Irish Wedding

Work of Fiction. It's the tale of an American woman and an Irishman who meet at a friend's wedding and their journey to marriage. It's kind of written in the style of a blog post.

For some time now people have been asking how my husband and I met and got married. And I could have sworn I told this story, but after going through every post related to him and I, I discovered I haven’t. So, sit down with a cup of whatever it is you like to drink while reading these types of stories, and enjoy the story of how Christopher and I met. This is actually quite lengthy, so make sure you have some time set aside.

 

 

 

Interestingly enough, we met at a wedding. I first saw him as I was rushing around the wedding venue, delivering gifts and notes to the groom, and as I was returning from delivering one last letter to the groom, I saw him at the pool. He was pulling himself out of the pool, the water dripping languidly from his frame, and I literally stopped dead in my tracks. He flipped the wet hair from his face, and swept it back. He bent over to grab his towel, and looked up directly at me. Snapped back to reality, I sped off, not bothering to look behind me.

 

After the ceremony I took solace outside of the reception, away from the craziness. I kicked off my shoes, and headed for the beach outside that called to me. As I reached the door, I heard the distinct sound of a piano. Knowing the wedding party was not playing anything classical, I walked towards the sound of the piano.

 

Through a crack in a door, I looked in as this man played Beethoven’s Sonata Pathetique. I stood there for the first movement, and quietly snuck in to sit down during the second. Once he had finished, I applauded. He turned around, startled.

 

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I couldn’t help but listen in as you played that. It’s one of my favorite classical pieces,” I smiled.

“It’s all right; I just thought I was alone. You’re a bridesmaid, right?”

“Yes,” I replied, hesitantly.

“I recognize you from the wedding. I am a friend of Michael’s, I was one of the groomsmen.”

“Oh! It’s so nice to meet one of Michael’s friends. Most of them still live in Ireland, and a few didn’t come. Are you from Ireland, or do you know him from college?”

“I’ve known him since we were six. I thought my accent might have given that away.”

“Right...I missed the accent. What are you doing out here? I thought all you Irish men liked parties.”

“I needed some space. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party; but it was feeling a bit claustrophobic in there. Why are you out here?”

“Same thing. I needed some solace by the ocean, since I was the slave all day for the bride. She had me going back and forth to the groom’s suite with trinkets and letters.”

 

He paused a moment, and then a giant smile spread across his face.

 

“You’re that girl!”

“What girl?”

“The one who was in the corridor, looking at me rather lasciviously after I had climbed out of the pool.”

 

 

I turned a very deep shade of red, and used my bag to cover up my face.

 

“Well, don’t you look different dressed as you are?” I voiced, running my hand up and down in the direction of his suit. “I’m sorry for leering, but you were a nice breath of fresh air compared to all the stuff I was doing.”

“So, I distracted you?”

“Essentially, yes. It was a welcome distraction, though,” I laughed.

“I’m Christopher,” he smiled, holding out his hand.

“Cassandra,” I replied, shaking his hand. “But everyone calls me Cassie.”

 

 

Christopher nods, and turns back to the piano.

 

 

“Can you play ‘Lied der Mignon?’ It’s a favorite of mine since I was a kid.”

“I don’t know that one, but I can play Chopin’s ‘Ballade Number One.’”

 

 

I gesture for him to proceed, and he begins to play. I sit there by the piano, taken by how involved he is in playing the piano and music. When he is done, I sit there for a few seconds before realizing he has finished.

 

 

“We should probably get back to the reception. I have a feeling they might start cutting the cake or giving speeches soon,” Christopher voices.

 

I nod in agreement, putting my shoes back on. Christopher takes my arm, and escorts me to the ballroom. As we reached the door, I am accosted by another bridesmaid, who needs help with a tear in the side of her dress. I smile at Christopher, and walk off with the other girl to the restroom. When I finally make it back to the ballroom, Christopher is nowhere in sight.

 

I finally spot him as the happy couple cuts their cake, smiling at me from across the way. I blush and smile back, laughing as they smash cake in each other’s faces. Just as Christopher and I are going to finally meet up again, we’re intercepted by the bride and groom.

 

“Cassie, allow me to introduce you to one of my best mates, Topher. Topher has graced us with his presence all the way from Dún Laoghaire, Ireland. Topher, this is Cassie.”

“We’ve met already, Michael,” Christopher replies. “We met out in the hallway, while escaping the party for a few minutes.”

