A Very No Strings Halloween (Very Holiday #5)

1. Billy

ONE

Billy

THE BLAST OF US

“Here’s to you, at ninety years, you old devil,” my cousin Nolan says, his whiskey glass raised in a toast to our grandad. “May your joys continue to be as deep as the Irish Sea and your troubles as light as its foam. And may your bloody foot stop givin’ you hell, wherever you may roam. Happiest of birthdays to ya, Grandad. Cheers to you, Granny.” He gives our eighty-nine-year-old granny a little wink, and she giggles and blushes.

Fucking Irishmen. Guy gets away with everything, and I get smacked upside the head every time I open my mouth since I was old enough to talk. Whatever. He’s my best friend, so he gets a pass. I watch as Nolan and his wife, Cora, and their two kids go over to give Grandad hugs. Granny’s face just lights up whenever she sees her great-grandkids. It’s a beautiful thing .

“Thank you for travelin’ from New York, you with your busy lives,” Grandad says to them, tapping at his own heart. “Means the world.”

Then my cousin Declan gets up to give his toast. Declan’s a lawyer in New York and a handsome motherfucker in a suit, so all eyes are on him now. He’s got his arm around his wife, Maddie, who’s holding their baby, Ciara. Then his little brother, Eddie, and his wife, Birdie, from LA, get up. Both of those Cannavale guys with their dueling fake Irish accents. Eddie’s an actor, so truth be told, his is a little better—but everyone in this place has stars and shamrocks in their eyes just ’cause these guys do Irish accents.

What the fuck is wrong with a Boston accent, huh?

Why doesn’t anyone appreciate the guy who’s always around when you need him?

Where is the gratitude for Billy?

There is so much love in this room. It’s beautiful. Honest to God, my heart is so full of love for everyone in this big, cluttered pub that’s decorated for drunk Irish soccer fans all year long and for Halloween in October and half of November. There’s a six-foot animatronic psycho clown thing they bring out every year that’s creepy as shit.

But the scariest thing about this room is how much I’m thinking about a certain someone who isn’t even in it .

And the second scariest thing about this room right now is the fact that none of the love that’s circulating around it is aimed at me.

I’m the guy who rented out my family’s favorite Irish pub for the night and invited everyone Granny and Grandad O’Sullivan doesn’t hate, from second cousins in Toronto to my pop’s old babysitter in Dorchester. I’m the one who flew Nolan’s parents and his brothers here to Boston from Ireland. Grandad didn’t want me to fly his brothers out, though. “Feck ’em,” Grandad said. “I’ll see them in hell when we’re dead.” But forty people I flew out to Boston from around North America—on my dime. Forty. Has anyone toasted to me yet tonight? Nay, they have not.

Why?

’Cause I’m the only single man left in this entire O’Sullivan clan. From the Cassidys and the Cannavales to the Donovans from Rhode Island. I’m the only bachelor left, hence I must not be responsible and thus worthy of thanks. Doesn’t matter that I won the lottery and quadrupled my winnings in investments over the past two years. Doesn’t matter that all their kids love me or that I make the best sandwiches anyone has ever tasted. Does anyone remember that I brought the entire room to tears with Neil Diamond’s “Play Me” at karaoke night during our last family reunion? Or that I’m the only guy who personally handwrites Christmas cards to everyone in our entire extended family on every continent every year? Nay. They do not.

You set off one firecracker in one toilet at one Thanksgiving dinner when you’re twelve and you’re labeled the troublemaker for life. It’s been, like, five years since I blew anything up. Not counting the thing that happened at the water park that time because it was not on purpose and was not my fault.

This is horseshit is what this is. When my brother, Mark, finally wraps up his long, boring speech and his family goes over to pay their respects to Grandad, I get up on the little stage and take the mic off the stand. Time to show these cocksuckers how it’s done.

“Yeah, Mark, it is interesting to know all the historical events that were happening around the world when Grandad was born. Wicked interesting.” Do I sound like I mean it? I’m doing my best despite being lulled into a coma from his speech. “But it’s not just how long you live—it’s how much life you live in those years that counts. Am I right? The O’Sullivan clan has always had, shall we say, an adventurous streak. It’s what inspired Grandad to cross an ocean with his bride and settle in this country for a fresh start. It’s what gave him the stones to ask Granny for a date in front of her parents when she was fifteen.”

There’s some rustling in the crowd. What? Not like I said gonads or wank tanks . I used the classy term .

