I bring up the pictures that were taken and inspect them again. She’s right. They aren’t flattering, weight wise. My coat makes me look bigger somehow. But in each one of them I’m smiling, beaming, with this glow I hadn’t seen before.
I look truly happy.
I look like I’m in love.
And the honest truth is…it’s because I am.
I’ve tried to deny it, tried to tell myself that it’s impossible to fall for someone so quickly but there’s no use lying to myself. Even if it doesn’t make sense from a logical point of view, well, I’ve never been very logical anyway.
Plus, the heart doesn’t listen to reason. It has a mind of its own and the last thing it will do before it feels something is consult with you on whether or not to feel it. It beats without you telling it to, from inside your mother’s womb, all the way till death. It beats and beats and goes on like a tireless machine and when it chooses who it loves, you don’t have a fucking chance. The heart decides what love is, no matter what the mind says.
I sigh, feeling both elated and joyful like I want to open my chest and let a million song birds fly out. But those birds fly right back, because they’re afraid of what lies ahead. My future.
I’m in love with Padraig and I don’t know what it means for us.
If there’s even an us.
And I have no idea if he feels the same.
Sometimes he looks at me with such softness that I feel it burn right through my body, the kind of tenderness that comes from the soul. He called me the pulse of his heart in Dublin and I think about that several times a day.
Other times he looks at me in pain and in fear and shame. He’s grappling with so much right now that love has to be the last thing on his mind.
Then again, the mind doesn’t get a say in who the heart loves.
“Valerie,” Padraig says, knocking at my bedroom door.
I go over and open it. I’d left him downstairs the moment my mom called, knowing I didn’t want to have that conversation with him there.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m done.”
He frowns. “How is she doing? Everything okay at home?”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t know. She just wanted to talk about you.”
“About me?”
“Sandra had shown her our picture in the tabloids. Which reminds me, I need to ream her out.” I bring out my phone and start texting her angry-faced emojis.
“So what did she say about me? Did ye tell her everything?”
I’m not sure if he means about his MS or about the engagement, but I say, “No. I explained who you were and that we were dating and I was staying with you in Shambles but that’s about it.” I pause and add dryly, “She says she’s never been so proud of me.”
“She sounds easy to please for once.”
“Only when it comes to shit like being with someone rich or famous. Or being thin. Anything else, forget it.”
He gives me a soft smile and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me in to him. “Does it help if I tell you I’m proud of you?”
“For what?” I ask, embracing him back, letting that woodsy, fresh, manly smell of him wash over me.
His hug tightens and he kisses my neck. “Just for being you. For all you’ve had to overcome. The fact that you are so much more than your scars and you know it. You know what you have to offer, it’s the rest of the world that’s too stupid and blind to realize it. But I do.” He pulls back and cups my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “I really do.”
My stomach tingles. I bite my lip and gesture to the bed, “Do you want to come in?”
A tight smile flashes on his lips. “I would. For a nap. I am so knackered. Fell asleep on the couch the moment you were gone.”
“I guess it’s a big night tonight,” I say. I can hear the chaos from downstairs, Nan and Gail running around and setting things up. I should probably help with that. It is our engagement party after all.
“The last thing I want is company,” he says. “But I might feel better later.”
“Come on, let’s put you to bed,” I tell him, leading him into the room.
He crawls over the bed and immediately falls asleep.
I watch him for a moment and then