Twist of Fate

1. Aisling

ONE

Aisling

PAST

“Did you see the butt on that boy?”

“What?”

My eyes widen as she motions to the front seat of the cab, where the boy in question—a man, thankfully—has his hands firmly on the wheel as he carries on like he can’t hear us.

“His butt, honey,” she reiterates in that same tone that she believes is a whisper but is more like a whisper…shout? Not subtle in the least. She holds up both hands in front of her and flexes her fingers like she’s squeezing a ripe, juicy melon. A soft chuckle floats back from the front seat.

I inwardly groan.

We’ve been in Ireland for less than two hours, and I already want to die of embarrassment. It’s my own fault, really. I’m the one who agreed to this vacation.

Six days and five nights.

On a cramped bus in Ireland.

With my mom, forty-some strangers, and a tour guide.

God, help me.

I shoot my mom a pleading look to stop with the butt talk.

“What?” She shrugs, giving up completely on her attempted whispering. The cab driver is now privy to this extremely embarrassing conversation. I guess it’s only fair. It’s his ass, after all. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. Ireland has a lot of handsome men.”

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I’m just saying…it could be good for you to have a bit of fun while you’re here. If I were still your age—” She goes on without any remorse, completely ignoring the shade of red my face has turned. Or the giant grin the cab driver has plastered on his face as he turns his head to look across the street.

“I came here to spend time with you, Mom,” I remind her. “It’s why you’ve been pestering me to come on one of these trips with you for so long, isn’t it? A little mother-daughter bonding time? Well, here I am.” I hold my arms out wide as if to prove my point further.

Her brow rose because we both knew that is not the whole reason I suddenly decided to jump on a plane and join her after turning her down about half a dozen times before. My mom travels a lot. She is a retired widow, and thanks to my late stepfather, she has more than enough money to spare. So when she’s not volunteering at the local animal shelter or practicing yoga at the YMCA, she’s usually traveling. And she loves these bus tours most of all. She’s been to more places than I can count and met so many people along the way. She even has her own Facebook group where all her friends from her travels can talk and stay connected.

Until a few months ago, I was content to let that part of her life stay solely hers. Why would I want to travel around a country on a bus when I was literally moving to one? I look down at my left hand, now completely bare. Even the tan line that used to be there has vanished. My thumb absently brushes over the spot before I even realize it.

I pull back, hating myself for feeling even an ounce of regret.

“And I’m glad you’re here,” she says, taking my hand in her lap. I turn, staring into the ocean-blue eyes that nearly match my own. “But just know I don’t mind if you need a little alone time here and there.” She waggles her brow in the direction of the driver like he’s some sort of male escort. Subtle, Mom. Thanks . “If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s survive on my own.”

“While I appreciate your rather odd but generous offer,” I say, giving her hand a gentle pat. “I assure you, there will be no need for any socks on the doorknobs during this trip.”

She laughs and thankfully lets the matter go, and we both settle into a companionable silence for the duration of the drive. The streets of Dublin blur as we drive through the heart of the city, over the River Liffey, and beyond.

I cannot believe I’m in Ireland. I know a lot of people probably have that thought when they get here, but for them, it is probably more of an “ I can’t believe this lifelong dream of mine is finally coming true ” and not an “ I can’t believe I just threw a bunch of clothes in a suitcase and jumped on a plane because my mom told me to .”

She’s not normally so bossy, but over the last six months, my life has taken a turn toward raging dumpster fire territory, so I’m going to guess the concern was warranted.

Needless to say, when our cab starts running parallel with the ocean, I find myself more than a little confused. Other than the last-minute packing and digging my passport out of a box, I have not prepared for this trip in the least.

I look around and frown.

“Why are we at the beach? I thought we were staying in Dublin?”

“A lot of the tour companies pick hotels more in the heart of Dublin, but all the O’Connell Tours start just outside the city so they can take advantage of the views. I think it’s worth it.”

I look out the window and can’t find a reason to disagree. Sunlight glistens over endless blue water as it rolls onto the rugged beach. I can’t remember the last time I saw the ocean.

About twenty minutes later, we are driving up to a beautiful seaside hotel. I step out of the cab and am immediately hit with the briny scent of saltwater. I take a deep breath through my lungs as my mom thanks the cab driver and greets the doorman.

She wasn’t lying. The Irish Sea winks out in the distance. There is a scattering of shops and restaurants, all stone, with awnings painted the same dusty blue as the hotel behind us. Flower boxes line the streets as people mill about, enjoying a carefree Monday morning in late spring. It’s truly breathtaking.

