“You’re going to bed already? Are you eighty years old with gout and a broken hip?”
“No, I’m twenty-t’ree and have class and work tomorrow. Gotta rest up while I can.”
“I can’t wait until you’re not so busy.” She paused for a moment. “And home with me all the time. I really can’t wait for that.”
“Me, eider, love. I better get off to bed, but I wanted to hear yer voice for a moment.”
“I’m so glad you called,” she replied softly.
“Me, too.” I rubbed my hand down my face as my shoulders slumped. “Is Mum around?”
“Sure. She’s right here. Want to talk to her?”
“Please.”
“Okay. I love you, Patrick.”
“I love ye, too.”
“That’s the first time you’ve actually said it.”
“I won’t be de last.”
“Good. Here’s your mom.”
There was a pause and some shuffling before Mum got on the phone, and I listened intently as she scolded Amy for dropping a stitch before she said hello.
“Hey, Mum,” I called dully.
“Hello, my lad! Get home safe then?”
“Safe and sound. But I had a couple of visitors to me flat not long ago.”
“Oh?” On the surface, her voice sounded nonchalant, but I could hear the panic threading through it.
“Malcolm was here lookin’ for Da.”
She sniffed into the phone.
“I told dem I just came from Ballyshannon and I’ve not seen him in weeks… but Malcolm mentioned stoppin’ by yer place,” I warned, just the thought of it making me want to race back home.
“Ach. I can handle Malcolm. I changed that boy’s nappies,” she snapped back.
“Mum, he’s not de boy—”
“I know that, son. But I know nothin’, so there’s nothin’ for him here. I’ll tell him the same if he comes.”
“Please be careful, Mum. Dese men won’t be trifled wit’.”
“Aye, I will.”
“Keep an eye on Amy, will ye?”
“Of course. We’ve a weddin’ to prepare for.”
“I’ll talk to ye soon, Mum. Ring me if ye need to.”
“I will.”
She disconnected without another word, and I was left once again standing in the flat I suddenly hated with a bed I wanted nothing to do with.
The next month could not go quickly enough.
Chapter 19
Amy
My future wife,
The days cannot move fast enough for my taste. It feels as if every minute takes an hour and every day a month.
I’ve had a hard time concentrating on classes and I almost dropped an engine on my foot at work yesterday. How would you feel about a groom on crutches with his foot in a cast? It may be a distinct possibility by the time I can come home to you.
Yes, home to you. My flat has become this depressing place where I brood and bemoan my loneliness like an Emily Bronte hero. I’ve never missed my tiny cot at Mum’s more than I do now, knowing that is where you fall asleep each night.
Some days I wonder why the hell I made us wait until we were married, and others I’m filled with anticipation and a feeling of rightness that our wedding night will be the first time we come together.
I sound like a woman, don’t I?
Ignore my ramblings. I’m tired.
Remember that you only have a few weeks left of school. Don’t go offending the priests now, or you may never get out of there… even if you did think that he was trying to get a glimpse up your skirt. (Even writing that has me grinding my teeth.) Though, I’m sure by the time you receive this letter, you’ll have already come to the same conclusion.
You flashes of anger remind me of Roses and Rue by Oscar Wilde:
“And your mouth, it would never smile,
For a long, long while.
Then it rippled all over with laughter,
Five minutes after.”
Not much longer, my love, and I’ll be there with you.
I’ll slay all your dragons.
Love, Patrick
The weeks flew by at a rapid pace. There was so much to do and so many small details to finalize that it felt as if I was deciding on wedding favors in my sleep. We’d decided to have a very small service, just those closest to Peg and Patrick, and even though I knew Peg had hoped for something bigger, I was relieved. All my attempts to contact my parents had been in vain, so I would have no one on my side of the church except for some of my teachers from school.
My pews would be filled with black and white habits… at least I knew none of them would try to outshine the bride.
I talked to Patrick at least twice a week, sometimes more, and we sent tons of letters back and forth, sometimes overlapping so a question in one of my letters was already answered before I knew he’d gotten the one I’d sent. He hadn’t been able to visit during the month like he’d hoped, but the things we talked about while we were far away from each other seemed to have created a stronger bond, anyway. It was so much easier to write our feelings down on paper—our fears and hopes for the future—that we seemed to have discussed a lot more than we ever had face to face. A part of me also reveled in the fact that I was receiving dozens of love letters that I could keep forever. Occasionally, his notes only contained a few lines, a poem or something he couldn’t wait to tell me about—but other times they were long and heartfelt and made me feel like the luckiest woman on earth.
He’d finally come home the night before for our rehearsal at the church, and it had been extremely hard to keep our hands off one another. When I’d caught sight of him, stepping off a motorcycle I’d never seen before, Peg had gripped my arm like a vice in order to keep me from flinging myself into his arms.
He’d laid himself bare for me in his letters, and I wanted nothing more than to pull him into me and wrap myself around him.
