Chapter 36
thirty-six
Stevie
Two Weeks Later
Maureen’s door swings wide before I can knock.
Ham and cloves roll out in a warm wave, honey and heat curling into the hall.
Voices I could recognize from three blocks away tumble over each other from deep in the McGloughlin house. Cillian’s quick rhythm, Brennan’s dry darts. Seamus steady and quiet. Liam low at the edges, Connor’s laugh thudding under it all.
A baby squeals. Jude drops my hand and sprints toward the sound.
“Shoes,” I yell after him.
He skids to a halt, kicks them into a corner heap, and bolts anyway, clutching the tiny gift bag with the lamb toy and board book Isla picked out. My mischievous, imaginative son has a knack for turning ordinary situations into epic adventures.
Isla hovers at my elbow, Lila at the other.
Isla, at eleven, wears her wavy, honey-brown hair at shoulder length and always has a thoughtful, observant expression making her seem older than her years.
Lila is seven, her slightly darker hair is in a ponytail.
She sparkles with curiosity and mischief at all times.
I glance around the bustling living room, nerves fluttering under the swell of anticipation.
Two weeks ago Padraig and I found our way back to each other.
Every adult in both families knows. We’re all quietly united in the plan to ease the kids into getting to know everyone before the shape of our worlds shifts for good.
Padraig enters from the hall with Rafferty on his shoulder, diaper bag slung cross-body, hair scraped into a low knot.
He spots us, his smile slides across his face slowly.
Seeing him makes the room seem softer at the edges for a minute, then snaps back into motion when Jude darts past yelling, “Mom, there’s babies! ” at a volume reserved for stadiums.
My mom emerges from the kitchen with three large bakery boxes balanced like trophies. “Pecan and cherry, and a tray of brownies,” she announces, kisses my cheek, then sets them up on the side table.
Behind her, Joni breezes in with a bouquet of sunflowers and a grin bright enough to fight Seattle’s gray skies for a month.
Rory and my dad follow with a stack of plates and a box of silverware. Padraig’s da looks good. Sober eyes, steadier posture than last winter, and gait slow but sure. Dad hugs me and the two of them go off to accomplish their task of setting the table.
“Chaos. Pure chaos.” Padraig smiles down at me.
Isla’s gaze tracks Rafferty who’s tiny fist is stuffed inside his father’s collar, eyes alert. When he peeks over, my eldest daughter’s expression rearranges itself into wonder and careful courage. “He’s a lot smaller than the twins.”
“Yeah, he was born a little early.” Padraig crouches slightly to address her question. “He’s catching up.”
She nods, then edges closer. “Can I maybe hold him later? If he’s in the mood?”
“Absolutely, let’s make it happen.” Padraig flicks his eyes to mine.
Mara tentatively walks over, polished even in a sweatshirt.
She’s stunning, with her hair in a low ponytail and makeup-free.
When she catches my gaze, she gives me a small nod, and the mother in me immediately recognizes hours of post-partum nights, hard choices, private regrets, and edges smoothed by therapy and stubborn love.
Respect rises in my chest without permission.
“Hi, Mara, you remember my daughters, Isla and Lila, from the ice cream shop.” I gently urge them both forward and they stare wide-eyed at the woman who they’ve seen on TV.
Lila beams. “You’re so bee-you-tiful.”
“Ah, sweetheart.” Mara caresses her hair. “Thank you, gorgeous girl.”
We’re interrupted by Maureen leading a food parade from the kitchen.
She sets down the largest ham I’ve ever seen, glistening under a honeyed glaze.
Liam follows with mashed potatoes, steam curling up in buttery waves.
Cillian brings roasties, Seamus the caramelized carrots and parsnips, Connor and Ronni follow with soda bread, gravy, and a giant salad.
Maureen takes the knife, carving with swift, precise strokes while ordering everyone to sit, which we do in short order.
We fall into the rhythm only a family this big can pull off.
Passing, piling, swapping, without a word.
Dad drops a slice of ham on each of my kids’ plates, I follow with carrots, potatoes, and soda bread.
