The Last Little Blue Envelope

by Maureen Johnson

  “I like fringy things,” he said. “Fringe theater. Fringe fries. Also, fridges, strangely enough.”

  She gripped the rail behind her for support. He leaned closer.

  “Listen,” he said, “I’m not saying this because I like your money, though on a totally unrelated note you should give me a hundred Euros for petrol. I’m just saying . . . I’m glad you came back. You know that right?”

  “I . . . guess?”

  “What do you mean you guess?”

  He rolled toward her, cutting them some private space. He looked at the ground for a long moment and had just raised his head to say something when Oliver cut through the crowd and walked up a few steps to stand right under them.

  “It’s eleven thirty-five,” he said. “And your girlfriend just ran outside, chasing after a hat.”

  Ginny wished she could grab the bodhrán and beat Oliver over the head with it.

  “Wassat?” Keith said.

  “I said it’s eleven thirty-five,” Oliver repeated. “And Ellis saw a hat she liked. A pink cowgirl hat with silver sparkles. So she ran out of the bar and chased the person wearing it. She could be miles away by now.”

  The balcony where the band was shook as the members pounded their feet on it in time with the music. Keith watched them for a moment.

  “Let’s go,” he said, still staring at the bow of the fiddle, as if hypnotized.

  Ginny didn’t want to leave this hot, insane place. She and Keith had been on the verge of an actual discussion—an important one. There was something huge happening between them, in the shelter of the noise and the crowd, and if they stopped the conversation would never be finished.

  But they were leaving anyway. Ginny walked slowly, trying to get blocked by as many people as possible. Keith managed to get next to her. He said something. It was either “It’ll be all right” or “I’ll make it right.” Then he gave her a look. A look. The kind of look you give someone you want to kiss. A serious I-mean-it-now look.

  Or something. Something had just happened. Something hugely weird.

  Ellis was just outside, happily showing off the pink hat. She hadn’t gone far at all.

  “I traded my ring for it,” she said proudly. “Worth it.”

  “I think Christ Church is this way,” Oliver said, pointing up the street.

  Ginny followed along beside him. It took her a moment to notice that Keith and Ellis had fallen pretty far behind them. Keith was talking, his hands deep in his pockets. Something serious was going on.

  “I’ll make it right?” Was that really what he said? What the hell did that even mean?

  Ellis was wiping her face. Was she crying? Was it rain? Was he back there breaking up with her? Was that possible? Magic of Ireland and all that twaddle . . . maybe it was happening.

  She turned away quickly. If he was, he could not be interrupted.

  It would be terrible to break up with someone on New Year’s Eve, especially someone as nice as Ellis. Truthfully, Ginny would feel bad for her. Ellis treated her like a friend from the moment they met. She wished Ellis no ill will in the world. Maybe it was the champagne talking, but she just wanted everyone, everywhere to be happy.

  Another series of firecrackers popped overhead. They passed the leprechaun, who was walking in the same direction as them. Every few feet, Ginny snuck a glance back. The conversation was still going on, and Keith was doing all the talking. Dear god. Something was going on back there.

  “Have you ever been to Ireland before?” she asked Oliver, to make some conversation and try to keep calm.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It never came up,” he said.

  “I like it here.”

  He gave her a sideways glance.

  “Come on,” she said. “It’s nice, right? You’re allowed to say you like the place. I’m not going to hit you. You never smile.”

  “I smile all the time,” he said, deadpan. “On the inside.”

  It was obvious when they reached their destination. Christchurch was, unsurprisingly, a church—or really, a cathedral of gray stone, brightly lit and fully encircled by people. The cathedral and grounds around it were filled to capacity, so the crowds now filled the road beyond the iron gate. Once they stopped, people started to fill the gap behind them, and she lost sight of Keith and Ellis. She stood on her toes to look for them. They were nowhere to be seen. Ginny strained, putting her hand on Oliver’s shoulder for support, scanning all around.

  Oliver looked at her hand.

