A few days later, Paul received an email from Julia announcing
her engagement. It made him ill. Reading and re-reading her words didn’t ameliorate his situation. Not one bit. But he did so anyway, if not to torture himself then to have her new status indelibly impressed on his mind.
Dear Paul,
I hope this email finds you well. I’m sorry it took me so long to answer your last message. Grad school is kicking my butt, and I feel so behind in everything. But I’m loving it. (By the way, thank you for the recommendation of Ross King’s books. I don’t have much time to read these days, but I’m going to pick up Brunelleschi’s Dome.)
One of the reasons I don’t have much time to read is because I’m engaged. Gabriel has asked me to marry him and I said yes. We’d hoped to get married quickly, but were unable to book the basilica in Assisi until January 21st. Gabriel has personal ties with the Franciscans, which is the only reason we were able to book the basilica in so short a time.
I’m very happy. Please be happy for me.
I’m sending your invitation to your apartment in Toronto. We’re also inviting Katherine Picton.
I’ll understand if you can’t or don’t want to attend, but it was important to me to invite the people I care about. Gabriel has rented a house in Umbria for the wedding guests to stay in before and after the wedding. You’d be most welcome. I know my father would be happy to see you again too.
You’ve been nothing but a good friend to me, and I hope that someday I’ll be able to repay the favor.
With affection,
Julia.
P.S. Gabriel didn’t want me to mention this, but he’s the one who persuaded Professor Picton to supervise your dissertation. I asked her but she refused. Surely he isn’t as bad as you thought?
Paul’s gratitude for Gabriel’s generosity didn’t erase the sudden sharp pain he felt at the realization that he’d just lost Julia. Again.
Yes, he’d already lost her, but before Gabriel’s return there was the possibility that Julia would change her mind, even if that possibility was remote. Somehow the knowledge that she was going to marry him smarted so much more than if she had been marrying, say, some other schmuck called Gabriel. Like Gabriel-the-plumber or Gabriel-the-cable-guy.
Shortly after she emailed Paul, Julia received a package in her mailbox at Harvard. Seeing that it was postmarked in Essex Junction, Vermont, she opened it eagerly.
Paul had sent her a limited edition copy of The Velveteen Rabbit. He’d written a short inscription to her on the flyleaf, which tugged at her heart, and enclosed a letter.
Dear Julia,
I was surprised by your news. Congratulations.
Thanks for inviting me to your wedding but I won’t be able to attend. My father had a heart attack a few days ago and is in the hospital. I’m helping out on the farm. (My mother says hello, by the way. She is making something for you as a wedding present. Where should she send it? I’m assuming you won’t be living on campus once you’re married)
From the first time I met you, I wanted you to be happy. To be more confident. To have a good life. You deserve these things, and I’d hate to see you throw them away.
I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t ask you if Emerson is what you really want. You shouldn’t settle for less than the best. And if you have any doubt about it, you shouldn’t marry him.
I promise I’m not trying to be an asshole.
Yours,
Paul.
With sadness, Julia folded up Paul’s letter and placed it back inside the book.
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