It is with a heavy heart today that I printed out our tickets for the Eiffel Tower and then packaged them like a gift to give away.

We were given the definitive “No Way” by my husband’s employer. Travel to France, no matter how over cautionary, was not going to be allowed.  Instead of wallowing we are actually delighting in the change of events (apart from the obvious financial hole it is creating). While many parts of our trip to France have been mostly refunded, a few items were/are non-negotiable.  Our chunnel tickets, bought with the express intent of whisking our children under the sea from one European country to the next? We have to eat those (or travel again in the next three months which is not probably going to happen). It’s taken us 14 years of being married to finally jump across the pond.  14 years of moving and re-establishing over and over again with a career on the move, never with enough time, or energy or money to make more happen, to travel.  Europe has seemed nearly impossible until now – Europe twice in one season – forget about it. It’s ok.

Today, in a small win, I realized I could pass-on our tickets to the Eiffel Tower to someone else.  “Oh what fun if those could really be used up?” I thought   Who did I know that would be in Paris at the New Year? Wait, wait a minute, hold on… the friend. The friend whose wedding I’m still not invited to. The friend whose wedding I’m still not invited to even though I hoped in the darkest parts of my ego that it was a mistake and I would get the invite late and I would send an enormous gift in lieu of our actual presence, because I simply adore her, and she was at all my big life events and I am so there with her in spirit. That friend will be in Paris on New Year.

I texted her to ask – was it something she needed?

Awkward moment-fogged in the reality that there is a really big pink elephant in the room.

She did.

More awkwardness, I’m sure, on her end of the phone.  It’s certainly awkward over here. Lots of awkward.

She sent her address and then offered to pay for them.  I don’t want her to pay for them. I don’t want anyone to pay for them, they are to be a gift now.

I walked to the local bookstore in search of a wedding card for the wedding I’m not invited to.  I feel myself torn between anger (I’m being honest here) at being left out, and sadness that I was left out. I’m also perplexed. Did I offend her?  Then I remember, and this is constant zen work, that this is not about me. This wedding is about them.  I picked a card, a lovely one. I debated overcompensating and sending some glorious cookbook or a gift card to Macy’s (where she is registered, I looked), along with the glorious card – but that feels a little passive aggressive. I’ll just send the tickets. Stop yourself, Meloni!

“It’s ok” I chant to myself, “you left people out too.”

My feelings are hurt, I need to be real, but I don’t need to punish anyone by making things even more awkward. Where is the healing in that?

And so, Paris.

On December 30th this friend and her new husband will scale the Eiffel Tower by elevator to the 2nd floor. There they will look out on the wonder of Paris, and bask in all this last month has meant to that iconic city. They will kiss, I hope, and build on a bond of love. They will fortify that city.

That’s going to have to do for me, to be enough. That will be my grace.