It rings twice before Bridget’s face fills the screen, and I immediately burst out laughing because she’s wearing enormous sunglasses, a flower crown, and what appears to be a coconut bra. Behind her, there’s impossibly blue water and swaying palm trees—I know it to be a filter, but she’s committed to the bit, and from a distance you definitely can’t tell.
“Erin? What’s—” She shoves the sunglasses up, squinting at the screen. Her eyes go wide. “Are you—is that Father Gregory? Are you in a living room? What the hell is happening?”
“I’m getting married,” I blurt out. “Right now. In Cavin’s living room. Surprise?”
“You’re getting married?” She shrieks so loud that half the room flinches. “Right now? Oh, you absolute bitch?—”
She’s laughing, though, tears already filling her eyes. “Oh my god. And you calledme? Oh, Erin. Is Cavin there? I mean, he must be. You’re not marrying without him.” At one point, she coughs, but shemutes it, and only I see the way her shoulders shake, and she covers her mouth before she recovers as I hand the phone to Cavin.
“Right here.” Cavin waves at the screen.
“Cavin McCarthy, before you say I do, I want you to know that I love my sister with my whole heart, and if you ever do anything to hurt her, I will know.” She makes the “eyes on you” gesture with her fingers, and Cavin actually laughs out loud before he sobers. “You may be mafia, but she’s my ride or die.”
The room erupts in nervous giggles. My mother looks as if she’s about to pass out.
“Listen, Bridget.” He squeezes my hand. “I promise you. You have nothing to worry about.”
Cavin angles the phone so she can see everything, propping it on a makeshift stand someone rigged up on the mantle. Bridget’s face beams out at us, tropical paradise and all, and somehow it makes this chaotic, imperfect moment even more perfect.
Father Gregory clears his throat. “Well then. Shall we begin?”
Cavin takes my hand, his grip warm and steady, and I nod.
“Right, so.” Father Gregory’s voice carries that thick Cork accent, the kind that rounds every word. “We’re gathered here, in this… living room, to witness the… fairly impromptu joining of Cavin and Erin in holy matrimony. With all witnesses present, we’ll proceed.” Father Gregory looks between us. “The vows, then. Cavin?”
Cavin turns to face me fully, and the room seems to fall away. His eyes—those impossible blue eyes—lock onto mine, and suddenly, I can breathe again.
He doesn’t have notes… doesn’t look away.
“Erin.” His voice is rough, gravelly. “I’m not good with words, yeah? Not the flowery shite. But I’ll tell you this, and I’ll mean every fucking word of it.”
Someone gasps—probably my mother—but Father Gregory just sighs like he expected nothing less.
“I promise to stand by you. Not just when it’s easy, but when it’s brutal and messy and you want to throttle me. I promise to protect you—from everyone else, and from yourself when you need it. I promise to learn you. Every piece. The bits you show the world and the bits you hide.”
His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and my vision blurs.
“I promise to be your safe place. Your home. Your person. And I promise that every day, for the rest of my life, I’ll choose you. Over everything. Over everyone. Because you’re mine, Erin. And I’m yours. Simple as that.”
My breath catches. I’m crying now. I can feel the tears sliding down my cheeks, but I don’t care.
Father Gregory nods, satisfied, then looks at me. “Erin?”
I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. When I speak, it’s steadier than I expected.
“Cavin.” I squeeze his hands, holding on like he’s the only solid thing in the world. “I promise to stand by you too. In the chaos and the quiet. When you’re perfect and when you’re impossible—which, let’s be honest, is most of the time.”
He huffs out a laugh, and I watch his eyes go glassy.
“I promise to let you protect me, even when I want to do everything myself. I promise to learn you back—all the rough edges and soft places you don’t let anyone else see. I promise to be your safe place too. Your home. Your person.”
My voice cracks, but I push through.
“And I promise that every day, for the rest of my life, I’ll choose you. Over my fears. Over what anyone else thinks. Because you’re mine, Cavin, and I’m yours.” My voice is just above a whisper now. “Simple as… that.”
The room is dead silent except for someone sniffling—I think it’s Seamus, actually.
From the phone, Bridget’s voice rings out: “I’m not crying, you’re crying.”
