26. Olivia
26
OLIVIA
“ O oof. You look like you could use a beer,” Molly said as she let me into her apartment.
“No thanks,” I said. As mad as I was at Declan, I’d promised him I’d be careful, and I intended to keep my word. “I have to drive home after this.”
Molly stepped back from the door and beckoned me into her apartment. It was a small, oddly shaped living room and kitchen space, but the couch looked comfortable and all the art on the walls gave the space a friendly, eclectic feel.
“So what did you want to talk about, then?” Molly padded into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Then she pulled some mugs down from the cupboard.
“I need you to keep what I’m about to say between us,” I said. Molly had already told me her roommate was out for the night, so I didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing us.
Molly raised her eyebrows. “Okay. Consider these lips sealed. What’s up?”
“Seamus O’Rourke is pretty sure he’s Catie’s dad. And he wants Declan’s permission to get to know her while she’s here, only Declan refuses to even talk to Seamus. So now I’m caught in the middle.”
Molly blinked several times in a row. “Okay. Processing that bombshell. Why are you caught in the middle? And what flavor of tea do you want?”
I examined the boxes Molly held up and pointed to the peach flavor.
“Seamus asked me to help persuade Declan to hear him out,” I said. “I guess since Declan came to the festival for me, Seamus thinks…”
“That Declan would walk on hot coals for you,” Molly finished. She plunked a Barry’s tea bag in her own mug, thinking. “He’s not entirely wrong there.”
I felt myself blush. I knew Declan liked me. But he was so moody and inscrutable, it was hard to tell if he liked me as more than a friend he could hook up with.
“The problem is, Declan completely shuts down every time I bring up Seamus’s name,” I said. “He’s never going to read that email, is he?”
“I should say not,” Molly said. The tea kettle went off. She poured hot water into each of our mugs, and handed mine to me. We each added our preferred levels of milk and sugar and then settled on her couch.
“I was thinking…” I said. “Maybe if I can show Declan that Seamus is an okay person, then Declan will agree to meet with him.”
“No, no, no, no ,” Molly said with uncharacteristic bluntness. “That is a terrible idea. You only have one option here. Tell Declan what Seamus told you, and then butt out and let Declan make his own decision. The last thing you want is to be caught in the middle of a decades-long grudge.”
I leaned forward. “But if I could help him make a fresh start…”
But Molly was shaking her head so vigorously I couldn’t finish the sentence. “You Americans are all about fresh starts. But we Irish know sometimes there’s too much history for a fresh start. If Declan wanted to see Seamus as anything but an O’Rourke, he would have done it by now.”
I sighed and sank back into the couch. Some part of me knew Molly was right. But I couldn’t quite bring myself to admit it.
Declan was going to be furious when I told him. What if the fact that I’d kept the truth from him, even for a few days, destroyed what we’d built between the two of us?
“I can’t believe Sinead shagged Seamus,” Molly marveled. “Wonder if he was any good?”
I groaned and dropped my head back against the couch. “ Not the point.”
Molly snickered into her tea.
M olly and I hung out for another hour, chatting about her life. It was a welcome distraction for me. But as I drove home my thoughts returned—inevitably—to Declan. I couldn’t ignore what Seamus told me, and rob Catie of the chance to have a relationship with her father. That meant I had to bite the bullet and tell Declan.
I didn’t want to do it tonight, when we were tired and raw from fighting. I could tell him tomorrow, but I knew Declan’s work was only going to get busier leading up to the Prague trip.
I’ll tell him after Prague , I promised myself.
I knew it was selfish, but I needed a few more days with him, where everything was perfect. Or at least as close to perfect as Declan and I were ever going to be.
My phone flashed with an incoming message from @DBCoder. Was just thinking about you. How are you?
I drove on, wondering how I could possibly answer that.
I could say, I have to tell someone something he doesn’t want to hear, and I’m worried he’ll hate me for it.
I could say, I’m falling hard and fast for a man. We were supposed to keep things casual, but I don’t think I can. When I asked him point-blank if he wanted something more, he said no, he wants to keep things casual.
I could say, That sponsorship offer I told you about? I’m scared to take it. I’m scared to want something more than nannying.
I was out in the country now, not far from Declan’s home. On impulse I pulled over and grabbed my phone to respond to @DBCoder.
Honestly? I’m not great right now, I typed. I told you about that guy I work with?
His response was quick. I remember. What did he do?
I struggled to put my response into words. Declan hadn’t done anything wrong, per say. Couples fought. And even when we’d been fighting, he’d been worried about me driving off into the night and getting in an accident. Even if he said he wanted to keep things light and easy, I was certain that on some level he cared about me. And because it was Declan, it was a fierce, protective kind of caring that took my breath away if I thought about it too long.
I wasn’t upset because what Declan had done. I was upset because I was worried about what he would do someday.
There’s this man he hates. And he gets so furious every time I bring up this man, I wonder… If I ever make too big of a mistake, will he start hating me like that?
@DBCoder’s response came immediately. Of course not. No one could never hate you. You’re YOU.
I smiled sadly at my phone. You can’t know that, I wrote.
I could see that he was typing. It was a long message, based on how long it took him. But in the end, all he did was say, I’m sorry he hurt you.
I started to thank him, but something about it felt weird. I realized that as much as I’d wanted to talk to someone about my problems with Declan, it felt wrong to do it with @DBCoder. The crush I’d had on an internet stranger paled compared to the real, messy, tangible feelings I had for Declan. But I still didn’t want to go behind Declan’s back and talk about his failures to another man who’d once (sort of? maybe?) asked me out.
Thanks for listening, I wrote. But maybe we should go back to talking about picture books. It doesn’t feel right talking about him with you.
I could see that @DBCoder had read my message. But instead of responding to it, he logged off.
It was probably a good thing, but I still felt a spark of frustrated disappointment. Why were the men in my life so unnecessarily complicated?
I started the car up again and drove home.
When I stepped inside, I saw the light was on in the living room. Declan had waited up for me, just like he had the night I’d gone out with Brendan Carr. The night when I’d accidentally admitted I had feelings for Declan, and he’d slammed me into a wall and kissed me like he was starving for me.
My stomach gave an uneasy, tense flutter. Even when we were fighting, I wanted him.
Declan closed his laptop and stood. “I wanted to say I’m sorry I lost my temper. It wasn’t about you. And, to be clear, there is absolutely nothing you could ever do that would make me as angry at you as I am at the O’Rourkes.”
I hesitated. It was exactly what I’d needed him to say. And yet, some part of me couldn’t trust it. Normally when Declan and I fought, the ensuing compromise we reached was hard won, with each of us giving a little. For him to just say exactly what I wanted to hear, with no compromise on my part…it felt too easy.
Then again, maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I’d become as addicted to fighting with Declan as I was to everything else about him.
He was still waiting for my response. His shadowed face looked at once vulnerable and determined in the lamplight.
“I forgive you,” I said.
Declan visibly relaxed. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”
“No, I think I should…I could use an early night.” I turned and fled before he could coax me into another perfect, messy, complicated night with him.
If only I could flee from my growing feelings.