Rafferty sits in a high chair between Mara and Padraig, who spoons mashed potatoes and tiny bits of ham onto the tray. His small fingers prod, smear, then taste. His whole face lights up and Mara smiles proudly.
Talk swirls as we eat. Ziggy and Cillian joke around about a couple of women they met.
Seamus, who’s studying to be a neurosurgeon, describes a twelve-hour surgical day as if it’s nothing.
Liam floats at the edge of every exchange infusing a sharp dose of humor, his gaze catching mine from time to time.
Rafferty starts to fuss, emitting a small warning peep. Padraig lifts him from the highchair and in one smooth arc he settles his son into the cradle of his forearm, rocking without thought.
Mara watches in awe. “He has a knack.”
“You’re both doing a beautiful job, you know,” I assure her, and mean it without a single reservation in my bones.
Maureen jumps up and brings a small cupcake slathered in blue frosting over. “Padraig, let’s sing Happy Birthday to wee Rafferty before he poops out.” She sticks one fat candle in the center and waves her spoon. “Voices, let’s hear them.”
We sing. Loud. Off-key. Perfect. Rafferty stares at the flame with holy focus.
Padraig gestures to Isla. “Help him?”
She meets my eyes. I nod. She leans in, cheeks puffed and blows it out. Applause crashes. Blue frosting meets small fists.
It doesn’t take long before Raff’s eyes slide heavy and his head tips into the space under Padraig’s jaw, his frosting-coated hands flexing into little fists. It’s adorable and makes me miss the days when my own kids were so small.
With his birthday celebration complete, the men clear the plates and Mara glances at her watch. “I’ve got an early call tomorrow. Why don’t I take him to my place and get him settled so you can spend more time with your family.”
“You sure?” Padraig studies her for a beat, then nods when he’s satisfied she means it. “Alright. Let’s get him in the carrier.”
Together they ease him into car seat, Padraig guiding his feet through the openings while Mara steadies his head. Buckles click; straps tighten. Rafferty makes a soft noise, then settles.
Padraig grabs the diaper bag, slinging it over his shoulder as they move toward the door. He walks her out, his hand on the small of her back as they step into the cool night. Car doors open and close with the muffled finality of routines they know by heart.
I watch from the doorway, catching the way he bends to check the buckles one more time, then steps back so Mara can pull away.
Headlights sweep the yard and vanish, leaving him in the quiet glow of the porch light.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, then bounds up the steps, the door clicking shut behind him.
By the time he crosses the room, I’m seated on the couch between Isla and Lila, with Jude curled against my hip. My mom and dad anchor the other side, where he joins them.
I catch Isla eyeing him like she’s not sure if it’s okay to talk, so I give her a nudge. “Did you know Padraig’s an artist too?”
“No, he’s a rock star.” Lila’s head pops up.
Padraig grins. “Both can be true at the same time.”
“What kind of art do you do?” Isla’s curiosity wins over her shyness.
He leans forward on his knees. “Tell me about your project first.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear. “We’re doing paintings to look like they’re moving. Mine’s a soccer game. I’m trying to make it look like the ball’s going fast without actually drawing it with speed lines.”
“How?” Padraig encourages.
Isla blushes. “I’m putting all these blurry colors around it. Green for the field, white for the lines, a little bit of yellow so it looks sunny. Ms. G says it works better if I don’t make the edges perfect.”
His grin catches the light. “You’ll have to come in my house sometime. I’ve converted my garage into a studio. Maybe we could draw together.”
“Seriously?” Her eyes widen.
“Promise,” he says, tipping his head toward me. “Your mom can vouch, I’m a pretty fun guy.”
I nod. “He means it. And tell her about your gallery opening.”
“I was scared.” He gives a half shrug, half smile. “But I let a gallery display my paintings and sold every canvas.”
“All of them?” Isla’s voice jumps an octave.
“Every one.”
She glows now, a kind of light no one can fake. “My friends don’t believe me when I say I know people in Fireball and LTZ. Now I get to add ‘sold-out artist.’”
