Family : A letter to … the man at the wedding who might have been the One

We met at a wedding of mutual friends: an outdoor mishmash of English and Scottish, traditional and unique. After the ceremony you asked me the way to the portable toilets and I took you to the appropriate field myself. We discovered en route that we had both brought the same dish to add to the wedding buffet. This sparked a friendly rivalry that drew a dotted line between us for the remainder of the day. Later, I would triumphantly show you a photo proving that while only one of my lemon possets was left, a pile of yours still sat on the table, next to some crumbling carrot cake and some shortbread.

I’m not sure how long we talked, interspersed as the day was with dancing and speeches and other people. I certainly didn’t learn much about your life and I wonder now why I didn’t ask more about your job or your student days or what music you love. I just remember that you seemed open and kind and that you made me laugh.

I don’t even recall what we were discussing when a sudden, ridiculous thought came to me. Maybe it was the influence of our surroundings, the fact we were both alone at a lovely wedding full of couples or the free-flowing champagne. Whatever it was, I definitely felt it: you’re my One.

Even though I don’t believe that people have a One. Even though we’d barely met and I’m old enough to know better. Anyway, while we might both have been alone that day, it was temporary. I’m married and you are in a long-term relationship.

As the night wore on, the oldest and youngest wedding guests gradually disappeared and a group of us moved into the tipi to sing songs around the fire. We barely spoke again, you and I, seated across from each other in the flickering light. You spent an age holding a marshmallow over the flames, passing it to me once it was perfectly toasted. Then it was 3am and universally bedtime. I left with friends in the pitch black, stumbling through a horse’s field and along the river path. You tracked me down and sent a message, checking that I’d got home OK.

We messaged on and off over the next few days, bonding over a shared love of music. I reprimanded you when you said that me eating that marshmallow was the sexiest thing you’d seen in ages. Secretly I was pleased and flattered. You won’t know this but my marriage has, so far, been a struggle and I felt like you “saw” me almost immediately. I can’t recall having that connection with anyone else.

The messages fizzled out and I grew desperate to see you again, but we live hundreds of miles apart: there was no way to orchestrate an accidental meeting. The wedding was five months ago now and I’m embarrassed to admit that you are still in my thoughts every day. But I’ve grown wary of my feelings, unsure whether they are born of a real connection or simply the desire for something exciting and extraordinary to daydream about rather than facing my reality. Perhaps if we met again I would feel none of this, only a bit foolish for allowing my daydreams to overtake rational thought.  
If I wasn’t married, and you were single, and there was no risk of you thinking I am a little bit crazy, I would like to tell you what an impact you had on me that day. Just so you knew. Have you thought of me at all? I can see that your girlfriend is beautiful and you have two cats; there’s a good chance you are completely content – I hope you are. If nothing else, I’d like to thank you for making that wedding such a delight to attend on my own, for helping to reignite my love of playing and listening to music, and for the tip about trying black pepper with lemon posset.

Yours, the Semi-Professional Wedding Attender