“Ah. Well, never mind then,” Michael smiles. “Enjoy the party,” he winks.

 

Christopher escorts me to a corner of the ballroom, and we sit down.

 

“So…Topher, is it?”

“Oh god, please don’t call me that. That’s an old nickname from primary school, and I haven’t been able to shake it since. Usually, they call me Chris or Christopher, but when Mike’s pissed he tends to call me Topher.”

“I understand completely. People still call me Cass, knowing that I hate to be called that. Sometimes I think they do it just annoy me,” I laugh.

“Those shoes must be killing your feet,” he remarked.

 

I nod, rubbing them through the shoe.

 

 

Suddenly, Michael Bublé begins to play overhead.

 

“Can I ask you for a dance?” I blanch a little. “Cassie, you don’t even have to wear shoes. We can just swing around the floor.”

“I am game if I don’t have to wear these miserable things out there.”

I removed the shoes, and walked out with Chris onto the dance floor.

 

It was fun, spinning around aimlessly on the floor with someone who didn’t reek of beer and wasn’t freely groping my a*s. People stared, mainly because I was dancing without shoes, but also because Chris and I were dancing pretty awesomely on the floor. Michael always said his friends couldn’t dance to save their lives, but apparently Chris wasn’t one of those friends.

 

It was even more fun when ‘Don’t You Want Me’ by Human League began playing, because when it’d come to the chorus, Chris would sing at the top of his lungs doing a cheesy 80s dance move which made me laugh hysterically. Chris became the life of the party when he was out on the floor. When Puttin’ on the Ritz began to play, he got really excited, but I begged to sit down.

 

“You go ahead and dance away. My feet need a little rubdown, but you go and enjoy yourself.”

 

Chris nodded, and let loose, dancing like a man from the 1900s at certain parts knowing it would get a reaction from me. He even tap-danced.

 

 

“You’re a freaking madman on the dance floor,” I laughed when he finally sat down beside me. “Michael said none of his friends could dance, but you’ve just proven him wrong.”

“He wasn’t referring to me,” he remarked. “I have always had rhythm. The others, they barely can walk without tripping over their feet,” he laughed.

 

 

Someone had decided to be funny, and played a song from Lord of the Dance. The Irish people were staring directly at Chris, whose eyes had bugged out of his head.

 

“Come out onto the floor, Chrissy boy. Dance an Irish dance with your countrymen.”

 

At first Chris hesitated, but ended up going to dance with his friends. They danced to the song ‘Warriors’ from the soundtrack. And even without wearing step shoes, you could still hear their feet tapping out in rhythm to the music. For men who supposedly tripped over their own feet trying to walk, these guys were fantastic with Irish step dancing.

 

Chris walked over to me when he had finished his dancing, and I shot him a look.

 

“I think you were lying to me,” I  voice, narrowing my eyes.

“Okay, we all can dance. It’s just embarrassing to admit sometimes that we all took Irish dance as kids, and danced along to Lord of the Dance in secondary school.”

 

Just then, an Irish jig began to play. I was grateful that I had snuck out during The Blood of Cú Chulainn to get my flats, because he thrust his hand out to me when the jig began to play.

 

“I can’t dance a jig. I’m not Irish.”

“Ah, it’s not that hard woman,” he voiced. “Just watch the rest of us, and you’ll pick it up.”

 

It was a lively jig, as jigs are. I was swung from one man to the next, always ending back up with Christopher. I kept laughing as I moved around the floor, happy that I wasn’t in heels like some of the other women.

 

“Alright, here comes the fun part,” Chris smiled.

“What fun part? What are you talking about? What fun part?” I was still flying around to other people, not sure of what Chris was trying to allude to.

 

Just then, he picks me up and begins spinning me around in a circle. Completely caught off-guard, I scream as he spins me around. My screams turned in giddy laughing, with Chris laughing as he spun me around.

 

 

 

After our rousing jig, we decided to take a dancing break and drink some water.

 

“I just realized what you had said in the other room earlier, about being one of the groomsmen. If you were one of the groomsmen, why were you out at the pool and not with the others?”

“That was Michael’s doing. I arrived last night from Dublin, and I needed something that would snap me out of the jet-lag. Michael suggested going for a swim; as long as I was out of the pool, cleaned up and with the rest of them by noon. I was late when you saw me getting out of the pool. I meant to get out of the pool at eleven, but didn’t get out until eleven-twenty, so I had to rush to shower and get dressed.”