  Bong. The bells rang out, and the crowd let up a cheer. Ginny was still scanning, scanning, scanning. . . . Maybe they had fallen way back, away from the crowd. This was no place to have a breakup talk.

  Bong . . .

  And then, she found them.

  They were kissing. Fully and legally and totally making out, in the way that boyfriends and girlfriends do. For a moment, she had to watch, had to strain on her toes to make sure she got a good, long look—that the sight burned itself into her mind.

  Bong . . .

  It was almost funny. She really had to laugh. For a few minutes back there, she had actually convinced herself that Keith and Ellis were going to break up based on nothing at all. It was astonishing what a good job she had done. Bong . . .

  Also of interest, the sound of kissing around her. You may see other people kiss, but you don’t often have to hear it. Except they were in a sea of kissing. This was one of those kissing events where you went for the kissing. Oh ho ho! Even funnier. Even funnier.

  Bong . . .

  It sort of sounded like chewing, like everyone around was gnawing the faces off their partners. Oh, she was laughing now, tears of laughter running down her face. Or was it rain?

  Bong . . .

  Yes, the sound of kissing was the least romantic sound in the world. It was, now that she listened closely, much like the sound of a cat eating wet food. A gnawing combined with a slurping. Such a weird and terrible activity. So why did it seem so . . .

  Bong . . .

  Okay, how many times were these bells going to . . .

  Bong . . .

  This was maybe what it was like to go insane. You go to Ireland with the guy you love and his girlfriend and then you freeze to death while being gently hosed down in lightly pissing rain and other people’s slobber as they made out to death. While she stood with . . .

  Bong . . .

  Oliver. Who at least was warm and had an umbrella.

  Bong . . .

  She was still laughing. She put her head against his chest.

  “The bells,” she said.

  “They ring nineteen times,” he said loudly enough for her to hear. “I just heard someone say. . . .”

  Nineteen times? She laughed even harder. That was an eternity.

  Bong . . .

  He leaned down. When someone collapses against your chest and just starts laughing like that, you probably want to check to make sure they aren’t carrying scissors or eating the buttons off your shirt. She tipped her head up to look at him. He was . . .

  Bong . . .

  Okay, he was handsome. He was. Sharply featured and silent and lean. He didn’t have Keith’s half-crazed energy, of course. Something more . . .

  Bong . . .

  Brooding? Was that the word? Those were some still waters, and they ran deep. Of all the people in the world, it was Oliver who provided the most stability at the moment.

  Bong . . .

  “This is hell,” he said.

  Bong . . .

  He had a point. He was like her. Kinda.

  Bong . . .

  She lifted herself on her toes once again, almost automatically. She imagined Aunt Peg on her toes, painting the window in Amsterdam. She imagined that Keith and Ellis weren’t there. When she closed her eyes, the bells stopped ringing. She found Oliver’s lips blindly, either by instinct . . . or maybe he met her halfway. It was impossible to know. When her lips met his, she felt him physically start
. But he didn’t pull away, either. She was kissing Oliver. Properly kissing. No hesitation. Her whole body suddenly felt warm. She reached her hands inside his black coat, feeling the smooth lining. She could feel that he had hard muscles in his back, and he was bending down as far as he could so that she could set her heels back on the ground and not totter. He was supporting her so they could kiss even harder, and she was digging her fingers into his back to bring him closer.

  There were no more bells. People were moving around them. Ginny squatted down a bit to detach herself from the kiss. He followed for a moment, then seemed to realize she was stopping. He stood up at once. Already, there was debris around them—streamers and confetti, bottles, the broken paper rims of hats. New Year’s Eve was the quickest holiday—so much buildup, and then it was over, dropped in a second, instantly unimportant.

  Keith and Ellis came bounding up to them, dancing. They were in some nonstop disco that only they could see and hear. Ellis grabbed Ginny by both hands and started doing a dance with her. If they had seen what just happened, they certainly weren’t acting like it.

  Keith picked a wet, trampled paper crown off the ground and put it on his head.