“One of my favorite stories about Grandad is the time my pops got interested in hot-air balloons. Because not only are the O’Sullivans adventurous, fun, and dedicated to livin’ life to the fullest—we nevah do anything halfway. Grandad could’ve read him stuff from some boring book like Mark just did.” I gesture toward my brother, who does not look pleased. But he looks displeased fully, with his whole heart and soul and face, like a true O’Sullivan. “No, Grandad didn’t do that. He spent weeks in the backyard with my dad buildin’ a hot-air balloon. Because that’s the other thing about O’Sullivans…we’re very good with our hands.”

I waggle my eyebrows for effect. But lest I be accused of being unable to read a room, I drop it. Tough crowd.

“Sure, my grandad let Pops go up in the hot-air balloon alone. Should he have used a stronger rope to tether it to the ground? Mark’s boring historians would most likely say yes. Did the rope snap? It did. Did nine-year-old Oscar O’Sullivan float off over the streets of Boston for an hour? He did indeed. But did Grandad chase after him the entire way, never taking his eyes off him? Fuck yeah, he did. Even while being repeatedly whacked in the back of the head by my granny’s purse. Even as she screamed at him to get their son down—so loudly, legend has it, that Irish American fathers from South Boston all the way to Worcester were frantically looking up, trying to find their sons so they could retrieve them from the sky.

“Pops learned about hot-air balloons and the need for strong ropes to match the forces of drag and wind shear. He learned all that in a way my brother’s boring books could never teach anyone—the absolute terror of being trapped in a runaway hot-air balloon. But Pops didn’t just learn—he lived. Thanks to Grandad. So here’s to ninety years of living life to the fullest! Sláinte! ”

Mic drop.

And here come the cheers.

More for Grandad than for me, but it’s cool.

I just wish a certain someone could have heard that story. She would have appreciated it. But that is neither here nor there. Because she’d never want to be here.

I take my seat at the table again, and my dad shakes his head at me. Half frowning, half grinning, in that way of his. You can never tell if he’s amazed by your awesomeness or your stupidity until he either pats you on the back so hard you feel the palm of his appreciative hand there for an hour or he smacks you up the side of the head. “You had to tell ’em the hot-air balloon story.”

“It’s a wicked good story.”

He smacks me up the side of the head.

“What?! People loved it! ”

My grandad grabs his glass of Guinness and stands up at his table. For an old guy, he’s still got a booming yet somehow melodic voice. “Thank you. From the bottom of me heart, I thank all of you. After livin’ the near century that I have lived, you do, indeed, learn a thing or two along the way. But alas, when you live long enough, you also start forgettin’ many of those things. Which is why it’s important to meet a person. And to make that person your family.” My grandad looks lovingly at my granny. She absolutely beams up at him. Their skin is wrinkled as a nut sac that’s been boiling in a hot tub for too long, but the look in their eyes makes them seem seventy years younger.

“And then you gotta make more people with ’em…” Grandad continues suggestively. People laugh at him, totally charmed by him. He didn’t even have to waggle his eyebrows. Granny giggles and blushes again. Because Irish accent . “So that those people you make can grow up and find their people and make them family.” My grandad looks over at Pops and Ma, his eyes slick and shiny with pride. “So they can make more people to meet people and make more family.” He glances at Mark and my cousins and all of his grandchildren. Somehow he’s able to scan the entire room while overlooking me. It’s actually pretty impressive. “And so on and so forth, so that a long life becomes fuller the longer you go. And these people in your family can teach you the lessons and remind you what’s important every single day when you live so long that you start to forget. And aye, adventure is grand. But all adventure stories reach a final page. ’Tis love and family that brings immortality. So here’s to lovin’ and livin’ forever.” He raises his glass and everyone follows suit.

It was a good speech. Mine was objectively more fun. But no word of thanks about me organizing this here party. For getting everyone here. For delivering a kick-ass speech after Mark nearly bored everyone to death.

Grandad clears his throat and fixes me with his dark-eyed stare. Here we go. He didn’t forget. He was just saving the best for last. “So, what are we gonna do with this one? Heh? Billy, my boy, when are ya finally gonna find someone? When are you gonna find a nice lass to make you immortal?”

“When he finds one that’s blind, deaf, and a Tomcats fan!” Nolan shouts out.

Oh yeah, that gets a big laugh.

Let’s all laugh at Billy Boston for being single and wicked awesome!

“Maybe when I fly to Vegas and find one drunk enough to accidentally marry me!”