“Well, you look amazing for pulling yourself together in under twenty minutes.”

 

Christopher smiled.

 

“As for me, I took a little longer than that to look like this. I’ve been up since seven o’clock, getting my hair done, last minute stray brow tweezing, and putting myself into those horrid shoes.”

“The dress definitely is not horrid,” Chris smiled. “It’s quite the opposite, actually.”

“You’d better stop that, Christopher. You’re going to make my head inflate a million times over. How long are you gracing us with your presence?”

“I am just telling the truth, Cassie,” he grins. “I’m here for another two days, and then it’s back to Dublin for this wayward Irish gentleman.”

 

 

Chris and I ended up dancing more after this little sharing moment. For our final dance together at the reception, we danced to ‘Come Undone’ by Duran Duran. Chris had been talking to Michael, and I was standing on the side of the dance floor, absently moving along to Portishead when the song changed. Chris just grabbed my hand, and led me to the floor. I looked up and smiled at him, and then laid my head against his chest.

 

“I hope it’s okay if I do this, I’m a little exhausted,” I spoke softly.

“It’s absolutely fine,” he replied, curling his fingers around my hand tighter.

 

As the song ended, he slowly dipped me backward. I giggled like a schoolgirl.

 

“It looks like it’s time to say goodbye to the newlyweds,” he smiled. I just nodded in agreement.

 

 

We waved goodbye and shouted well-wishes at the two of them. Chris and I turned to each other, with sad looks that this might be the last time we see each other.

 

 

“Well, it was lovely meeting you,” I started, not wanting to delay the inevitable.

“I was thinking about something just a few seconds ago, Cassie. I am in town for another couple of days, and I assume you live in town or somewhere nearby?”

“Yeah, I live about an hour from here. Why?”

“I’ve had fun with you tonight. This might seem weird, but I would like to see you again, before I leave and everything.”

“Like on a date?” I smiled coquettishly.

“Well I suppose since you put it like that, yes. So, what’s it to be?”

 

I contemplated a moment, mainly to make him squirm.

 

 

“I suppose I have nothing else better to do for the next two days,” I smiled.

 

 

We exchanged phone numbers, and immediately began texting.

 

 

 

We ended up meeting the next afternoon, and hanging out at the beach.

 

“It’s so nice and warm out here.” I turned my head, looking at him like he was nuts. “Well, compared to Dublin, it’s warm.”

“Enjoy it, because it’s not going to be like this much longer,” I replied. “It’s fall, and soon enough it will get colder. I’m out here in a light coat right now, but I’ll bet that next week if I were to come back, I’d need my peacoat. The weather changes so fast here, you almost always have to have something from another season hanging in your closet.”

“The weather doesn’t falter much in Ireland. In the summer, it will be warm and sunny some days, and others it will be cold and raining like normal. I always have a coat and umbrella in my car.”

 

 

We spent the day walking around Chatham, and then I took him to a “tourist trap” store in West Yarmouth, which actually is a favorite place of mine. Chris bought himself a Cape Cod sweatshirt, and I bought a new jar of seashells. We had dinner at a 99 Restaurant, where we planned our trip to Boston, where I lived at the time. I tried to hold back the exuberance I had for my home city, but it came out in full force. I got embarrassed, but Chris thought it was cute. The night ended with a hug that had the opportunity to turn into something much more, but neither of us wanted to act on. I hadn’t felt that frustrated in a long time.

 

 

I arrived at the hotel around nine-thirty that morning, where I found Chris bright-eyed and ready for our adventure in Boston. I warned him that I was a major history nerd, so most of the sites we were going to see had something to do with the American Revolutionary War, which he seemed to be fine with. His acceptance of this confession unnerved me, because no man has ever accepted that.

 

 

Once in Boston, I went crazy. I took him through the Granary Burying Grounds, with the headstones that jutted all different directions, holding the mortal bones of several revolutionaries, including Crispus Attucks; we passed by Faneuil Hall and Fenway Park; I took him down the old streets to several old churches and past where Louisa May Alcott lived at one point. Despite leading him back and forth at times, he was very much intrigued by where I was taking him. We ended up having a lunch of hot dogs and soda at Christopher Columbus Park.

 

We pretty much stayed in the park all day long. That night, as we looked up at the blanket of stars in the sky, we just talked. I couldn’t help but look at him, his eyes drifting slowly from the stars to my face as we spoke or just laid in total silence in the park.