  “I am king,” he said contentedly, making a slow circle, arms outstretched.

  Her lips were still full of that pleasingly numbing kissing sensation, and her legs wobbled slightly. The champagne. It had to be the champagne. Whatever the case, that had just happened.

  One last firework popped and spluttered overhead.

  The Crossing

  Not many people, it seemed, wanted to cross the Irish Sea at two in the morning on New Year’s. But all the people who did want to do this were drunk. It was like the ferry itself was drunk. The boat was slapping itself around on the dock, knocking the already-unbalanced people into doorways and walls. It was raining again, and the wind was lashing them, but Ellis insisted on staying on the deck even though it was slick and unpleasant and windy enough to knock her over. The landscape was pitch-black. The sea was black too. The Irish flag flapped stiffly overhead.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Ellis said, staggering along. “I am staying awake. Worst thing to do now is fall asleep so I am staying awake. Do not let me fall asleep, yeah? I’m going to walk. I’m going to walk around the ship. Anyone want to walk around the ship?”

  She adjusted her pink hat. It had lost a bit of its silver fringe sometime over the last hour. She pulled the brim low and looked at the bare spot sadly.

  Out of the three of them, Ellis had either had the most to drink, or simply had some unlucky body chemistry. Whatever effects the champagne had on Ginny were washed away in the rain and sea mist.

  This journey had not only ended twice, it had ended each time on a ferry. The first ferry moved slowly through the sun, this one moved erratically through the night.

  At least this time she knew—the journey was over.

  “I predict this is going to be a very vomity trip,” Keith said, following his girlfriend down the deck. Oliver was messing with his cigarettes again, so Ginny went back inside and sat down on one of the chairs in the lounge. She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, only of someone shaking her shoulder. She opened her eyes to find Oliver sitting next to her. His coat smelled of sea air and smoke and damp, evidence of a journey she had slept right through.

  “We’re here,” he said.

  Ginny sat up instantly. “Where are the others?” she asked, rubbing her face.

  “I haven’t seen them since they wandered off down the deck.”

  “So . . .”

  “I’ve been sitting here. Your stuff is fine. But we have to get off now.”

  Oliver had been watching over her while she slept. That thought would have been impossibly creepy before, but now . . . now it was kind of sweet.

  Oh, her brain was so broken.

  They found Keith standing in the desolate terminal, leaning against a pole for support.

  “Hey, Gin,” he said wearily. “Ellis just went in there. The night combined with the boat . . . it didn’t agree with her.” He pointed to the women’s room. “Could you, um . . . could you go with her? She went in there a while ago. I think she needs some supervision.”

  Ginny nodded. He was right about this being a vomity trip. The ladies’ room looked empty, but Ginny saw a pair of shoes sticking out of the cubicle on the end. Someone was kneeling on the floor in front of a toilet.

  “Ellis?” she called.

  “Oh, hello!” Ellis was trying to sound cheerful, but her voice was like death. “Oh, I’m fine. I’ve just been stupid. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I’m just going to stand out here, okay?”

  “Oh, you’re sweet. . . .”

  A gagging noise, then a pause.

  “Oh god . . . ,” Ellis went on. “Is this place moving? Gin, I feel like I’m still on the boat. Gin, is it moving in here?”

  The stall door wasn’t locked, and it bounced open. Ginny pushed it closed and held it while some grim noises came from within.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ellis said, coughing. “This is so awful.”

  “It’s okay,” Ginny said.

  “You’re so good. And the Irish, they’re just so lovely, and they give you this . . . they give you things to drink because they’re so lovely . . . you know, and it’s New Year’s . . . I’m so stupid. I’m so stupid, Gin. Why am I so stupid? No one else did anything stupid. Why is it just me?”

  Ginny laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I’m not laughing at you,” she said quickly.

  “It’s okay.” Ellis sounded like she was going to cry.

  “No, really. I’m really not.” Ginny sat down on the floor by the stall door and listened. No noise now, just palpable suffering. Ginny got close and patted Ellis’s ankle.