Dinner at Peg’s had been a lesson in torture, as she’d made us sit across from each other. She was adamant that we behave ourselves, and for the first time, became some sort of morality police to keep us honest. I think we were all afraid that after waiting so long, Patrick and I wouldn’t be able to help ourselves. The thought being that we were so close to being married, we could act as if it already happened.
I could honestly say that I’d contemplated finding a way to get him alone more than once. The tension at the table was almost unbearable, and to add insult to injury, Peg had invited Kevie home to eat with us. He was officiating the service the next day, and if bursting with pride was an actual possibility, we would have been scraping pieces of Peg out of the sanctuary.
By the time Patrick left that night, we’d barely touched and had only said a few words to one another that were uninterrupted. I understood what Kevie and Peg were trying to do, but that didn’t mean I agreed with it. I hadn’t seen my fiancé in a little more than a month, and we were given absolutely no room to reconnect or even exchange ‘I love you's’ before he was shuffled off to Kevie’s for the night.
By the time I got into the shower the next morning, I was strung tightly with nerves and the fact that I hadn’t had any time with Patrick made things infinitely worse. Was he having any doubts? Was he as nervous as I was? Afraid he was doing the wrong thing? And my most terrifying thought—did he wish that he’d never asked me in the first place, and now felt stuck trying to do the right thing?
We were getting married. Married. And I still wasn’t even done with school. I hadn’t seen the world. I hadn’t climbed the corporate ladder or gotten drunk or had sex. I’d done nothing at all to give me any life experience… yet beneath all that, I was still giddy with excitement.
It was an odd feeling, wondering if I was doing the wrong thing, but still willing to jump in headfirst. It made my hands shake and my palms sweat and my belly feel like it was crowded with a hundred butterflies.
I shaved my legs and my armpits before glancing down my body, chewing on the ins
ide of my cheek. A magazine I’d been reading had mentioned trimming the hair down there to look more appealing, but I didn’t have anything to trim it with and I’d felt too embarrassed to ask Peg where the small scissors were. I looked back and forth between the razor and my pubic hair for a moment before lathering up with soap and taking a deep breath.
Maybe if I just ran the razor lightly over the top of the hair it would trim it down a bit. I could make it just a bit less bushy and shave the edges a little so it looked more uniform. I ran the razor lightly over the frothy soap, coming away with a disgusting amount of hair that I quickly washed down the drain.
Okay that wasn’t so bad.
I did it again and again, until I was sure that things would look fantastic. I set the razor on the edge of the tub and turned toward the showerhead to rinse off. That wasn’t so bad. I bent at the waist to take a closer look.
Then I screeched in horror.
Dear God.
Oh, my God.
Shit.
Shit.
Fuck!
It was patchy. Patchy! It looked like my vagina had mange!
My hands started shaking as my eyes filled up with tears. What had I done?
“Are ye okay?” Peg called from beyond the door.
“No!” I yelled back.
Before I could change my reply, Peg had barged into the room and pulled back the shower curtain. I couldn’t even raise my head to look at her, my eyes frozen on my mangled thatch of hair.
“What in God’s name did ye do?” she asked incredulously.
“I don’t know!” I wailed, finally looking up. “I tried to trim it! I just wanted to trim it!”
“Why on earth would ye do that?”
“I read it in a magazine!”
“I told ye to stop readin’ those bloody things!”
“I know! Oh, my God. We have to postpone the wedding. We have to.” I babbled frantically, water dripping down my face. “Patrick can’t see me like this!”
“Ach, he’ll see ye much worse.”
“Not on my fucking wedding night!”
A small laugh bubbled up in her throat as she glanced back down, and I knew then that I would not be getting naked anywhere near Patrick for the foreseeable future.
“Ye’ll just have to take it all off,” she informed me as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
“What?”
“Take it all. Ye cannot leave it as it is,” she answered, gesturing in the general vicinity of my hips.
“What if I cut myself?”
“I suppose ye’ll just have to be very, very careful.”
She pulled the shower curtain closed between us while I stood gaping at where she’d just been.
“And hurry it along, we’ve an hour before we have to leave for the church!” she called before slamming the door behind her.
I had no choice.
I lathered up and reached for the razor again.
After a few close calls, some very interesting contortions, and the loss of hot water, I’d finally shaved everything to the best of my ability. It felt odd without the protection of my hair, and every time my thighs slid against my lips it was like a little jolt, reminding me of what I’d done.
My long shower had seriously cut down on my preparation time, and Peg scrambled to get me ready. She blow dried and brushed out my hair while I did my makeup, complaining the whole time of my decision to leave it long down my back “covering the beautiful lines of my dress.” I couldn’t be swayed, though. Patrick liked my hair down. He couldn’t keep his fingers out of it. The loose hair stayed.
We were five minutes late and both flushed with exertion as we finally left the house, but the short drive to Peg’s church was thankfully enough time to calm both of our heated cheeks. Peg reached across the seats and gripped my hand hard before climbing out of the car.
“No need to be nervous.”
I was shaky as we entered the side door so no one would see me, but by the time I stood at the large wooden doors at the back of the church, a feeling of unnatural calm had settled over me.