 

“So, you fly out tomorrow?”

“Yes, at ten o’clock.”

“I presume you’re flying out of Logan? Because I highly doubt you’re rich enough to be flying from Nantucket or Hyannis.”

“Yes, I am leaving from Logan,” he replied, a smile in his voice.

“Do you need me to come down and get you?”

“No, I have to return the rental to the airport.”

“Oh, right. You took a rental car down to Yarmouth for the wedding.”

 

Silence passed for what felt an eternity.

 

“But you could still see me off, if you’d like,” he hinted heavily.

“If you wish it, I will see you off.”

 

I drove him back down to Yarmouth, where we listened to various songs, and I became flustered when ‘Closer’ by Nine Inch Nails began playing via my iPod. I went to change the song.

 “There will be no changing of the music,” Chris chirped, grabbing the iPod and keeping out of my reach.

 

That night, he hugged me goodbye, giving me a kiss on the cheek. This wasn’t your ordinary “goodbye” kiss on the cheek, it felt like something more. I left it alone, and drove home. Chris texted me to meet him inside the terminal for Aer Lingus around 8:15, and I responded with a quick “Okay.”

 

 

That morning, the world seemed darker. And the weather seemed to agree, since it was overcast and chilly. It felt like autumn, and there was no trace of an Indian Summer in the air. I waited inside the terminal for Aer Lingus for Chris, who arrived a little after 8:15, toting his luggage behind him, wearing a fisherman’s cap on his head.

 

“I quite like this look,” I smiled.

“Do ye? I thought: what the hell? I am going home; I might as well wear it again.”

 

There was an awkward silence, with me nervously adjusting my bag.

 

“Are you happy to be going back home to Dublin? Massachusetts can only be so diverting, and I imagine you miss the creature comforts of Ireland.”

“Yes, I shall be happy to sleep in me own bed, and hear the familiar sounds of my hometown. But I will also miss your laughter.”

“Well, you know where to reach me. We can Skype, email, text, and call each other until we’re sick of each other. I imagine after a month, you’ll be telling me to feck off.”

“Who knows?” He laughed. “Well,” he sighed, “I’d better get in line to get everything checked. You take care of yourself,” he murmured.

“You too,” I smiled.

 

He leaned in for the hug, which was tighter and more intimate in nature. He kissed my cheek again, but his mouth acted as though he wished it was my lips. We pulled away, chuckling to ourselves, only to have Chris pull me in for another hug for “good measure” and another earnest kiss on the cheek. He picked up his bag, and walked toward the counter. And I walked out the door.

 

 

 

 

Supposedly what happened next was Chris realized he didn’t want to leave for Dublin having only kissed me on the cheek. He rushed out the doors, only to find I had already disappeared into the parking garage. He also apparently shouted for me, but I never heard him. Instead, I sat in my car for five minutes, overcome with sadness.

 

For the next three months we spoke constantly. Skyping was easier, since it made things more doable with the time difference of five hours. Even during this time, we didn’t learn each other’s last names or what we did for a living. I decided one night I needed to see him again, so I made plans to go to Dublin for New Year’s.

 

 

“When are you coming?”

“I leave the twenty-seventh, so that gives me three days to adjust slightly to the time difference so that I can welcome 2010 with a somewhat clear head.”

“And how long are ye staying?”

“Two-and-a-half weeks. I am staying in Dublin City Centre, at some B & B on Grafton Street.”

“Great, I will pick you up from Dublin Airport on the twenty-eighth, at five-thirty in the morning?”

“That sounds about right,” I laughed.

 

 

I was ridiculously excited to go to Dublin. Not just because I would be seeing Christopher again, but because I had always wanted to visit Dublin. I was tired as hell when we landed in Dublin, but the sun was just beginning to rise, and Dublin looked gorgeous at that moment. I came down the escalator to Chris holding up a sign with my name on it, with him wearing a big smile on his face. There weren’t too many people around, so I dropped my bags and hugged him.

 

“You’re here safely,” he smiled.

“Indeed I am,” I smiled in return.

“Unfortunately, Dublin doesn’t seem to want to greet you so exuberantly,” he sighed forlornly.

“What are you talking about, Chris"“

 

He then kissed me. Deeply and without any kind of reservation whatsoever. I melted into the kiss, tightly hugging his body and reaching a hand into his hair.