Record scratch. Seriously. The one second there isn’t a Dropkick Murphys song blaring from the speakers. That does not get the response I was hoping for. Possibly because most of the people here aren’t supposed to know about how Nolan and Cora woke up married in Vegas. From the look Nolan’s giving me, I’d say I might not live to see my next birthday.

Moving on.

“Hey! Another round of drinks on me!” I shout, to everyone in particular. Literally all of the drinks have been on me tonight, but that’s the one sentence I can yell out at this gathering that guarantees me a positive response.

“What’re we gonna do with you, though, William?”

Uh-oh.

I turn to find my ma resting her chin on her fist. Her elbow slips off the edge of the table, but she straightens herself up and then refolds the napkin in her lap, like she did that on purpose. She only calls me William after she’s had three glasses of pinot grigio. Four and she starts picking fights with Granny, and five… I shudder at the very thought. We cannot allow her to get to five.

Ma’s from New Jersey. She’s been living in Boston for, like, thirty-five years, but nobody here understands what she’s saying half the time. But they can hear her! When I was ten she woke us all up in the middle of the night, screaming from down the hall: Billy, you get down from there right now! This is very bad for my heart—you get down from there! Gimme a kiss, baby, that’s my good boy. She was fast asleep. Pops says she still wakes him up by dream-yelling at me a few nights a year. Usually after someone in our family gets married.

“Come over here, sweetie! I love you—look at this face—will you look at this handsome face on my boy?!” she exclaims to no one in particular. “I love this face—but how are you gonna meet someone special if you’re always gallivantin’ around town, huh?”

“My point exactly,” my aunt Mamie says. Mrs. Cannavale is the unspoken boss of everyone in the entire family, and my ma’s fine with it since she can only give so many fucks about so many people.

“Come ’ere. Give your ma a kiss.” She holds her arms out toward me.

“Maaaaa. Come on.”

“Not on the lips—calm down, mistah . C’mere to your ma who loves you!”

I do. I give my ma a kiss on the cheek. She tries to slick back my wavy hair, but I step away from her. “Maaa.”

“It’s gettin’ too long in the back!”

“It’s, like, half an inch below my earlobe!”

“Come back to the house and lemme trim it for you! You think I don’t know what’s right for my boy?”

“Ma. I swear to God. Not now.”

“Leah! Leah!” Suddenly she’s yelling at the waitress and waving her over. “Leah, what do you think? You think my son could use a trim?”

Jesus Christ.

Leah’s carrying two trays of pint glasses, and she looks at me like she wants to throw all of them in my face.

“I got no idea what your son needs, Mrs. O’Sullivan, besides better manners.” She turns on her heel and walks away.

“What the fuck is her problem?” my ma rightfully asks. “Billy, did you mess with her already?”

“I mean…” Did I hang out with the cute waitress from my favorite pub a couple of times a few years ago? Yeah. Did she overreact when she asked me to drive her to a medical appointment wherein she was going to have the fat removed from her ass and injected into her lips, and I told her to leave the fat where it was? Yeah, in my humble opinion, she did. By that time it was clear we were trying to find love and fat in all the wrong places. “It wasn’t a good fit, all right?”

“I do not like her attitude. Who does she think she is, talkin’ to me like that about my son?”

“Right?”

“She’s too blonde for you anyway,” Mrs. C says. “I don’t see you with a blonde. We met a nice girl on the plane yesterday…what was her name? Nice, strong personality, very polite. What was her name? Tony—what was that girl’s name who sat on the other side of the aisle from us ye sterday?” Her husband is in the middle of a conversation with my dad. I don’t see that it matters what this girl’s name was since she isn’t here and they obviously didn’t get her number. “Tony. Tony! Tony!”

“What?!”

“What was the name of that girl across the aisle from us?”

He looks around, exasperated. “What aisle?”

“On the plane! Yesterday! The one I said would be good for Billy.”

Mr. C shrugs. “Patricia. Why does it matter what her name was? She lives in Cleveland and we didn’t get her number.”

“Patty!” Mamie ignores her husband as soon as he gives her the name. “That’s the kind of girl you should settle down with, Billy. She had red hair. That’s what you need. A redhead.” She nods, like this is the wisest thing anyone will ever say to me.

And maybe it is. I do like redheads. Or a redhead.

But that’s irrelevant. “Sounds good, Mrs. C. I’m gonna go talk to Dec.” I raise my hand and nod at Declan, as if he’s been trying to get my attention. He hasn’t. But I need to get out of this situation.

And just when I’m trying, as always, not to think about a certain redhead that I can’t seem to stop thinking about, my phone vibrates with a text notification.

