
She's incredulous. "The day he beat the shit out of you?"
He half nods.
"So you fucking MARRIED her? Jesus Christ, Mickey, I knew this was a fucking shot gun wedding, but I had thought you at least had been banging her on your own." She sits down beside him, tugs down the hem of her dress, takes the cigarette out of his fingers.
"It's not like I had a choice, she got knocked up, didn't she?" Mickey's face is blank, but there's something off in his voice. She'd never have even caught it if she hadn't grown up hearing it whenever he watched Bambi as a kid and tried to pretend he didn't give a shit the mom got shot. He flicks his eyes away from hers.
"Why didn't you just take her down to the clinic and have the whole problem taken care of?"
He claims his cigarette back. "Dad told me that it wasn't an option."
She exhales a disbelieving snort. It'd be funny if it wasn't so fucking awful. "Since when does he have a problem with abortions, huh? Came in real handy for him not that long ago."
It's Mickey's turn to be incredulous. "The fuck does that mean? He knock up some chick I don't know about?"
"Leave it, Mick. It doesn't matter, you were in juvie, it's all done now."
He snorts, irritated. "Figures that when he fucks up he gets to hit the undo button instead of having to walk down the aisle. Jesus."
"It wasn't like that. It was me, okay? I had the abortion." She avoids his eye, playing with the hem of her dress again.
He's furious immediately. "You got knocked up? Who the fuck was the father, huh? I'll fucking kill him." She knows he's deadly serious.
Their father's voice booms out of the reception again. She just looks at him. Looks at him until she sees him understand.
"Jesus. Jesus Christ, Mandy." He looks at her like he's trying to work out what else to say, but doesn't have any words left. She can almost see him remembering the times he heard Terry open her bedroom door at night.
She takes his cigarette again. "Yeah, well it's a real fucking shame they're not making Jerry Springer any more. They'd have a fucking field day with our family."
"Fuck"
The track changes and The Chicken Dance blares into the hall. Jesus Christ, someone needs to fucking punch this wedding DJ. Mandy smiles grimly at him. "So. Wanna trade? You can have the Gallagher that hates all of the Milkovichs and I'll take the Gallagher in love with one."
He snorts and actually smiles for a second. "And get stuck with fucking know-it-all Lip with the freaky googly eyes? Yeah, no thanks."
"Actually I'd say you're stuck with Skankovich in there." Mandy nods her head back into the reception. "She's a total cunt, by the way. Spilled her drink on me when I told her what a goddamn eyesore those bridemaids dresses are. Shouldn't even be drinking anyways, she'll fuck up the kid."
His half-smile drops immediately. "Yeah, don't remind me."
She hands him back the cigarette. "Do you love him?"
"Fuck off."
"Mick." She's serious.
He takes a deep pull from his cigarette and holds the breath a long time. Rubs his eyes, exhales. Touches his thumb to the side of his mouth again. Mandy just watches him.
After a full minute he smiles wanly at her, stubs out the cigarette on the cracking paint of the bench. Stands. "Come on. We should go back in."