  “Ellis?”

  “Yeah?” Her voice was breaking. Oh, this was probably a mistake, but Ellis was so upset. She shouldn’t have laughed.

  “You really weren’t the only one who did something stupid,” Ginny said quietly. “I kissed Oliver.”

  Ellis shuffled a bit, then forced the door open and slumped in the corner of the stall, facing Ginny. She had definitely been crying.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really. But don’t . . .”

  “I won’t tell Keith,” Ellis said. “I know. He hates him. I understand.”

  Ellis’s chin sank to her chest and she took a few deep breaths. “I’ll tell you something,” she said. “I was so jealous of you when I first met Keith. Always talking about you, this adventure you’d gone on together. But then I met you and you’re so nice, and you let me come along. Oh, did I really trade my ring?” Her focus had gone down to her bare hand. “It was cheap, but still. I’m never drinking again. Bugger, why did I do that? Maybe I can get another, only a fiver . . . never let me drink again, okay? If you ever see me drink, just slap me. Oh . . .”

  There was a rapping on the door. It opened a crack.

  “Train’s in ten minutes,” Keith called. “El, you alive?”

  “I think so. Just give me a moment. We’ll be right out.”

  Ellis grabbed the door to try to pull herself up. Ginny helped her. She managed to get herself into a bent position, but couldn’t straighten up right away.

  “I don’t think what you did was that stupid,” she said, steadying herself against the stall.

  Then she threw up on the floor between them. Not a lot—but a definite harbinger of things to come. Ginny winced and looked away.

  “Sorry!” Ellis said. “Sorry, oh god . . .”

  Keith must have heard this happen, because he let himself in. He looked at the vomit on the floor with a strange kind of satisfaction. “And so it begins.”

  “I have a plan,” Ellis said, as he half-carried her out. “We’ll get on the train, and I’ll ride in the toilet.”

  “It’s like dating royalty,” Keith said.

  The train was very sleek and modern, with lots of light-up buttons and computerized signs. It
was also freezing cold and smelled like sadness and old beer. Keith got Ellis on board and positioned her in front of the bathroom.

  “Just put me in there,” she said bravely. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be wonderful. Just shove me in the toilet.”

  “All right, all right, enough with the sexy talk.”

  She waved them off and slammed the door shut. A red light came on, signifying that it was occupied.

  “I’m just going to stay here for a bit,” he said. “You might as well go sit down. You might want to sit a car over.”

  A grim noise came from the toilet. Oliver and Ginny quickly moved to the next car, which was completely empty. They sat opposite each other in a group of six seats. There was no looking at each other. No speaking. Keith was gone for quite a while, so that was a lot of time to artfully avoid each other in a casual way. When he did return, he did so quite loudly, plopping down on one of the seats next to Oliver and gazing between the two of them.

  “How’s Ellis?” Ginny asked.

  “She’ll be all right. How are you?”

  It was just the way he said it, the way he leaned in a little. He knew. Oliver must have sensed this as well, because he got up.

  “I need a coffee,” he said. “Do you need one?”

  This was to Ginny. She shook her head.

  “He’s very solicitous,” Keith said after Oliver had left. “When did you two get so cozy? I guess it was all of that time in the backseat. I don’t suppose I can blame you. He’s a catch.”

  Yeah. He knew.

  “It was just a kiss on New Year’s,” she said. “I mean . . . everyone was kissing. And I had all that champagne.”

  “Well. Congratulations. You’ve made a wonderful choice. I’m very happy for you.”

  It was snide and cold. So cold that she wished she could slap him.

  “What do you care?” she asked.

  “Sorry . . . what?” He leaned forward. “What do I care? Of course I don’t care. I think that’s the point we’ve demonstrated in all of this, my lack of caring. That’s why I just destroyed my car. That’s why I’ve been traveling with you for days so you weren’t alone with the person who was ripping you off. It’s all my extreme lack of care. But you seem happy now, so I’ll just step aside then.”