 

“I should have done that in Boston,” he breathed, kissing my forehead.

“Yeah, you should I have.”

“I meant to, but you had disappeared someplace. I’m sorry that I didn’t just kiss you when I had the chance.”

“Well, you’ve more than made up for it,” I chuckled.

 

 

It was too early for me to check into the hotel, so Chris drove me out to Howth, so we could look at the sun as it rose. It was truly a beautiful sight, despite the fact the sun had fully risen by the time we reached Howth cliffs.

 

Chris dropped me off at the hotel an hour or two later, promising to come back in time for lunch. When I reached my room, I dropped my luggage, and fell asleep on the bed.

 

 

 

I awoke three hours later, to Chris knocking on the door. I got up, and sluggishly opened the door.

 

 

“Oh no…I forgot you were coming twenty minutes ago! I fell onto the bed and fell asleep. I am so sorry! Let me go get ready. Give me twenty minutes, okay?”

“No, no it’s fine, Cassie. I’ll go down to the sandwich shop, and grab us a few sandwiches. I’ll bring them back here, and we can have a hotel picnic with the television.”

“Are you sure? I can just quickly pop into the restroom, and freshen myself up a bit.”

“I am totally sure. You sit here and rest and I will be back in twenty minutes. Sometimes casual dining is better.”

 

 

Chris returned twenty minutes later as promised, carrying a bag of sandwiches and drinks. He was laughing because the receptionist in the lobby accused him of being a philanderer.

 

“Well…are you? Do you pick up innocent women, and fulfill their sexual desires, and then just throw them out when you’re done with them?”

“No. Not anymore. When I was in my early twenties, I used up women like teenage males use up tissues, but that’s all changed. At some point I came to realize using women was wrong.”

 

I looked at him quizzically.

 

“You’re messing with me! No man on Earth believes that. I mean, I want to, but it sounds biologically impossible. Men are made to roam and go from woman to woman. Let me ask you this: have you ever cheated on a girlfriend?”

“I haven’t. And all this biology crap, did you learn this in school?”

“Yes, and from Cosmopolitan magazine. Men can settle, but it goes against their very nature. Anyway, you have to be messing with me.”

“I promise you, I am not messing with you. I have given up the fruitless pursuit of women. I only seek out women with whom I think I might have a chance.”

 

Lunch went ridiculously well, with us having settled on watching Almost Famous. We went out to dinner that night, at a little restaurant in Howth. We took a late night stroll along the cliffs, and danced around in the wind like children.

 

 

New Year’s Eve was ridiculously fun. We went to his friend Whelan’s party (Whelan is his last name), and laughed about the weirdest things. We ran into Michael and Natalie, who had flown in the day before. I spent most of the night seated on a sofa, watching Christopher interact with his friends and talking with Natalie.

 

“You really like him, don’t you?” Natalie looked in his direction, and then back at me. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you two get married? Then I can tell everyone you met at my wedding and fell in love!”

“Natalie, I think you’re reading too much into this. Yes, I like Chris. But I highly doubt this will come to anything besides blatant flirting and lots of kissing. I will end up with a broken heart, and an Irish accent I can’t shake.” I took a sip of my champagne, glancing over at Chris just as he looked at me.

“Don’t be such a pessimist, Cass. Chris is one of those guys that stick to his commitments. Michael’s told me so. When he sees something he wants, he goes all the way for it.” I nod absently. “And your Irish accent is fantastic! How long have you been in Dublin?”

“Three days,” I sigh. “Damn this ability for picking up accents.”

 

Christopher approached, and held out his hand to me.

 

“They’re going to put on music. Fancy a dance?”

“Are we doing jigs?”

 

Chris laughed.

 

“No, we’re going to stick to regular music, nothing too Irish for the outsiders.”

 

I took his hand, and we left Natalie behind, smiling like she knew something we didn’t. The first song that played was Waiting For a Girl Like You, which made me laugh. Chris pulled me into him, and held my hand tightly in his.

 

“I have been dying to hold you all night,” he whispered into my hair.

“Well, I’ve been on the sofa for the last hour, so you could have come over.”

“Natalie was monopolizing you.”

“Christopher, you could have come over. Natalie and I weren’t saying anything that would have upset us had you interrupted it.”

“Alright, so I should have come over,” he smiled. “I am just glad you’re with me now.”

“Is it anywhere near midnight? I am ridiculously tired.”

“It’s about forty-five minutes to midnight. And why are you tired? It’s only six-fifteen in Boston.”

