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“And besides,” Rian said, “your nan was so excited and crying and you know I came to love her like my own and—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up my hands and scooting to the edge of the couch. “What?”
Rian rolled his eyes.
“Look, I know I can be a little…distant at times, but there’s a lot of emotions down deep in here and only a feckin’ robot wouldn’t get just a little bit emotional when your nan is crying and saying how this was the happiest day of her life and all. I mean, it was beautiful. It really was.”
I loved my friend. I really did. But there were moments, such as the present one, where I just wanted to grab him and shake him.
“Rian,” I said as calmly as possible, “Rian, listen to me very carefully, because I don’t know what you were on, heaven knows I was not in a place to judge, but there was no fucking way that my nan was there for my drunken Vegas wedding.”
Rian stared at me for a second, blinking like an owl. I was going to scream. Or break something. Or break him.
Just when I was going to lose it, he said, “You rang her, you gobshite.”
I was so stunned that I couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t say anything as I sank back into the couch. I drew my shaking fingers through my hair and tried to blink away tears.
“How much of a druggie do you think I am?” Rian raved on. “And, excuse me to your nan, but I don’t think she’d be high up on my list of hallucinations. And, I mean, really, you eejits think all I do is paint imaginary girls, but some of them are fucking real! Jaysus, I—”
“I talked to my nan?” I asked.
“Yes,” he answered grumpily.
“The night of my wedding?”
“Yes.”
“When?” I said, leaning forward again. “I mean, where? What did she say? What did I say? Did she meet Rachel? Did she like Rachel? You said she cried? My nan? Are you sure? Nancy Donovan? The Nancy Donovan? Crying?”
I paced back and forth in front of the coffee table, no longer able to stay still. Rian’s eyes followed me as I rounded on my heel.
“Um, okay,” he said, squinting in concentration, “I’d say three-ish in the morning. Um, at this shitty chapel. Like really a shite hole. At the altar, if you mean specifically. She said that you’re an eejit and she couldn’t love you more. Yes, she spoke to Rachel. Yes, she liked Rachel. Yer nan said Rachel sounded like a spitfire and that she was a spitfire once. Said only a cowgirl could wrangle a bronco. Yes, she cried. Yes, your nan. Yes, I am sure. I cried, too. Yes, Nancy Donovan. Yes, the Nancy Donovan. Yes, crying…did I miss anything?”
My mind was whirling. I was swiping away tears and they were just coming faster. I could hardly think, but one question kept coming up. I rounded on Rian. He looked ready to dart away, like a startled, edgy cat.
“And I told my nan I loved her?”
Rian eyed me warily as he answered, “You got super soppy. Raved on about how much she meant to you. How she was your rock. How you felt like you could never repay her for taking you in as her own.”
I sank back down to the edge of the couch.
“I heard your nan curse for the first time in my life,” Rian added as I stared down at my hands, still unbelieving.
“Yeah?” I asked, looking up.
Rian nodded.
“Yeah, she said, ‘You don’t owe me a bleedin’ thing but your happiness. Love. Do you hear me? Not a bleedin’ thing.’”
I fell back against the couch. Stared up at the ceiling.
Just moments before I hadn’t been sure how I was going to forgive myself, how I could possibly ever forgive myself for failing my nan, but she or Rian or Rachel or God knows who, maybe me, had given me one last gift.
I’d made myself so unhappy for so long, thinking I was settling a debt between my nan and me. But I’d been wrong. I’d been increasing the debt, digging a deeper hole, separating us further and further.
It was time to settle some accounts. Time to forgive myself. Time to allow myself to love Rachel. Time to make things right.
Time to, as my nan would definitely not ever say, get on a bleedin’ plane.