Red: You home?

And suddenly, the clouds part and bright red sun shines through.

Me: I am at home in the world, Red. You know that. I’ll be back at my apartment later. You at home?

Red: Affirmative.

Me: And you’re dying to see me. Well, well. What are we gonna do about that?

Red: I have ideas, Mouth. But first you need to get over yourself.

Me: I think we both know that’s never gonna happen. Hope the rest of your ideas involve getting under me.

“Who are you texting with?”

If anyone else had said anything to me just now, I’m quite sure I wouldn’t have heard them. But it’s Maddie. And she’s smiling. So I will answer her.

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I say, “Ah, y’know.”

“Well, I don’t know, Billy. That’s why I’m asking. You seem awfully happy to be communicating with whoever it is. ”

“Nawww.” That can’t be right. Horny, maybe. My dick is happy all of a sudden—for Red reasons. Not because my cousin’s wife is talking to me. “You guys havin’ a good night?” I ask, swiftly changing the subject. “Can I get you something from the bar?”

“No, I’m good. Tonight has been a blast. Thank you for organizing this, Billy,” she says as she holds her toddler, Ciara, up. “You want to take her for a bit?”

“Hell yeah, I do. Hey, kid.” I hoist up the little princess in the crook of my arm. It’s been way too long since they asked me to fly out and babysit her. “How’s my girl doin’? You sleepy?”

She nods, slow-blinking at me. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, me too. Let’s take a nap right now.” I shut my eyes and snore loudly.

Finally, I’m getting the laughs I deserve. Twinkling, tired-little-girl toddler laughs.

I open my eyes again and wink at her. “Ahhh. That was refreshin’.”

“Thanks again for organizing this,” Dec chimes in. As if he’s already thanked me and now he’s thanking me again. “I’ll take her.” He gets up from his chair to take his daughter from me. Poor jealous guy can’t handle how much his kid loves me.

“Ohhh, okay. Let’s let your daddy hold you, Little C.”

Ciara immediately starts pouting and then slow-motion erupts into a crying fit as he pulls her into his arms. Poor Manhattan. I’d feel bad for the guy if he weren’t a rich, handsome lawyer with a beautiful wife and child.

His beautiful wife pats my arm. “Ohhh, Billy! That reminds me. Are you going to be in town in a couple of weeks?”

“ Maddie ,” Declan mutters. “No.”

Maddie waves him off. “Are you? Middle of October?”

“Yeah, I can be. Why?”

“My niece Piper is dying to go to a book signing event at Harvard. You remember Piper.”

“Yeah, yeah. Cute kid. What is she, twelve?”

“She’ll be graduating from high school next year, actually.”

“Fuck me, that’s insane.” I cover my mouth. “Sorry.”

Dec narrows his eyes at me, but Maddie doesn’t care.

“No, I know. It is insane. But her favorite author is doing a thing hosted by the Harvard Book Store, and I guess this woman refuses to even go to New York because she’s a huge Boston Tomcats fan?—”

“ Undahstandable .”

“So Piper got a ticket, but both of her parents are busy that weekend, and Dec and I are too. It’s just for the day—she’s planning to take the train. ”

“It would be my honor to be her chaperone. I’ll pay for her flight. Pick her up at the airport.”

“That is not happening,” Dec assures us.

“That would make her so happy!” Maddie exclaims, clapping her hands, all tipsy and ignoring her husband. “I’m pretty sure my sister will be okay with this because she’s still trying to get Piper to think she’s cool.”

“Not happening,” Dec calmly reiterates.

“I’ll help you draft a contract for both of them to sign,” Maddie tells Declan, winking at me with her back to him and mouthing, No, I won’t .

Behind her back, Dec mouths to me, I will fucking murder you if anything happens to her .

“You got it,” I say to both of them. “I’ll take good care of her.”

“This is highly problematic,” my cousin says to Maddie. “You realize that, right?”

My phone keeps buzzing in my back pocket.

All of my attention is now focused on my right ass cheek.

I can just sense her texts in there. That saucy little minx. What kind of ideas do you have for us tonight, huh, Red?

I reach for my phone but freeze as soon as I hear my best friend’s threatening tone.

“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Bigmouth Chucklehead Fuckup Magee…”

My cousin Nolan has two speeds—threatening you with a good time and just plain threatening you. He’s a family man now, so the former happens a lot less than the latter, unfortunately.

“What? You don’t want people to know the beginning of your beautiful love story?”