“I’ve left your bags safely with registration?—”

I turn a bit too quickly and nearly collide with the cab driver as he returns from the lobby. His hand snakes out and steadies me, and I gulp in a breath. He smiles faintly as I quickly realize that I haven’t said anything. I press my lips together, squelching the embarrassment painting my cheeks. “Oh, um. Right.” An awkward silence follows.

Am I supposed to tip him? Do they do that here?

I know that in some countries, tipping is considered rude. I look over toward my mom, who has somehow inserted herself into a group of hotel guests, and they’re gabbing about plants and whatever else old people talk about.

Cool, cool. So, I guess I’m on my own.

“Um,” I begin to say, but before I can even make a move toward my purse, he hands me something instead. Okay…

I don’t know much, but I’m fairly certain the tipping almost never goes in reverse, right?

“Enjoy your holiday.”

My fingers curl around his as I take the slip of paper from him and swallow nervously. His accent is as thick as his voice is deep. “Thank you.” His eyes meet mine, and I wait for it. That flutter. That exhilarating feeling of connection you feel when meeting someone new.

But I don’t.

After he walks away and slips back into his cab, I look down at the piece of paper, already knowing what it is.

Not a tip, but a phone number.

One I already know I won’t call.

As much as my mom jokes, if I knew all my problems could be solved by a meaningless fling or a quick one-night stand, I would have downloaded Tinder weeks ago.

But a one-night stand is the last thing I need, especially when it’s the reason my life imploded in the first place.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” I ask for the third time as my mom yawns for the fourth.

“No, Ash. I told you earlier. I don’t mind if you go out and do things by yourself. In fact, I strongly encourage it. I’ve been all over Dublin, and on Wednesday, we’ll only be in the city for a short time. So, go and explore. Be young!” She raises a fist in the air for dramatic flair, and I laugh.

As soon as we got up to our hotel room, she practically collapsed onto her bed. All that energy she had from traveling vanished in an instant. What’s left is a tired, frailer version of the woman who raised me. It’s a version of her I or anyone else rarely sees. She doesn’t like feeling her age and is constantly trying to prove it’s just a number by cramming her schedule with volunteer work, social activities, and travel.

Live life to the fullest and all that.

I look at her reflection in the mirror as I attempt to fix my plane-wrecked hair with a curling iron.

Her gray-blond hair is swept to the side in a loose braid. Like most things in her life, she keeps it long because she refuses to be a stereotypical old woman. Warm eyes stare back at me as she smiles from one of the queen beds. “Are you gonna call the cab driver?” she teases.

I should have never told her about that damn number.

“No.”

“Why not? It wouldn’t be out of the blue. You need a ride, after all.” She gives a little shrug as she flips through the room service menu. She’s changed into her pajamas and is snuggled under the covers. It’s barely seven o’clock, and I doubt she’ll stay awake long enough to order something. Her head will hit that pillow the second I walk out the door.

Part of me wants to join in and dive into my suitcase, grab my own pajamas, and follow her lead into slumberland. But sleep is complicated for me on a normal day, and life has been anything but lately. I need to stay awake and adjust to the time difference. If I don’t, I’ll be wide awake at three in the morning, and I’ll never go back to sleep.

So, a little solo exploring in Dublin it is.

“You and I both know he didn’t give me that number so I could call him for another cab ride.”

“So take him on a different kind of ride.”

“Mother!” Thank God I just shut off the curling iron because I’m pretty sure my brain just short-circuited. “What has gotten into you?” I turn around, crossing my arms as I stare her down. She’s always been a supportive mom, but she’s never been the meddlesome type. Although, I suppose she’s never really had much of an opportunity.

“You need to move on,” she says simply, mirroring my posture as she crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s been long enough, Ash.”

Way to be blunt, Mom.

“I know I do,” I reply, already feeling defensive. I can feel my thumb itching to rub that spot where my engagement ring used to sit. “Why do you think I’m here?”

She gives me a knowing stare. “It’s been six months, Ash. And don’t think I don’t know why you finally caved for this particular trip. I have a calendar just like you do.”

Damn, she got me.

“You practically packed my bags,” I argue.

“I distinctly remember attempting something very similar when I went to Italy two months ago.”

I bite at my bottom lip and let out a breath. She did, and I fought her tooth and nail until she let out a sigh of defeat and went without me. “I’m trying to move on.” I say the words, but I know what I really mean is I’m trying, but I feel paralyzed. “But I don’t think some random hookup in Ireland is how I’m going to achieve it,” I emphasize.

She shrugs, clearly not in agreement. “You never know. Somewhere out there could be an Irishman ready to sweep you off your feet and steal your heart.”

I don’t answer because what can I say?

Steal my heart? He’d have to find it first.