“What if it doesn’t work out?” I had asked my mom.

“It might not,” she had answered.

This is the difference between the last time I got married and this time. She has no doubts. Not even one. She is actively participating and being a part of it. She wants it to work. I don’t think she really wanted it to work last time.

“Not everything is destined to work out, leanbh. Sometimes things don’t last. You may call me daft. A cynic, just because I’m divorced. But listen to me, and listen good, Patrick Martin - anyone can get married, but not everyone can have a marriage.”

Was she quoting Ratatouille or something? Was that a warning? A precursor to my inevitably doomed relationship with E? To this day I’m firm in the belief that she knew something that I didn’t. My mom, I mean. But moms are like that.

“It’ll never work,” replied my sister, upon hearing that I’d proposed to E. This was a particularly uncomfortable line to hear, considering Megan had almost always been my biggest fan when it came to romance. That’s because we can bond over the fact that Helen despises both of us for not conforming to her view of an upstanding citizen. “She’s a vulture.”

I wasn’t really sure what that meant. It didn’t exactly sound the same as calling someone a gold-digger, and Megan had never been one to beat around the bush with her opinions or insults. And then I got to thinking about what a vulture is, and what vultures do.

They take. They take and they take and they take, until there’s nothing left to be taken. And in return, they offer you nothing. Looking back on it, it’s not so shocking that Megan saw that before I did. E took what she needed from me and then, five months after giving me the best thing I’ve ever been given, she left. My wedding is tomorrow and I don’t really harbor any dislike or hate for her. I still love her, though maybe not in the way that I used to believe I did. Wherever she is, whatever she’s doing - I hope she’s happy.

The furniture all around the hotel is secondhand. Mismatched fabrics, random stains (although I know the staff keeps things clean), and a mini tv from the nineties in my room. The room is fitted with two twin beds side by side. This was probably the first problem. The Hotel Fenicia was quaint and small. A little too small, maybe. We’d chosen Rome for our wedding at, unbeknownst to us, an inopportune time. Some sort of celebration was happening, nearly every hotel was booked. We picked the best-reviewed 2-star joint we could find.

The problem with this was that meant very few rooms were left, even in 1- and 2-star hotels. Every single-bed room had been booked. We’d have to share a room if we even wanted to stay at the same hotel. So that’s what we chose to do. It was cramped, it was against tradition, and it was hot. It was spring for Rome but it was unseasonably warm and, of course, the air conditioner was broken. E slept naked. I wore a large t-shirt and no socks. The only time I’ve never slept with socks on in my life. Maybe that was a sign. Who knows.

“That’s stupid,” she said the next morning.

I had had the audacity to run a bath. Yes, even in the heat. It was an Ancient Greek tradition to have a bath before the wedding. I had that blood running through my veins. I pretty much had to do it. E did not approve.

“So fucking metro. And it’s hot outside! How can you take a hot bath when the weather is like this?”

I sighed and shut the door to the bathroom. Two seconds later I felt the door jiggle. I’d locked it. Ordinarily that would’ve made her mad, but she was already pissed because she wanted to take a cold shower first. (As if the cold water wouldn’t still be there when I was done?) I heard her yell that she was going down the hall to her parents’ room to shower, and then I heard her stomp away before the rickety wooden door to our own room slammed shut.

I sunk my body into the pool of hot water - diluted with milk, finely-ground oatmeal, and essential oils that smelled like eucalyptus and mint. Maybe it’s not normal for men to take baths. But really, what difference did it make? E was going to be the dominant one in the relationship regardless. I figured that out early on.

The bath numbed me. So did the three shots of Jack Daniels’ I took before marching myself to breakfast. I stayed numb the rest of the day.

My biological dad and his wife didn’t show. I know that’s because my dad didn’t like E. They were also still bitter about our choosing to have the wedding in Rome and not literally anywhere else. My stepdad and Helen didn’t show because he still wasn’t speaking to my mother. So it wasn’t exactly the picture perfect wedding I’d dreamed of. I don’t think E cared about my family being there, as long as hers was.

I was unhappy the whole day. Anyone who knows me knows that I can hide unhappiness very well, though. And I did. For her. For my mother. For a million reasons that I’m still unsure of.

Things are different this time. I’m so much happier now. I’m not edging myself toward intoxication. It’s almost midnight and I’m buzzing with so much happiness and good energy that I can’t sleep at all. The baby boy snores beside me, all sprawled out on the bed, and Penny is curled up at my feet (of course).

I don’t have to have hope for things to go well tomorrow. I know that they will. All of my most important family members (and Helen) will be there.

I'm getting married in less than a week.

I'm mad at no one and I'm sober.