“I just spent the last ten minutes explaining to Granny that poor, confused, wayward Billy was mistaken and it was, in fact, only me who was wildly drunk in Vegas, not the wonderful mother of my children.” Nolan puts a protective, loving arm around Cora as punctuation. She smiles at me, conveying that she appreciates the gesture but she doesn’t think it’s such a big deal. Cora’s good people. “Granny found that very believable,” Nolan says.

“That you were drunk?” I ask with a grin that eats all the shit.

“That you were confused. And lost.”

That’s it. I’ve had enough of this. “Oh yeah? I wasn’t too confused and lost to make this entire party happen without any help from anyone!”

“I think what Nolan was trying to say,” Cora tells me, her tone reprimanding her husband to stop giving me shit, “is that he just wants you to be as happy as he is.”

“Aye. Exactly that, macushla .” Nolan pulls her closer and kisses the top of her forehead. The fuckhead really does seem happy. Not in the way that I’m happy. His happiness now comes from a deep well. Nolan looks back at me. “But alas, dear Billy’s not built for it. He wouldn’t be able to get a real girlfriend if the Tomcats’ season depended on it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “ Mothahfucka , I could get a serious girlfriend if I wanted to—easy. Seven days a week and twice on Sunday.”

“Ya could not.”

“Could too.”

“Could not.”

“Could too!”

This is how it’s gone with us for about twenty-five years. It’s how I ended up in a hotel pool from five stories up. It’s how we both ended up driving a golf cart on the side of the highway while on a mission to get lobster rolls. It’s how I ended up becoming a beekeeper for an entire summer between sophomore and junior year.

The only difference now is that Cora is here to roll her eyes at us. And that I’m older. Wiser. Not as easily manipulated.

“Don’t bother, Nolan. You’re never going to get him to cave,” Eddie butts in.

Like I was born yesterday.

Nice try, Eddie. Too old. Too fuckin’ wise. Not gonna take the bait.

Nolan grins, a grin that threatens a good time for him and a wicked bad one for me. “You’re right, Eddie. He’s just. Too. Chicken.”

“That’s it, cocksucka —you’re on!” I yell, pointing a finger in Nolan’s face.

“Shall we wager a bet, then?” Nolan asks with an evil smirk that tells me the asshole had something in mind since before he walked over here. “A bet that says you won’t have a verified serious girlfriend by the time we’re all back here celebratin’ Granny’s ninetieth in November. And none of this fake-girlfriend malarkey Declan pulled with Maddie either.”

“Hey,” Declan snaps. “It was only fake for a couple of weeks.”

“Nolan,” Cora reprimands. “Don’t be mean.”

“If you lose this bet, you wear New York Rebels gear, head to toe, at a game where the Tomcats face the Rebels. And you will post pictures of yourself in said clothing on all of your social media.”

“You devious bastard. How dare you.”

“And if by some miracle you do, in fact, bring us a woman who is genuinely committed to being in a monogamous relationship with you, I will dress head to toe in Boston Tomcats gear at a game, even though they play the wrong kind of football.”

“I’ll take that action,” Eddie says. “If Billy wins, I will also wear Boston Tomcats gear in public and post pics of myself wearing said gear on my social media.”

That handsome little fuck. “You don’t give a shit one way or another whose team you’re wearin’. That doesn’t mean anythin’. It’s gotta have teeth, or you aren’t a part of this.”

“I have an idea!” Eddie’s adorable wife, Birdie, appears and chimes in. “If Billy wins, Eddie will wear Benedict-Cumberbatch-as-Sherlock fan merch in public for one week.”

His very impressive jaw clenches, even though he’s smiling at his little blonde bride. “What? That wouldn’t bother me at all, babe.”

“You’re on. That is happening.”

Eddie frowns at me.

“You poor, stupid fucks,” I say to Nolan and Eddie. “I’m gonna have a relationship so stable you could keep horses in it.”

“We’ll see, Billy Boyo. We’ll see,” says Nolan.

My phone pings again, and I walk away from Nolan and Eddie, giving them the Boston Salute as I go.

I finally take my phone out and open up my text messages.

Red: Well, if you happen to know a good pipe jockey, I’ve got some plumbing that needs to be fixed ASAP ;)

Red: It needs to be fixed real bad.

Red: And by “bad” I mean hard and fast.

Red: Let me know.

Yeah, I gotta bounce. In honor of my grandad, I do it in the manner of my ancestors. I go full Irish goodbye and say sayonara to no one as I blow this hole to go lay some pipe.