“Jet-lag, Chris. It’s terribly tiring being five hours behind everyone else here.”

 

He just nodded, and we continued to spin around the floor.

 

 

 

At midnight, we kissed. Much more passionately than we had in the airport. That kiss ended up continuing to Chris’s apartment, where I remained for the rest of the night. He was up long before I was, having made a hearty breakfast of sausages and Irish tea. When I got up all I wanted was some cereal and tomato juice. He just laughed and kissed my head.

 

 

 

For the next two days, Chris showed me around Dublin, taking me to the places that tourists don’t see. He showed me Sandymount Beach, where I basically lived on the days he was working and I was left to my own devices. And as everyone who reads this knows, I live for the beach and all it implies. On the nights Chris and I were together, we could usually be found sitting on a bench in a not-too-frequented part of the city centre, kissing. I think about 75% of our time together was spent kissing all over the city.

 

 

The last week we had together was spent mainly in Howth or at Sandymount Beach. It was very subdued, neither of us really having anything to say, just looking forlornly at one another.

 

 

The morning I left, I had been up all night crying. Christopher had slept at his apartment, but he’d got all of three hours sleep he later told me. I took a bus out to Howth around five in the morning, looked out at the Atlantic, and watched the sun rise. Chris texted me that he wanted to see me off, even though I had explained to him the night before I didn’t want him to, because I would cry like a nutcase. I rode a bus back to the hotel, and Chris drove me to the airport.

 

 

We stood outside the International Terminal forever, it seemed. Chris just kept rubbing my shoulders, and smiling reassuringly. I was falling apart at the seams, tears silently falling across my cheeks.

 

“We’ll see each other soon, I promise.” Chris leaned in, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

“It feels like one of those hollow promises that all people who are in a relationship-type thing with someone from another country make. I am not stupid, I have seen Before Sunrise. You say you’ll come and visit, but something more important will arise, and before you know it, you’re dating some model from Belize.”

“Cassandra,” (This was his pet name for me, which I quite liked.) “I write an Arts and Entertainment article for an online magazine. When will I ever meet a model from Belize?” I shrugged my shoulders. “You really ought to learn to be more positive, and not so negative-minded.”

“You’re beginning to sound like Natalie,” I sniffed.

“Well then, Natalie makes sense,” he smiled.

 

He glanced up at the clock in the lobby of the terminal.

 

“You had better get going.”

 

I began crying fully.

 

“Don’t cry, mo chroí. I fully assure you I will come and visit you soon. Maybe you can show me more of Massachusetts next time? We can fully immerse ourselves into history, and have fun.”

“Maybe we can just stay in my apartment, and never leave. Just spend every moment we have together.”

“Cassie, I think that would make things even harder for us when I eventually have to come home.”

“You’re probably right,” I sniffled. “All right, I am going,” I spoke, taking a deep breath. Chris bent down and pulled up my bag.

 

“Have a safe flight, and call me when you reach Boston. Be strong.”

“You better believe I will call you. I don’t care if you’re interviewing Colin Farrell at a premiere, I will get in contact with you.”

 

Chris smiled, and took my face into his hands. His thumbs gently wiped away errant tears, and we just stood there, forehead to forehead before he deeply kissed me goodbye. I felt my resolve fading quickly, the tears flowing back into my eyes and my lip quavering. I pulled away from him, my arm slowly moving down his, until our fingers furiously tried to remain touching. As I walked away, his arm was still extended, his fingers reaching out for mine. I pressed a kiss to my fingers, and waved goodbye through the sliding doors. He smiled weakly back at me, mouthing, “I will see you soon.” I nodded, and turned to walk to the ticket desk.

 

After going through security and Preclearance, I finally sat down in a chair and waited for my flight to begin boarding. I turned on my phone, so I could play a game and read the emails I had neglected for almost two weeks. I also received a text message from Christopher.

Cassandra, I assure you I will come and visit you soon. Positivity is a virtue, and it’s something you really ought to practise. The thousands of miles between us are nothing but a plane ride. That and I don’t think I can bear being apart from you for long. That sounded like Jane Austen, right?

 

Christopher that did sound Austen-like. It made my heart go pitter-pat.

 

I made it up. I just wanted to make you smile. In reality, I am eager to go back to America. If you’re there as well, it’s a plus.

 

Well…that changes everything

…I am touched you want to see me.

