I knew I shouldn’t have gone the minute I saw my name on the seating plan, written in gold ink beside his cousin’s and two empty chairs for people who had dropped out. It was in a hotel near Dublin Bay, the kind with glass walls and a view pretty enough to make everyone pretend the wind wasn’t cutting through them. I stood there in my green dress, clutching the card like it might change if I stared at it long enough, and thought, you had every chance to stay home.
His name was Ciarán. We had been together for four years, from our second year in college until the summer after we both turned twenty-six. We were never dramatic in the way people expect heartbreak to be. There were no smashed plates, no shouting in the street, no big betrayal I could point to and say, that’s where it broke. We simply became two people walking beside each other, not towards the same thing. He wanted a house near his parents in Kildare, children before thirty, Sunday dinners that stretched into Monday guilt. I wanted to take a job in London and then didn’t take it because he looked so relieved when I said I’d stay. After that, I resented him for a choice I had made myself.
When the invitation arrived, I laughed. Properly laughed, standing in the hall of my flat in Stoneybatter with rain on my coat and the envelope in my hand. My housemate said, “You’re not going, are you?” and I said, “Of course not.” But I kept the invitation on the kitchen table for a week. Then another week. Then I sent back the card with a tick beside attending, because pride is a very convincing liar.
I told myself I was going to prove I was fine. I had imagined myself breezing through it, generous and mature, someone who could smile at the bride and mean it. I even bought a new lipstick in town after walking through Grafton Street, as if a different shade of red could give me a different heart.
The ceremony was small and beautiful. That made it worse. His bride, Aoife, looked nervous in the loveliest way, her hand shaking slightly when she took the flowers from her sister. Ciarán cried when she came up the aisle. I had seen him cry twice in all our years together: once when his dog died, and once when I packed my books into a suitcase and told him I couldn’t keep living in the future he had already chosen for us. Seeing his face fold like that for someone else was like being shown a room I used to own, now painted a colour I would never have picked.
At the drinks reception, I became very interested in canapés. I spoke to people I half knew. I said “gorgeous ceremony” about twelve times. His mother hugged me for too long and whispered, “You’re very good to come.” That nearly finished me. Not because it was cruel, but because it was kind. Kindness can be brutal when you are trying to stay hard.
During the meal, I drank too quickly. Not enough to make a scene, just enough to make my emotions start taking off their coats. The speeches came, and his best man told a story about how Ciarán knew Aoife was the one after a walk in Phoenix Park, when she found his terrible jokes funny even in the rain. Everyone laughed. I smiled. I remembered a different walk in the same park, years earlier, when Ciarán had asked if I ever saw us getting married and I had said, “Maybe,” because I loved him but not the life waiting behind the question.
After dinner, I slipped outside. The sky had gone that bruised Dublin blue, and the sea was a dark strip beyond the road. I stood near the entrance with my shoes sinking slightly into the damp grass. I was trying to decide whether leaving without saying goodbye was rude or simply self-preservation when Aoife came out.
She still had her veil on. That is the detail I remember most. It moved in the wind like something alive. She smiled, not a victorious smile, not suspicious, just tired and warm. “I’m glad you came,” she said.
I wanted to tell her I shouldn’t have. I wanted to confess that I had come with a suitcase full of old feelings and a stupid hope that seeing him married would make me noble instead of lonely. Instead, I said, “You looked beautiful.”
She looked down at her bouquet and said, “He was terrified you wouldn’t.”
That surprised me. “Ciarán?”
“Not because of anything
Note: Please be aware that these are written in confidentiality and there is not reference or mention of any real people and their sentiments here. Every incident and Story tends to be emotional so please read at your own emotional risk. Website is not responsible for anything related. HumansofDublin.io is not related to the photography project HumansofDublin by Peter Varga
