I reach into the bag and hand it over, my sash and cap falling out in the process. She pauses, finally looking at my dress, then at my face.
“Graduation?” she asks, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Today,” I try for a huge grin. “Top of the class.”
“Well, congratulations. Heading off to celebrate?”
“Something like that,” I say. “I’m going to Ireland to find my trajectory.”
She blinks, confused, but scans the pass and hands it back. “Enjoy your flight, honey.”
As I walk down the jet bridge, I toss the sash aside. The air grows colder, smelling of jet fuel and recycled oxygen. I find my seat, and it’s a middle seat, because, of course, Mark would book the middle seat to save fifty bucks. I mutter a curse and slide in between a man already snoring and a woman reading a thick thriller.
I am going to Ireland,I tell myself.I am going to a resort. I am going to drink expensive whiskey and look at the ocean, and I am absolutely, 100% not going to think about Mark.
Well, I think about Mark for the next seven hours.
Ireland is grey.
Not a boring, flat grey, but a deep, moody, dramatic grey that feels like it’s matching my current mood. The wind at the Dublin airport almost knocks me over, and by the time I catch the shuttle to the resort on the western coast, I am a shell of a human being.
I’m still in the dress. I know I should change. I have a suitcase full of sensible sweaters and leggings. But every time I think about opening that bag, I think about how I packed itwithhim. How we argued over which shoes were better for hiking. Changing feels like admitting that the 'we' who packed that bag is dead.
So, I stay in the dress. It’s cold now. The silk is thin against the Atlantic breeze.
The resort is beautiful in a way that makes my heart ache. It’s all stone and glass, perched on the edge of cliffs that drop straight into a churning, violent sea. It’s the kind of place people come to fall in love.
Or, apparently, the kind of place you come to realize your life is a joke.
I check in, and the receptionist gives me the same ‘are-you-okay’ look the gate agent did. I tell her I’m fine and that I just love graduation gowns. She gives me my key and points toward the cliffside path.
“It’s a bit windy today, miss. Stick to the gravel,” she warns. “Your bags will be brought to your room in a few minutes.”
I don't go straight to my room yet. I can’t face the empty bed and the two sets of towels, so I decide to take a walk instead.
The path is narrow, winding along the edge of the world. The grass is that vibrant Irish green, so beautiful even under the heavy clouds. Below, the ocean is screaming, waves smashing against the dark rocks with a sound like thunder. It’s vast. It’s indifferent. It doesn't care about my 3.9 GPA or my idiot ex-boyfriend.
I like it. It’s the first time I’ve breathed properly since Mark opened his door.
I’m walking, my heels sinking into the soft earth beside the gravel, when I see a little girl, she’s small, maybe five or six years old. She’s wearing a bright yellow raincoat that stands out against the grey like a beacon. And she’s far, way too far off the path.
Oh, that’s not… that’s not good.
She’s standing near an outcrop, peering over the edge. The wind gusts, whipping her hood back, and she stumbles.
My heart stops.
“Hey!” I shout, but the wind swallows the sound.
She takes another step closer to the crumbling edge, her little hand reaching for a wildflower growing in a crevice.
I don't think. I don't care about my heels or my dress. I sprint.
The silk tears as I scramble over a low stone wall. I slide on the wet grass, my knees hitting the dirt, but I’m up in a second. I reach her just as she leans forward, her weight shifting toward the abyss.
I grab her by the waist and yank her back.
We both tumble onto the grass, away from the edge. She lets out a small yelp of surprise, but she doesn't cry. She just stares at me with wide eyes.