…It’s always nice to know that this guy you’ve been seeing values the country of your birth more than he does you.

 

Cassie…

 

No, no, I understand. The United States holds a much stronger tie for you than I do. It’s okay. I don’t understand the attraction, but to each their own. At least I talk back, and make you laugh. But if you want that old bag of bones, I will step aside.

 

Cassandra, I don’t think you understand…

 

Of course I do. You love my country more than you desire me.

…J/K, I know what you’re saying. I just wanted to have a little fun. J

 

If you were beside me right now, I would kiss you.

 

Well you’re just going to have to save up those kisses and shower me with them at a later time. My flight is boarding now, so I will talk to you later.

 

Au revoir.

 

 

 

I landed, and life went on as normal. Chris and I emailed, texted, and had Skype sessions whenever we got the chance. For six months, this went on. Despite the over two thousand miles between us, the five hour time difference, and our outside lives; we remained very much in touch and just as close as we had been before I returned home.

 

***

 

Chris was coming out to Boston for my birthday, and I went into planning overdrive. I made plans to tour the Freedom Trail, and then we were going to spend the rest of his stay in my apartment, just as I had stated when I left Dublin. It was going to be fun, and I couldn’t wait to see him.

 

When he came down the escalator that humid rainy July night, he had the biggest grin on his face. There weren’t many people coming in at that time, thankfully. Because when he stepped off of the escalator, he dropped his bags, picked me up into his arms, and planted a deep passionate kiss on me. Instinctually I reached my fingers into his hair, and sighed into his mouth.

 

“God, how I’ve missed you,” he gasped, running his hands through my hair. “It seems like an eternity since I saw you last.

“It’s been six months, Christopher. But, at least you’re here at last. And that it didn’t end up being some Before Sunrise moment, where you didn’t show up and I stood here like an idiot.”

“I can see your vow to try positivity is working,” he replied sarcastically.

 

 

For the two and a half weeks Christopher stayed in Boston, we left the apartment once. And that was for my birthday. We drove down to Cape Cod, and ran around like teenagers on the beach. It rained for those two weeks, barring my birthday. Despite the crappy weather, it was fun. We stayed in and watched movies, played games, and did other recreational activities. At night we would gaze through the rain-spattered windows at the lights of the city or watch thunderstorms as they passed through.

 

Towards the end of his stay, he started talking about the future. How it wasn’t financially feasible for him to make trips to Boston every two to six months, and it wasn’t for me either. I didn’t want to openly question what he was trying to say, because it would rip me apart, but it was going to come up eventually. Which it did, four days before he was supposed to leave.

 

“You remember what I was talking about three days ago?”

 

I nodded solemnly.

 

“Do you agree?”

“I suppose so. I work in a publishing house as an Associate Editor, so I make nice money, but not enough to fly back and forth to Ireland. Where is this going, Christopher?”

“It’s going to this, Cassandra. I love you, and you love me, yes?”

“Yes…?”

“So, in the interest of our future spending and lives, I propose we get married.”

 

The wind was knocked out of my lungs.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly. Did you just say we should get married?”

“Yes, I did. I know we hardly know one another"“

“Christopher Emmett Doyle, we barely know each other. We met at a frickin’ wedding in late August last year, got to know each other much better in December, and this is the third time we’ve seen each other. All we know about each other is that we love one another, and that we like kissing. Is that really a solid base on which to marry?”

“Cassandra Rosaline Bennett, happy successful marriages have been based on much less than that. Hell, there are still countries out there where you marry for money. Love isn’t a treasured thing everywhere, sweetie.”

 

He walks to the window, the sun setting amidst dark thunder clouds. It’s a beautiful sight: deep purple clouds with bits and pieces of the pinkish-purple sky strewn in. Chris presses a hand to the window, his back heaving from excitement and nervousness over posing such a question. He looks defeated. I want to rush over to him, and wrap my arms around him. But I have learned in the last few days that he sometimes needs his space in such situations, so I walk into the bedroom.

 

Moments later, I hear his familiar bare footsteps approach.

 

He stands in the doorway of my bedroom, his arm propped suggestively against the doorframe, looking at me innocently. I look up at him, and I smile softly.

 

“I haven’t said no, you understand. I just need to hear more, before I make such a big life decision. Marriage is a big step.”

“I understand completely.” He rushes over to me, and falls to my feet, his hands wrapping around mine.