I was ready.
Chapter 20
Patrick
I stood at the front of the church, uncomfortable and sweating as I waited for Amy to arrive. I’d spent the morning sitting in Kevie’s small flat near the church drinking a Guinness to steady my hands and running over and over my decision to marry Amy in my head.
I was nervous. Worried that I wasn’t doing the right thing, that she was too young, that I was too young, that we lived in a place where life would never be easy, that we’d still have to live apart for months yet, that I’d wake up the next morning regretting the marriage—that she would, that somehow she’d find out about Moira and she’d never forgive me, but she’d be stuck with me, anyway.
I never voiced my doubts to Kevie. We were the first couple he’d ever married, and by the way he’d paced the floor mumbling to himself the night before, I knew he was almost as nervous as I was. If I said anything, I’d put him over the edge. I was afraid he’d feel the need to postpone the wedding to counsel us or refuse to perform the wedding altogether.
And even though my stomach was in knots as I climbed the steps to enter the vestibule of St. Joseph’s, I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting another day to marry Amy. The thought of never making her mine—of living without her—made me panic in a way I hadn’t done since my father had left us.
There were people filling the first five pews, but I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes as I made my way to the altar to wait. I couldn’t. I was completely focused on doing my part and not messing up this first part of our lives together.
I was wearing my only suit, an itchy wool thing that was a bit too small through the shoulders, and the brand new white shirt and dark grey tie beneath it felt as if it was strangling me. The neck was too tight, but I hadn’t said a word as Amy had brought it out to me the night before. She’d painstakingly ironed it all under my mum’s watchful eye, and she’d been so proud of it, I hadn’t had the heart to say a word.
Unfortunately for my soon to be wife, the shirt she’d been so proud of was growing increasingly wrinkled as I sweated and fidgeted while waiting. I tried to stop my movements, but nothing helped. I was too anxious—so anxious that I could feel sweat dripping down my back and under the waistband of my trousers. My underarms were even worse, and I was suddenly terrified that I’d have to raise my arms during the ceremony and everyone would see the giant wet spots I was trying to hide. I didn’t have to raise my hands, did I? I’d been to hundreds of weddings in my life, in that very church, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember.
I clenched my eyes shut then popped them back open before anyone saw me. My normal composure seemed to have completely deserted me.
“Do not lock yer knees,” Kevie whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Good way to pass out, dat.”
I nodded gratefully, unlocking them and bending them slightly. I’d begun to feel a bit off, and I told myself that must have been the problem. Leave it to my best friend to catch me losing it while I tried not to let anyone see.
I turned my head to whisper back—I really wanted to know if I’d have to raise my arms during the ceremony—but before I could say a word, the organ began to play and my head whipped around to look at the front of the church.
And then suddenly, there she was, in a long white gown and a veil that only gave me small glimpses of her face.
I no longer felt like I was going to black out. Instead, as she moved toward me, I felt as if I could fly.
Chapter 21
Amy
I don’t remember anything about the ceremony, except for the fact that it went on for far too long when all I wanted to do was kiss the hell out of my husband and during the ring exchange, we’d slid Peg’s band onto my finger and then right back off again. My left hand was the damaged one, and with no knuckle to hold it steady, wearing a wedding band was pretty much impossible. My wedding ring finger wo
uld remain bare.
During every hymn, every reading, and every prayer, I stared at Patrick. I couldn’t see anything else. He looked so handsome in his suit. His poor neck looked rubbed raw from the starch I’d put into his shirt collar, his hands fidgeted during the entire ceremony, and I watched a small bead of sweat run down his hairline—but none of that mattered. He was promising me forever.
Finally, Kevie blessed us as a married couple—it was still odd to see him in his robes—and we were married. Patrick’s kiss was short and sweet at the end of the service, just a closed mouth peck on mine, but the way his hand gripped my fingers tightly as we turned to face our guests more than made up for it. Our vows were sealed and blessed, but I don’t think either one of us was willing to let go of each other for even a second. It had been so long since we’d been able to touch, that even holding hands soothed me.
I couldn’t get out of the church fast enough after we’d made our way down the aisle. People had stepped over to congratulate us over and over, and though it was very sweet, by the time the nuns from my school had lined up to say hello, I could have punched someone. Did no one see our impatience to get away? Did they not remember how it felt to be newlyweds?
Our small reception was being held in Peg’s small house, and by the time we made it to the car, most of the guests were already headed that way. Even Peg had gotten a ride with Kevie before we were able to leave the church. I’d hoped that we’d have a moment to ourselves before the house was full of people, but that wasn’t going to happen. It seemed as if the universe was working against us.
“Ye look beautiful, wife.” Patrick said after minutes of absolute silence in the car. “I’ve never seen anyt’in’ lovelier.”
“You’re not too bad yourself.”
He made a sound of disgust. “Dis fuckin’ suit is makin’ me sweat like ye would not believe.”
“I noticed,” I replied with a small laugh.
“Ye did?”
“Even your face was sweating!”