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When I woke the next morning, I found a note on Conor’s pillow. For an instant, I feared the worst, that Conor had reconsidered and decided not to marry me. Because I was transgender. Because I hadn’t wanted to run away with him to Mexico. Because he simply didn’t love me.
I wasn’t normally given to such paranoid, depressive thoughts, but with all the buildup to the wedding and all the s**t going on in my professional life, it would follow that the worst would happen. But it hadn’t.
* * * *
My dearest Jinxie,
I know you’re not much of a traditionalist, and ya consider superstitions to be nothing but rubbish.
However, being an Irishman, I’m not one to tempt fate when it can be avoided. Since they say it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, I sneaked out to