“Here’s what I can offer you, as paltry as it might seem. I offer you my heart, my soul, and my life. I offer you the comfort of my love, and to take care of you as you ought to be cared for. I want to care for you for all eternity, and to just be near you for as long as you can take it. I don’t want to be apart from you any longer, and I just want you to marry me.”

 

He looked up at me, his eyes full of hope and wonder. He was nervously rubbing circles in my palms. I smiled at him, contemplating my answer. I realized I was thinking absently when his breath began to shake.

 

“I accept. I accept with every fiber of my soul. I will marry you, and that’s all there is to it.”

 

His eyes brightened, and he flew at me, knocking me back onto the bed. He framed my face with his hands, and kissed me deeply. Every nerve within me awakened as if from some deep sleep, and I wrapped my arms around him. He laughed, kissing me all over my face. Our legs wrapped around the other, our feet massaging our calves.

 

“You have made me so happy,” he beamed.

“When should we get married, Chris?”

“How about Saturday?”

 

I pushed him off of me, and sat up on the bed.

 

“That’s three days from now.”

“Yes, I am well aware of that, Cassie. I am due to leave next Wednesday for Dublin. And I think it would be a good idea to just elope, and have a big reception for everyone at a later time.”

“But I can’t plan a wedding in three days! I have to pick a venue and music, and there isn’t enough time for that.”

“Baby, I think you’re missing the point. We’re eloping. That means there’s very minimal planning involved. We hire a Justice of the Peace, exchange rings, and begin our married lives.”

 

I fell back against the bed.

 

“We’ll invite Michael and Natalie, since we’ll need witnesses. Knowing Natalie, she will make sure you get a little reception of sorts. Do you trust me, love?”

“Uh…yes.”

“Are you sure about that, Cass? You don’t sound sure.”

“I trust you completely, Christopher. Where are we going to live?”

“I need to go back to Dublin to settle all my stuff, but I can move here.”

“I want to live in Dublin. I love your place, I love the ocean, and I love the vibes of the city. I want Dublin to be our home. Besides, where else can I blend in with this ridiculous accent?”

“Ridiculous accent?” He smiled, slinking closer to me. “That’s not what you’ve been saying for the last week,” he murmured into my ear, kissing it softly.

“Don’t be using your effervescent Irish charm on me, sir. You’ve gotten me to marry you. Isn’t that enough?”

“Baby, I am a greedy man. And right now I want you. All of you.”

 

He hovered over me to go in for the kill, but I grabbed my cell phone and high tailed it for the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I picked up the phone, and called Natalie.

 

 

“Hey, Cassie. How’s it going?”

“I have some news, Nat.”

“Oh? And what sort of news is it? Will I cry or laugh?”

“Probably both.”

 

All of a sudden, frantic footsteps are heard in the background, and the sound of a door being thrown open. Michael says something, but I can’t hear it. All I can hear is Natalie shouting excitedly over and over again.

 

“Oh my god, you’re getting married?! He proposed? Oh my god, I am so happy for you!”

“Calm down a minute, and I will tell you something else. Chris and I want to invite you to be our witnesses, if you’re not busy on Saturday.”

“No, we’re not doing anything. We were going to go to the Farmer’s Market, but that can wait a week. You mean this Saturday, right?”

“Yup,” I reply, not missing a beat.

“Just give us the time and place, and we’ll be there.”

“When that information is available, I will call you.”

“Awesome. And by the way, I totally f*****g knew you two would get married.”

 

 

And on July 31, 2010, we were married. We got married in Chatham, on a part of the beach not frequented by anyone. Natalie and Michael were there, smiling like buffoons and taking photos. After we exchanged vows, Natalie and Michael threw us a tiny little reception, including a wedding cake. Chris knew how much I wanted a cake, so he secretly called Natalie, who was more than happy to have one made for me. Our wedding song was ‘The Way You Look Tonight’ by Michael Bublé.

 

The next Wednesday, he flew back to Dublin. I was meeting him two weeks later, after settling all of my affairs. When I arrived in Ireland for the last time, Chris was there holding a sign and a bouquet of roses.

 

And that is the story of how we met and got married.

Author's Note

It was quickly edited through Microsoft Word, so I haven't checked it for spelling errors or missing words as of yet.

Reviews

[unexpectedsparkle]

That is so cute!!!! I love how you remembered every detail(or at least the main ones) and kept it flowing. That's so completely adorable!

[Colleen]

Thank you so much!