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 inside 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 would 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!”
“Do ye t’ink anyone else saw it?”
“Only Kevie.”
“Well, dat’s alright den.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because I felt like a fuckin’ idiot up dere, sweatin’ like a pig.”
“Well, you didn’t look like an idiot.”
“Good t’ing no one was lookin’ at me once ye arrived,” he teased.
I smiled at him happily as he watched the road, and I couldn’t believe my incredible luck. We were almost to Peg’s when Patrick turned onto a street that was vaguely familiar. When he stopped the car and put it in park, I looked at him in surprise.
“Were you hoping for a game of basketball? I’m sorry, I didn’t bring one with me. Couldn’t fit it under the dress.”
“If ye were tryin’ to hide a basketball under yer dress we’d have quite a bit of explainin’ to do,” he answered, laughing as he pulled at his tie. “Christ, I can’t get dis fuckin’ button undone. It’s too tight.”
“Here, I’ll do it,” I offered, leaning toward him to slip my fingers underneath the fabric below his Adam’s apple. “Good Lord, how could you even breathe?”
“Don’t t’ink I took a breath until I saw ye.”
“Aw.”
“Shut it.”
I wrestled with the button for a minute before it broke free, then ran my fingers over his poor neck. There were indentations where the collar had pinched at his flesh.
“Why the hell did you button it if it was so tight?” I scolded.
“Married less den an hour and she’s already naggin’.”
“We’re married,” I whispered, my lips curving into a grin.
“We are.”
He lifted his hands to grip my head and then his lips were on mine. I moaned as he slid his tongue into my mouth, then relaxed my neck until he was completely supporting the weight of my head in his hands.
“I wanted to do dis de first second I saw ye,” he said as he ran his lips across my jaw. “Standin’ next to ye and not bein’ able to touch ye was torture.”
“I know, the ceremony went on forever,” I complained.
“But de end was wort’ it.”
“You’re mine now.”
“Not yet.” He chuckled darkly. “But later I will be.”
I shuddered as his lips sucked gently on my neck. My nipples pebbled beneath my gown and I felt myself grow wet, the sensation reminding me of the mishap in the shower earlier.
“We have to get back to your mom’s,” I reminded him breathlessly as he worked his way back toward my mouth. “Everyone’s waiting.” His mouth met mine again, the kiss slow and surprisingly gentle, before pulling away.
“Why do dey have a party after de weddin’? Seems like an awful way to start married life, surrounded by people ye have to entertain instead of fuckin’ like rabbits.”
“You’re so romantic.”
“I am romantic,” he replied immediately, offended. “I write ye fuckin’ love notes.”
“Oh, is that what they were?” I teased as he turned the car back on and backed out of the empty lot.
“Yes, dat’s what dey were. I wrote ye poems!”
“You copied other people’s poems.”
“I’m a scholar, not a writer. Ye’d not want any poems I’d attempted to write.”
“Oh, so you’ve tried before? Did you send other girls your poor attempts at poetry?”
The guests had been kind enough to leave an empty space to park right in front of the house, and after Patrick had pulled in and parked, he turned to me, his expression serious.
“I’ve not written anyone letters but me mum. Ever. Except ye.”
“Why not?” I called as he climbed out of the car without another word, moving to my door to help me climb out.
“Because dey weren’t de woman I was goin’ to marry,” he answered, then kissed me quickly, sliding his tongue against mine only once before grabbing my hand. “Now let’s go celebrate for a while, so we can leave and celebrate on our own later.”
The reception was fun, even though I was anxious to get Patrick alone. Peg grabbed me as we’d walked through the door, and spent hours introducing me to everyone who’d come to see us, from the couple who owned the grocery store Peg managed, to neighbors who’d moved away years previo
usly. It was odd seeing Peg and Patrick interact comfortably with so many people, and it reminded me of how isolated we’d been.
Patrick took off to the corner of the yard as soon as Peg pulled me away, and he met my eyes a few times as I mingled, but we didn’t have the chance to connect more than that. There were so many people in Peg’s house and back yard that it was hard to even move from one place to another without having to stop and chat.
When I finally made my way back to him, I hesitated a few feet away. It was like looking at a person I’d never seen before.
At some point he had changed out of his white dress shirt and into a greyish green one, his tie gone, the button at his throat undone and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked far more comfortable than he had earlier, and as handsome as ever, but there was something just slightly off. His cheeks were rosier than usual and he was smiling huge as he gestured wildly with one hand, the other clutched around the neck of a beer bottle. I couldn’t help but smile when he laughed loudly, but before I could step forward, I watched him brace his arm against the wall beside him.
For a moment, I couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering me. Then I realized with sudden clarity that my brand new husband was well on his way to being completely drunk.
I was happy that he was having such a good time. I was. But I felt a lump grow in my throat as he continued to laugh with his friends, nodding in thanks when one of them handed him another beer. I knew it was completely selfish, but I wanted him to be dying to get me away. I didn’t want him having fun with his friends like he was out at a pub—I wanted him to be as anxious as I was to finally get away from prying eyes and into a bed.
I stood there dumbly, watching them laugh and poke fun at each other, until finally one of the guys noticed me and nodded in my direction. Patrick turned to face me with that same wide smile, before he started strolling toward me.
“Me beautiful, lovely, gorgeous wife!” he greeted loudly, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Hey. Having fun?” I tried to match his happiness, but I must not have succeeded because his lips lost their curve as he looked at me.