“Wait. So you and Liam really are rock stars?” Lila looks impressed.
Padraig’s mouth tugs sideways. “Connor too. Sometimes we play our instruments in front of very large crowds.”
“My music teacher said one of your songs is in a TV show.” Lila’s giggle pops out before she can catch it. “She acted all funny when I told her you were Mommy’s friend.”
He winces, hand over his heart. “Maybe Liam and I can give her a signed poster or something.”
“Can we go home, Mama?” Jude’s thumb finds his mouth, his other hand curls into my hair.
It’s the cue. Around us, the room shifts. Voices dip, chairs scrape, coats are fetched from the hook by the door. Lila disappears for a moment and returns with her boots half-laced. Isla stands with her hands in her pockets, sneaking glances at Padraig, who made a good impression.
Rory gets to his feet, slow from the long day, and kisses the top of my head before leaning in. “Good day, love. You did well.”
My dad clasps Padraig’s hand, firm and steady, before scooping Jude from my arms so I can get my shoes on. Across the room, my mom slips a container into my tote without a word, certain it’ll be the kids’ lunch tomorrow.
Maureen folds each of my kids into her arms, lingering a fraction longer with Isla, her gaze meeting mine in a quiet promise to keep this momentum. Joni and Ziggy corner Lila on the way to the door, teasing her about her Taylor Swift fixation until she dissolves into giggles.
Around us, the McGloughlin brothers juggle armfuls of leftovers, voices overlapping in the familiar tangle of a family trying to leave but never quite ready to say goodbye. The lot of us spill onto the front steps and depart. Car doors slam and engines turn over one by one.
Padraig waits as I get the kids settled. Isla climbs into the backseat, pressing herself to the window, Lila slides in beside her and immediately tells her about the fort she’s planning for the living room. I strap Jude into his seat, and shut the door.
“Call when they’re asleep.” Padraig holds my door for me as I get in.
I smile up at him. “Will do.”
We drive home with the windows cracked. By the time I park, Jude’s out, a faint smile on his face. Inside, I move all of them through their bedtime routine on autopilot. Pajamas. Teeth. Stories. Lights out.
When the kids are asleep, I complete my own nighttime ritual, stretch out on the bed and call him.
“You cozy?” His handsome face fills the screen.
“Yeah. Everyone’s out cold.”
“Good day?”
“Better than I expected.” I think of how much fun my kids had. “It felt easy. You really hit it off with Isla and she’s the toughest nut to crack.”
“Aye, though we were chums the first time I met her…” Padraig stops, realizing it was when Coop was alive. “Sorry, I never know where the line is. Ma was right, tiny steps.”
My mind races back to the awkward dinner when Padraig showed up. “It’s okay. I forgot, but you’re right. She warmed up to you right away.”
“Anyway, I’m glad we had today before I leave tomorrow. I feel good about how it went.” He settles back against his pillows.
“I do too.” I can’t help it when a smile takes over my face.
He shuts his eyes and takes a breath. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you more,” I tease.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “We’ll see. I’ve gotta be up around four a.m. We may be filling in for LTZ, but we don’t have the budget for a private jet.”
“Liam seemed pretty contrite tonight. Are things better?” I know he and his brother are struggling. Liam’s giving Padraig a guilt trip, which is more rooted in he doesn’t want to lose his twin.
“It’s fine.” He sighs. “We’ll hash it out on tour. I’m serious about coming up with an exit plan. I don’t want to leave him high and dry but he doesn’t really understand my perspective because he’s not a father. His people travel with him. He’s not like me.”
I tilt my head and blow him a kiss. “You guys will be fine. I should let you get some sleep. Promise to reach out when you’re settled in Paris?”
“The second I’m able.” He kisses me back through the screen. “I love you. And, Stevie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we’re doing this.”
“Me too.”
The silence lingers after he hangs up.
I hold the phone for a beat longer, already missing him.
We’ve only taken the first step and it might be a little messy.
This time I’ll never let the flame go out.